Lean Mean Thirteen (Stephanie Plum 13)

“What'd I do? I'm sitting here minding my own business, trying to be cooperative. Talk to Bitchzilla over there.”

I looked at my watch. “Nine minutes,” I said to Morelli.

“I've got blood all over my shirt,” Dickie said.

Morelli mopped the blood up off the floor with some wadded paper towels. “First of all, it's my shirt. And second, it's still the cleanest shirt we've got until we do laundry.”

“Well, for cripes sakes, do the laundry,” Dickie said.

“I don't have a washer or dryer, and I can't leave you in the house alone.”

“I can take the laundry to my mom's house,” I said. “Gather it up for me.”

“I want to know the rest of the story first,” Morelli said.

Dickie had his head tipped back with the ice pack over his nose. “I'm not talking anymore. I have a headache.”

Morelli went to the powder room and got a bottle of Advil. “From what I've heard so far, you didn't know a whole lot about the drugs-for-arms business. How did you find out about all that?”

“Petiak told me after he hit me. He's on a big nutso ego trip. Had to tell me all the details of his master plan. Even demonstrated his flamethrower. Almost burned the fucking garage down. I gotta admit, the flamethrower is pretty cool. He says he sells a lot of them to the South American drug lords. Apparently scares the bejeezus out of the locals. And I have to tell you, I almost messed myself at the thought of getting it turned on me.”

Stephanie Plum 13 - Lean Mean Thirteen

“Why didn't he turn it on you?”

“I imagine he wanted to make sure I was telling the truth about the key. I got stun-gunned, and I guess injected with something, and next thing I knew, I was back here.”

“And the key?” Morelli asked.

“It s actually a key card. It allows the cardholder to access a high-security account in Holland from a satellite location here in the States. I have the account numbers memorized and a second set in a safety deposit box, but they aren't any good without the card. Without the card, I have to go to Holland to appear in person and pass a retinal and fingerprint scan. Not an option without a passport.”

“Stephanie seems like an odd choice for the key keeper.”

“I didn't choose her. She took the key with her when she left my office. The key's in the clock. I wasn't too worried about it because I knew she'd take care of the clock. I figured in some ways it was probably safer than if I'd left it at the office.”

“What clock?” Morelli asked.

“Her Aunt Tootsie gave us a desk clock as a wedding present. I was using it in my office, and Sticky Fingers took it on her way out. I went to her apartment twice to look for it and couldn't find it. It's not here either, so I'm assuming it's at her parents' house.”

I'd entirely forgotten about the clock. I was mentally scrambling, tracing backward. When did I last see the clock? It was in my bag. Then I stopped at the food store. Put the bags in the back of the car. Put the clock with the bags. Took the bags into the house. Could I have left the clock in the car? I couldn't remember bringing the clock into my apartment.

“You're looking pale,” Morelli said. “Like all the blood just drained out of your face. You're not going to faint, are you?”

“I think I left the clock in the car.”

“What car?”

“The Crown Vic.”

“Where is it now?” Morelli asked.

“I don't know. It broke down on Route one and Ranger had one of his men take care of it.”

Dickie took the ice pack off his face. “You lost Aunt Tootsies clock?”

“Its not your money anyway,” Morelli said to Dickie. “Its drug money. It belongs to the government. It'll be confiscated.”

I called Ranger and asked him about the Crown Vic. He called back three minutes later.