Explosive Eighteen (Stephanie Plum 18)

“We got chased out by some old guy. He said it was a private lot, and we weren’t allowed to park there. And besides, we were in his parking space.”

“Was he driving a big burgundy Cadillac?”

“Yeah. And he was yelling at us, threatening to call the police.”

Mr. Kolakowski, from 5A, God bless him. Crankiest man to ever walk the earth.

“In case you lose me, I’m going to Orchard Street,” I said to Lancer.

“That’s north Trenton, right?”

“Yeah.”

I jogged across the street, hoisted myself up behind the wheel, and drove off. I wasn’t going anywhere near Orchard Street. Buggy was on the other side of town. I pulled away from the curb, drove a block, and hooked a left. Lancer was behind me. I took a right turn and sailed through the light at the next intersection. Lancer was stopped on the red. I took a left at the next block, left again, and Lancer was good-bye.

I cut across Hamilton and turned onto Pulling.

“I don’t feel so good,” Lula said. “It was that last doughnut. There was something wrong with it. It was one of them cream-filled, and I think they used old cream.”

“You ate ten!”

“Yeah, and none of the others bothered me. I’m telling you, it was that last doughnut. I’d feel better if I could burp.”

I parked and sat looking at the Bugkowski house for a couple minutes. No activity. I was betting Buggy was holed up inside, wishing he had a way to get food. I should have brought the last two doughnuts. I put the truck in gear, made a U-turn, and drove to Pino’s. Twenty minutes later, I was in front of the Bugkowski house with a steaming hot pizza.

“Here’s how it’s going down,” I said to Lula. “You’re going to get into the back of the truck with the pizza box. Then I’m going to ring his bell and tell him we want to rebond him. He’s going to say no, but he’ll smell the pizza, and he’ll go after it. As soon as he gets himself up into the back of the truck, I’ll zap him and cuff him.”

“You tried to zap him before, and it didn’t work.”

“I have a bigger zapper now.”

I lowered the tailgate and got Lula up into the truck bed. I stuffed the key into my pocket, so Buggy couldn’t grab it, and I went to his door.

Buggy opened the door and looked past me. “Nice truck.”

Lula waved a piece of pizza at him. “Yoohoo, Buggy honey.”

“She got pizza,” Buggy said. He pushed past me and went straight to the truck. “You got more?” he asked Lula.

“I got almost a whole pie,” Lula said. “You want some?”

“Yuh,” Buggy said, climbing over the tailgate.

I scrambled after him, and when he reached for a piece of pizza I pressed the stun gun to the back of his neck and hit the go button. He went dead still for a beat, and I swear his hair lit up, and then he crumpled face-first into Lula’s lap.

“He got his nose in my lady parts,” Lula said, holding the pizza box to the side. “Not that I haven’t been in this predicament before, but there’s a time and place for everything, you see what I’m sayin’?”

I looked at the pizza box. There were two pieces missing.

“Did you eat two slices of pizza?” I asked Lula.

“I thought it might settle my stomach, but I was wrong.”

I wrapped the Flexi-Cuffs around Buggy’s wrists, shackled his ankles, and rolled him off Lula.

“We don’t want a repeat of Lahonka,” I said. “Take the stun gun and stay in back with Buggy. If he comes around and gets unruly, give him a shot.”

“I don’t know if I’m gonna make it to the police station,” Lula said. “You got antacids? You got Pepto?”