Twisted Twenty-Six (Stephanie Plum 26)

I gave the gun back to Lula, told her to keep her eye on things, and joined Ranger and Tank. I felt small in comparison but totally empowered, flanked by the two men in black. I knocked, and Stan opened the door.

“Hello again,” I said.

He attempted to close the door, and Ranger stiff-armed it open. Benny the Skootch was in his chair with a napkin tucked into his shirt like a bib. Lou Salgusta was eating his lunch at a card table. Charlie Shine had been at the table with Lou, but he jumped up when I walked in with Ranger and Tank.

“What the fuck?” Charlie said. “What the fuck?”

“You missed your court date,” I said to Charlie. “You need to come with us to reschedule.”

“This is bullshit,” Charlie said. “Benny, get my lawyer on the phone. Tell him to get the fuck down to the courthouse.”

Ranger attempted to cuff Charlie, and Charlie struck out at him. In a nanosecond Ranger face-planted Charlie onto the card table. Charlie was searched and his weapon removed, and his hands were cuffed behind his back. Ranger jerked him to his feet and force-marched him out of the Mole Hole.

“Very sorry to have disrupted your lunch,” I said to Benny and Lou. “It all looks delicious.”

I paid for lunch and met Ranger in the parking lot.

“Would you like us to drop him off, or would you like to have the pleasure?” Ranger asked.

“I’ll take him in,” I said. “Thank you. I really appreciate the help. I didn’t know who was in the room. And I probably couldn’t have cuffed Shine without Lula shooting him first.”

* * *

—

Connie gave us a double thumbs-up when we walked into the office.

“Another job well done,” Lula said. “We took Shine straight to the court and the judge set his bail at twice the original amount. No one will put up that kind of money.”

“For sure not this office,” Connie said. “And we have one less FTA to worry about. Emory Lindal was arrested last night. Drunk and disorderly.”

“That leaves our favorite person,” Lula said. “Carol Joyce, the little wiener.”

As far as I was concerned, he could shoplift for the rest of his life. I had no desire to attempt another takedown of Carol Joyce.

“How many attempts at capture will this make?” I asked Lula.

“I stopped counting,” Lula said. “It’s humiliating. It’s not like he’s the Pink Panther or Jack the Ripper. This idiot lives with his mother and steals T-shirts for a living.”

“We can drive past his house and his office and look for his SUV,” I said. “I guess we could cruise the Quaker Bridge parking lot.”

“That sounds like a lame attempt,” Lula said. “What would Dog the Bounty Hunter do?”

“He’d go to the Joyce house at one in the morning, kick the door in, and drag Carol Joyce out of bed,” I said.

“That would seem extreme in this case,” Lula said, “on account of it would scare the bejeezus out of Mrs. Joyce. She thinks her son is a personal shopper. And there’s the ugly little dog to think about. It already has intestinal issues. I would hate to cause it more anxiety.”

My mother called.

“Your grandmother was caught breaking into Marvina’s house,” my mother said. “Luckily it was Eddie Gazarra who investigated. He’s got her in his patrol car, and he doesn’t know what to do with her.”

“Where are they now?”

“He’s in the All-Day Diner parking lot just past the hospital.”

“I’m on my way.” I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. “Family problem,” I said. “Not life-threatening.”

I pulled into the diner parking lot three minutes later and parked next to the patrol car. I grew up with Eddie Gazarra, and he was now married to my cousin Shirley the Whiner. I got out of the Porsche and looked in at Grandma. She was in the back seat, eating a cup of soft-serve ice cream. She smiled when she saw me and pointed to the cookie tin in her lap.