Morelli shot Lula a look, and she buried her head in the chicken bucket.
When we got outside Morelli dragged me to the far side of the building, away from the big plate glass windows. He still had a grip on my jacket, and he still had the don't-mess-with-me cop face. He held tight to my jacket, and he stared at his shoes, head down.
“Practicing anger management?” I asked.
He shook his head and bit into his lower lip. “No,” he said. “I'm trying not to laugh. That crazy old lady shot at you and I don't want to trivialize it, but I totally lost it at Kan Klean. And I wasn't the only one. I was there with three uniforms who responded to the call, and we all had to go around to the back of the building to compose ourselves. Your friend Eddie Gazarra was laughing so hard he wet his uniform. Was there really a shoot-out between the old lady and Lula?”
“Yeah, but Mama Macaroni did all the shooting. She trashed the place. Lula and I were lucky to get out alive. How'd you know where to find me?”
“I did a drive-by on all the doughnut shops and fast-food places in the area. And by the way, Mama Macaroni said to tell you that you're fired.”
Morelli leaned into me and nuzzled my neck. “We should celebrate.”
“You wanted to celebrate when I got the job. Now you want to celebrate because I've lost the job?”
“I like to celebrate.”
Sometimes I had a hard time keeping up with Morelli's libido. “I'm not talking to you,” I told Morelli.
“Yeah, but we could still celebrate, right?”
“Wrong. And I need to get back inside before Lula eats all the food.”
Morelli pulled me to him and kissed me with a lot of tongue. “I really need to celebrate,” he said. And he was gone, off to file a report on my shootout.
Lula was finishing her half gallon of soda when I returned to the table.
“How'd that go?” she wanted to know.
“Average.” I looked in the chicken bucket. One wing left.
“I'm in a real mean mood after that whole cleaning incident,” Lula said. “I figure I might as well make the most of it and go after my DV. When I was a file clerk I didn't usually work on Sunday, unless I was helping you. But now that I'm a bounty hunter I'm on the job twentyfour/seven. You see what I'm saying? And I know how you're missing being a bounty hunter and all, so I'm gonna let you ride with me again.”
“I don't miss being a bounty hunter. And I don't want to ride with you.”
“Please?” Lula said. “Pretty please with sugar on it? I'm your friend, right? And we do things together, right? Like, look at how we just shared lunch together.”
“You ate all the chicken.”
“Not all the chicken. I left you a wing. 'Course, it's true I don't particularly like wings, but that's not the point. Anyways, I kept you from putting a lot of ugly fat on your skinny ass. You aren't gonna be getting any from Officer Hottie if you get all fat and dimply. And I know you need to be getting some on a regular basis because I remember when you weren't getting any and you were a real cranky pants.”
“Stop!” I said. “I'll go with you.”
Stephanie Plum 11 - Eleven On Top
FIVE
It took us a half hour to get to the public housing proj
ects and work our way through the grid of streets that led to Emanuel Lowe, also known as the DV.
Lula had the Firebird parked across the street from Lowe's apartment, and we were both watching the apartment door, and we were both wishing we were at Macy's shopping for shoes.
“We need a better plan this time,” Lula said. “Last time, I did the direct approach and that didn't work out. We gotta be sneaky this time. And we can't use me on account of everybody here knows me now. So I'm thinking it's going to have to be you to go snatch the DV.”
“Not in a million years.”
“Yeah, but they don't know you. And there's hardly anybody sneakier than you. I'd even cut you in. I'd give you ten bucks if you collected him for me.”