Lean Mean Thirteen (Stephanie Plum 13)
Connie and Lula looked at me.
“What are you carrying?” Connie asked.
“A brand-new can of hairspray and this lip gloss I've got on.”
“It's a pretty good lip gloss,” Lula said, “but it wouldn't hurt to have a piece as a backup.”
Connie stuffed herself into her coat. “I can't imagine what legal problem you'd want to discuss with Dickie, but it must be a bitch to get you out in this weather.”
“It's sort of personal,” I said, relying on the one really decent bounty hunter skill I possessed… the ability to fib. “It dates back to when we were married. It has to do with… taxes.”
We all went head-down into the cold. Connie locked the office door, and we got into Lula's red Firebird. Lula cranked the engine over, hip-hop blasted out of the CD player, and Lula motored off.
“Is Dickie still downtown?” Lula wanted to know.
“Yes, but he's in a new office. Brian Place. His firm is Petiak, Smullen, Gorvich, and Orr.”
Lula cruised down Hamilton and turned onto North Broad. The wind had cut back, and it was no longer snowing, but there was still a thick cloud cover overhead. At best, the weather could now be described as grim. I was silently rehearsing my fake speech about how I needed information for an audit. And I was making promises to myself as performance incentive. I was seeing macaroni and cheese in my near future. Butterscotch Tastykakes. Onion rings. Snickers bars. Okay, so this had all the makings of a cluster fuck, but there was a Dairy Queen Oreo Cheese-Quake Blizzard waiting for me somewhere.
Lula took a left at Brian and found a parking place half a block from Dickie's office building.
Tm gonna smack you on the head if you don't stop cracking your knuckles,“ Lula said to me. ”You gotta chill. You need some tax information, and he's gotta give it to you.“ Lula cut her eyes to me. ”That's all there is to it, right?"
“Pretty much.”
“Uh oh,” Lula said. “There's more, isn't there?”
We all got out of the Firebird and stood huddled against the cold.
“Actually, I have to plant a couple b
ugs on him for Ranger,” I told Lula. There it was, out in the open, swinging in the breeze… the favor from hell.
Carlos Manoso goes by the street name Ranger. He's my friend, my bounty hunter mentor, and in this case… my partner in crime. He's Cuban American with dark skin and dark eyes and dark brown hair recently cut short. He's half a head taller than I am, and two months older. I've seen him naked, and when I say every part of him is perfect you can take it to the bank. He was Special Forces, and while he's no longer military, he's still got the skills and the muscle. He owns a security company named RangeMan now.
Plus, he does the high-bond skips for Vinnie. He's a hot guy, and there are strong feelings between us, but I try to keep some distance. Ranger plays by his own set of rules, and I don't have a complete copy.
“I knew it!” Lula said. “I knew this would be good.”
“You need something better than taxes,” Connie said. “You're going to need a diversion if you want to plant bugs.”
“Yeah,” Lula said. “You need us to go along with you. You need some hustle and bustle.”
“How about if we say we want to start a business together,” Connie said. “And we need advice on permits and partnership agreements.”
“What kind of business we got?” Lula asked. “I gotta know what I'm getting into with you.”
“It's not a real business,” Connie said. 'We're just pretending."
“I still gotta know,” Lula said. “I'm not putting my good name on just any old thing.”
“For crissake,” Connie said, flapping her arms and stamping her feet to keep warm. “It could be anything. We could cater parties.”
“Yeah, that's believable,” Lula said. “On account of we're all such gourmet cooks. The only time I turn my oven on is to heat up my apartment. And Stephanie probably don't even know where her oven is.”
“Okay, how about a dry cleaner, or chauffeured limos, or dog walking-or we could buy a shrimp boat?” Connie offered.
I like the limo idea,“ Lula said. '”We could buy a Lincoln and dress up in bad-ass uniforms. Something with some bling."