Four to Score (Stephanie Plum 4)

I sashayed across the street and up the steps to Leoni's. A small knot of old Italian men stood smoking on the front porch. Conversation stopped when I approached, and the group parted to let me pass. There were more people in the vestibule. None of them was Kenny Martin. I went to room one, where Sammy the Gimp was on display, resting nicely in an ornate mahogany casket. There were lots of flowers and lots of old Italian women. No one seemed to be too upset about Sammy's demise. No heavily sedated widow. No wailing mother. No Kenny.

I said good-?bye to Sammy and tottered down the hall in my heels. There was a small foyer at the end of the hall. The foyer opened to the back door, and Kenny Martin was standing in front of the door, sneaking a smoke. Beyond the door was a covered driveway, and somewhere beyond the driveway was Ranger.

I leaned against the wall across from Kenny and smiled. “Hi.”

His eyes fixed onto my Nerf balls. “Are you here to see Sammy?”

I shook my head no. “Mrs. Kowalski in room two.”

“You don't look all broke up.”

I shrugged.

“If you was all broke up I could comfort you. I got lots of ways to comfort a woman.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

He was 5'10" and a solid 190 pounds. He was dressed in a dark blue suit and white shirt with the top button popped open.

“What's your pleasure, dollie?” he asked.

I looked him up and down and smiled as if I liked what I saw. “What's your name?”

“Kenny. Kenny 'the Man' Martin.”

Kenny the Man. Unh! Mental head slap. I extended my hand. “Stephanie.”

In lieu of a handshake he laced his fingers into mine and stepped closer. “Pretty name.”

“I was going outside for some fresh air. Want to join me?”

“Yeah, sure. Nothing in here but dead people. Even the people who are alive are dead, you know what I mean?”

A little girl ran down the hall to us. “Kenny, Mama says we have to go now.”

“Tell her I'll be there in a minute.”

“She said I'm supposed to bring you now!”

Kenny did palms-?up. A gesture of the futility of arguing. Everyone knows you never win against an Italian mother. “Maybe I could call you sometime?” Kenny said to me. “Maybe we could get together later.”

Never underestimate the power of a Nerf ball. “Sure. Why don't we go outside, and I'll write down my number. I really need some air.”

“Now!” the kid yelled.

Kenny made a lunge at the kid, and she whirled and ran back to Mama, shrieking at the top of her lungs.

“I gotta go,” Kenny said.

“One second. I'll give you my business card.” I had my head in my bag, scrounging for my defense spray. If I couldn't get him to walk through the door, I'd give him a shot of spray and drag him out.

I heard more footsteps on the carpet and looked up to find a woman striding toward us. She was slim and pretty with short blond hair. She was wearing a gray suit and heels, and her expression turned serious when she saw me with Kenny.

“Now I see the problem,” she said to Kenny. “Your mother sent me to fetch you, but it looks like you've got a complication here.”

“No complication,” Kenny said. “Just tell her to keep her shirt on.”

“Oh yeah,” the woman said. “I'm going to tell your mother to keep her shirt on. That's like a death wish.” She looked to me, and then she looked to Kenny, and then she smiled. “You don't know, do you?” she asked Kenny.