Turbo Twenty-Three (Stephanie Plum 23)

“It’s easy. Everything matches.”

“That’s nuts. What the hell’s wrong with him? Even his underwear?”

“Getting back to your security problem,” I said.

“Someone’s out to get me,” Bogart said. “I think it’s that skunk Morris.”

“Do you think he killed your human resources man?”

“I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s sneaky. Always looking like such a goody-goody do-gooder, but you turn your back on him and he’s a sneak.”

“Okay.”

I looked around the office. It was a cluttered mess. Stacks of files and magazines. Bowling trophies. Photographs on every surface. Harry Bogart with kids, dogs, politicians, and a monkey eating ice cream.

“Am I supposed to be working now?” I asked him.

He pressed a button on his multiline phone and yelled at it. “Kathy!”

A moment later a fifty-something woman stuck her head in the open door to Bogart’s office. “Yes?” she asked.

Bogart gestured at me. “This is what’s-her-name. She’s going to be working the line. Get her suited up and take her to Jim.”

There was the sound of activity in the hall, and the receptionist and Lula shoved themselves past Kathy and stumbled into the room.

“I tried to stop her,” the receptionist said to Bogart.

“This receptionist woman don’t know nothing about political correctness,” Lula said to Bogart. “She didn’t want me to come in here because I’m a black woman of a certain size.”

“I didn’t want you to come in because you don’t have an appointment,” the receptionist said.

“Yeah, but you prejudged me,” Lula said. “And anyways, I do have an appointment. I’m with Stephanie.”

“Who’s Stephanie?” Bogart asked.

“I’m Stephanie,” I told him.

“That’s right,” Lula said. “And I’m with her. We’re a team.”

“I don’t know anything about a team,” Bogart said. “I wasn’t told about this.”

“Well, lucky you,” Lula said. “You get the two of us. In my former profession as a ’ho it was considered a treat to get two women.”

Bogart’s ruddy cheeks had turned purple, and it seemed to me he was having difficulty breathing.

“Do you know this woman?” he asked me.

“No,” I said. “Don’t know her.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Kathy said, herding Lula and me out of the office. “I’m sure Jim can find jobs for them.”

We followed Kathy down the hall, into the main production area and through a door marked “Ladies’ Locker Room.”

“You can have lockers 17 and 18,” Kathy said. “You can get suited up and leave your personal possessions in the lockers.”

“Say what?” Lula said.

“Everyone working on the floor needs to wear a sanitary cap, booties, and a jumpsuit,” Kathy said. “You’ll find them in your lockers. I’ll tell Jim you’re here, and he’ll meet you just outside the locker room.”