“No good deed goes unpunished,” Connie said. “And while we’re on the subject of good deeds, it would be good for my end-of-the-month balance sheet if you could snag Trotter.”
* * *
Potts was sitting on the edge of the Buick’s backseat, looking over my shoulder.
“Where are we going? Is it going to be dangerous? Should I have a gun? Do you have a gun?”
“We’re going to Stiller Street. And no, no, and no.”
There was a good chance that Trotter would be home for lunch. It didn’t go well last time I approached him, but I was better prepared this time. I knew what to expect. And with any luck at all, he’d be passed out.
I turned onto Stiller and parked behind Trotter’s van.
“Is this it?” Potts asked. “What should I do? Should I go in first and make sure it’s safe for you? I’m okay with taking a bullet. Just in case, I’m wearing a medical bracelet that has my blood type.”
“Wait in the car. I won’t be long.”
“You said that last time, but you didn’t come out right away.”
I walked to the door and rang the bell. I had my stun gun in one pocket and cuffs in another. Potts was behind me.
“I know you said to stay in the car,” he said, “but bodyguards in the movies are always close to the bodies they’re guarding. Besides, I could be helpful. I could tell this person about my positive experience with the bail bonds system.”
“No. No talking. I do the talking.”
The door opened, and Trotter’s mother squinted at me. “Do I know you?”
“Stephanie Plum,” I said. “Is Rodney home?”
“He’s in the kitchen, eating a late lunch. He had a big procedure this morning.”
I stepped around her and threaded my way through the hoarded groceries and stuffed dead animals. I could hear Potts wheezing, following in my footsteps.
“I need my inhaler,” he said. “Did I tell you I was claustrophobic? Do I smell formaldehyde? I’m pretty sure I smell formaldehyde.”
If he crashed to the floor and his lips were blue and his eyes were rolled back in his head, I’d drag him out to the sidewalk and call 911. Otherwise I was going to ignore him.
“I don’t like these dead animals,” he said. “They aren’t smiling. They don’t look happy. When I’m laid out, I want to be smiling. Not a big smile like the joker. Just a little smile, like I know a secret.”
Trotter was at the table when I walked into the kitchen. There was a half-eaten sandwich and a half-empty vodka bottle in front of him.
“Hi,” I said. “Remember me?”
“Yes, I remember you. Go away.”
“If you would come with me to get re-bonded, you would never have to see me again. It would take a half hour.”
“I’m not wasting a half hour on bogus charges. I’m a renowned dermatological enhancement specialist. I have a wait-list of customers.” He reached down, took a tackle box off the floor, and opened it. “The syringes in this box are filled with my unique enhancement formula. If you go away, I’ll give you one free of charge.”
“What would I do with it?”
“Inject it somewhere. Blow up your lips. Puff up your cheek bones. Inject it in the pencil dick standing behind you and he’ll have a custard launcher the size of a horse.”
“I appreciate the offer,” I said, “but we aren’t in need of a syringe, and you’re going to have to check back with the court. Because you failed to appear for your first date, you’re now officially a felon.”
“Screw the court. I have a business to run.”
He threw a syringe at me and I jumped away. The syringe missed me and tagged Potts in the thigh, sticking in him like a dart in a corkboard.