Takedown Twenty (Stephanie Plum 20)

Ten minutes later Lula and I were parked in the alley behind Berger’s Bits, at work with the bolt cutters on the garage padlock. The lock snapped off and we rolled the door back enough to squeeze under.

“Holy crap!” Lula said. “Will you look at this! I feel faint.”

I’d been hoping to find evidence that Randy was the old lady killer. What I found was more evidence that he was hijacking trucks. The garage was filled with boxes stacked floor to ceiling. A large percentage of the boxes contained computers. And there was a corner devoted to boxes stamped “Brahmin.”

“I died and I’m in heaven,” Lula said, caressing one of the Brahmin boxes. “I don’t even know what bag’s in here, and I love it already.”

“This is all stolen merchandise,” I told her. “You don’t need a Brahmin bag this bad.”

“It feels like I do.”

We crawled back out, and I rolled the door down and secured it as best I could.

I ran across the alley and tried the deli’s back door. It was locked, but I knew the four-digit thumb code to unlock it.

“What are we doing now?” Lula asked. “Are we going to look for Venetian blind cord in there?”

“No. I need pork chops.”

“You’re gonna rob a butcher shop of pork chops? Don’t that sound like the pot calling the kettle black when you wouldn’t let me take one of them handbags?”

“I worked two days and didn’t get paid. I’m taking my paycheck in pork chops.”

“I like your style. You got to admire a woman who takes her pay in pork chops.”

I opened the door and the alarm went off.

“Jeez Louise,” Lula said. “That’s loud.”

I rushed to the meat case, grabbed six pork chops, and stuffed them into a plastic bag. I dropped the pork chops into my messenger bag, and Lula and I ran out the back door and took off in the Firebird.

“Seems like you could have taken more than six,” Lula said.

“I only need six. I owe them to Victor at the hardware store. It would be great if you could drive me over there.”

We turned a corner and passed a cop car on its way to the deli.

“It’s your friend Carl Costanza in that cop car,” Lula said. “I bet by the time he leaves there’s gonna be no pork chops left. And he’ll probabl

y help himself to a handbag, too.”

When we got to Victory Hardware, Lula idled at the curb while I ran in and gave Victor his pork chops.

“I’ll fry them up tonight,” Victor said. “I might even share them with my lady.”

Lula dropped me off at my parents’ house.

“Are you sure you don’t want to go out looking for Uncle Sunny one more time?” she asked me. “I got a feeling about it.”

“I’m done with Uncle Sunny. I’m going to get the key to Big Blue, and I’m going to try to get to the personal products plant before the end of the day.”

Lula motored off, and I went inside. I left my bag on the little table in the foyer and found my mother in the kitchen, ironing.

“Now what?” I asked her.

“It’s your grandmother. Honestly, the woman is turning my hair gray. I went to the store to get soup meat, and when I got back she was gone. It’s like she’s fourteen years old.” My mother pointed her finger at me. “It’s like living with you all over again. You were impossible. Your sister was an angel, but you were always sneaking out, getting into trouble. And I blame it on Joe Morelli. He was the scourge of Trenton. He was a bad influence on you.”

“He’s better now,” I said. “He’s very responsible. He’s got his own house, and a toaster.”