Explosive Eighteen (Stephanie Plum 18)

“Third time’s a charm,” Lula said.

I slipped the plastic Flexi-Cuffs around his wrists and secured them behind his back. Buggy was still on his knees, his eyes were glazed, and he was drooling.

“How are we gonna get him in the car?” Lula stared at him. “He must weigh three hundred pounds, and he got wet pants. We need a forklift to move him. Maybe one of them skyhooks.”

“Maybe now that he’s cuffed, he’ll be reasonable,” I said.

Buggy’s eyes snapped into focus. “Grrrrr,” he said.

Lula looked down at him. “He don’t look reasonable.”

Buggy struggled to free his hands. “GRRRRR!” He came off one knee and then the other. He shook his head as if to clear it, stood, and swayed a little getting his balance.

“You know that movie where they bring the Frankenstein monster back to life?” Lula said. “This is like that movie. You know what happened when Frankenstein first woke up? He wasn’t happy.”

“We need to go downtown and get you rebonded,” I said to Buggy. “It won’t take long.”

Buggy lunged at me. His hands were bound behind his back, and his gait was awkward. He lunged at me a second time, but I jumped away. He stumbled, went down to the ground, and rolled onto his back. That’s where he stayed, kicking his feet, unable to right himself.

“He’s like a big giant turtle,” Lula said. “What are we gonna do with him?”

I didn’t know. We couldn’t lift him. I wasn’t even sure we could drag him. When we got near, he kicked out at us. His face was red and sweating, and veins were popped out in his forehead and corded on his neck.

“You need to calm yourself,” Lula said to Buggy. “You’re gonna give yourself a stroke. And you’re not a real attractive man to begin with, so you don’t want to make it worse with the whole bulging vein thing. It’s not a good look for you.”

He was rocking side to side and grunting. “Unh, unh, UNH!” And on the last UNH, he broke out of the Flexi-Cuffs, rolled to hands and knees, then stood beady-eyed, arms out, mouth open. Killer grizzly.

“YOW!” Lula said. “Every man for himself.”

She ran for the Buick, and I ran for the RAV4. I jumped in, pulled the door closed, and took off with Lula following.

I drove to my parents’ house, parked at the curb, and sat for a couple beats, getting it together. Lula rapped on the driver’s side window, and I got out.

“You see, that’s what I’m talking about,” Lula said. “You got a juju issue. That wasn’t a wonderful experience. You ever see anyone break out of those plastic handcuffs before? I don’t think so.”

ELEVEN

GRANDMA WAS AT the front door, waving at us. “You’re just in time for lunch,” she said.

Lula’s face brightened. “Lunch! That’s what I need after my traumatic experience.”

Grandma led the way to the kitchen. “What happened?”

“We almost got torn limb from limb by a idiot,” Lula said. “Only we avoided it and came here.”

My mother was putting food on the kitchen table, trying not to rant over the thought of me getting my limbs torn off.

“Ham, olive loaf, Swiss cheese, some macaroni salad,” she said. “Help yourself.”

I sat down and Grandma gave me a small glass bottle.

“Annie dropped this off for you this morning. She said you should drink it next time you see your true love, and it’ll take care of your indigestion.”

Lula looked across at me. “Does this mean you decided on your true love? Not that I especially care, but I was wondering for the sake of conversation if it has something to do with the ring that used to be on your finger.”

My mother and grandmother stopped eating and leaned forward a little, waiting for my answer.

“Oh, for goodness’ sakes,” I said. “Why is everyone making such a big deal about this stupid tan line? It’s just a tan line!”