Explosive Eighteen (Stephanie Plum 18)

“You did.”

“I don’t think so,” Lula said. “You must be mistaken.”

“I want dessert,” Buggy said.

“How is that to act?” Lula said. “That’s just plain rude. You don’t go to someone’s house and ask for dessert. What’s the matter with you, anyways? I’m beginning to see you in a whole new light. Didn’t your mama ever teach you manners?”

“I don’t need manners on account of I’m cute,” Buggy said.

“You been operating under a delusion,” Lula said.

“Huh, well I’m going home if I can’t have dessert. Give me the keys to your car.”

Lula crinkled up her nose and squinted at him. “Excuse me?”

“I’m driving home. I want your car.”

“Are you smokin’ funny stuff or something? I’m not giving you my car. You’re lucky I don’t give you my foot up your ass.” Lula looked around the table. “Excuse me. I meant to say up your behind.”

My father was smiling. Usually he ate fast, with his head down, tuning out my grandmother’s ramblings. Tonight he was enjoying Lula giving the what-for to Buggy.

Buggy looked at my mother. “Is there dessert?”

“I made a pie,” my mother said.

Buggy sat up straight. “I like pie a lot.”

“You’re a oaf, and you don’t deserve no pie,” Lula said.

“You didn’t think I was a oaf this afternoon when you were doing nicky nacky on me,” Buggy said.

My father gave a snort of laughter, and my mother knocked back a tumbler of whiskey.

“That was before I took the antidote,” Lula told everyone. “I was under the influence of a potion.”

“I like nicky nacky,” Buggy said, “but it’s not as good as pot roast.”

My mother looked down the table at him, her eyes unfocused. “Thank you, dear.”

“Maybe you should leave,” I said to Buggy.

“Not until I get some pie.”

“Will you leave if I give you half the pie?” I asked.

“Yuh.”

Minutes later, he was out the door with his pie, walking toward his parents’ house.

“I’m worried about them worms,” Lula said. “I’m pretty sure I’ve still got them.”

TWENTY-TWO

“I DON’T KNOW how I could have thought I liked that idiot Buggy,” Lula said. “I tell you, you gotta be careful what you’re drinking these days.”

I was cruising around the casino parking garage looking for a spot close to the elevator. I’d taken the time to lose Lancer and Slasher before driving south, but I still had to worry about Raz, and possibly others.

I found something acceptable, and Lula and I took the elevator to the casino floor. I’m not much of a gambler, but I love being in a casino. I like the flash of lights, the bells ringing, the energy of the people, the theme park–fantasyland atmosphere. I’m willing to throw a small amount of money into the slots, but I have no illusion about winning. I can’t count fast enough to play blackjack, I’m like death at a roulette table, and I’m the world’s worst poker player.