Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum 24)

“What about Ethel?” Lula asked. “She’s going to be wondering about breakfast.”

“She has to wait. If I catch Johnny Chucci and bring him in, I can afford rotisserie chicken.”

I cut across the Burg and reached Judy’s street in record time. Her house was a block away, and I could see Johnny standing on the sidewalk with his sign.

“You gotta give him something for being persistent,” Lula said. “Of course, aside from that he’s a nutcase.”

“I’m going to park and approach him. If he runs I’ll go after him. You stay here and make sure he doesn’t circle back and drive away. The silver Honda is parked across

the street from Judy’s house.”

“No problem,” Lula said. “I’ll make sure he don’t get near the car.”

I pulled in behind the Honda, and Lula and I got out. Johnny didn’t turn to look. He was waving his sign and watching for Judy to appear at the door. I guess he thought if he stayed there long enough she’d give in and come out. I was halfway across the street when he saw me. Recognition was instant. He dropped the sign and took off. I chased him between the two houses and through several backyards. He was surprisingly fast, hurdling over fences and crashing through hedges. I caught my toe on one of the fences and face-planted. I got up and continued to chase him, but I was far behind. He turned a corner, and by the time I got there he’d disappeared.

I stood still and listened. I didn’t hear footsteps, but someone was breathing heavily not far away. At least I had the satisfaction of knowing he wasn’t in any better shape than me.

“Hey, Johnny,” I yelled. “Let’s talk. I can help you.”

I was at the corner, standing to one side of a shingled bungalow with a small front yard that had been cemented over and painted green. Johnny poked his head out from the other side.

“Go away. I’m not going to jail,” he said.

“It could work out okay. Maybe the judge will be sympathetic, and you’ll get off with community service.”

“No way. I’ll serve time and when I get out, Judy will be married. I’ll never get her back.”

“I don’t think she’s interested in you. I think you should move on.”

“I can’t,” Johnny said. “I love her.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. She’s a stupid obsession. I can’t stop thinking about her.”

“Maybe you need a hobby. Prison might be a good thing. You could take up metalwork or pumping iron.”

I moved toward him, and he jumped away from the house. “No!” he said. “Stay away from me. I have a gun.”

“I don’t see a gun.”

“It’s in my pocket.”

“I want to see it.”

Johnny struggled to get the gun out of his pocket, and BANG! He accidentally shot himself in the foot. He stared openmouthed at his foot for a couple beats, and fainted.

I called 911, and I called Lula. I elevated Johnny’s feet, and was relieved when he opened his eyes.

“What?” he asked. “When?”

It took him a few minutes to fully come around and realize his foot hurt. I didn’t bother with cuffs because he wasn’t going to be running anywhere anytime soon. The gun was lying a safe distance away.

Lula drove up in Ranger’s Lexus and parked. I could hear a fire truck a couple blocks away.

“What the heck?” Lula said, looking down at Johnny. “What’d the dumb ass do now?”

“Shot himself in the foot,” I said.