Turbo Twenty-Three (Stephanie Plum 23)

“I’m good with that,” Grandma said. “I’ve seen enough.”

“Here’s the plan,” Howie said. “After I get a close-up of Lula and Randy they’re going to start on their way around the block. I’m going to follow them as they creep forward. When they move to the next block with the burned-out warehouse they get more wary. This is where they’re on alert for urban dangers. I got a couple dangers planned out, but they’re going to be a surprise.”

“I don’t like snakes and dead people,” Lula said to Howie. “You better not have any of them in your plan.”

I rubbed out “Take 1” on my chalkboard and wrote in “Take 2.”

“Yada yada,” I said. And I clacked the clacker.

“Action!” Howie yelled.

Lula and Briggs walked down the street. They were bare-assed and barefoot, and it was dark. Mostly the only thing visible was the little red light from the infrared camera following after them.

“I don’t like this,” Briggs said. “I can’t see where I’m going, and I don’t know what I’m stepping in. I just stepped in something squishy.”

“Waa, waa, waa,” Lula said. “You gotta get tough. We got a rocky road ahead of us. We gotta find our way out of this urban jungle.”

“Get ready,” Howie whispered to Grandma. “The first life-threatening danger is coming up. You have to get some light on their faces.”

Lula and Briggs were creeping along. I saw movement in a doorway to Lula’s left, and a woman threw a cat out at them. It bounced off Lula and landed on its feet.

Gurrhr, phffft, RAAAWR!

“What the freaking Sam Hill!” Lula said. “That sounds like a wild cat. It’s one of them vicious killer wild cats.”

Lula was jumping around, waving her arms in the air, not sure which direction to run. She stepped back, crashed into Briggs, and knocked him on his ass.

Grandma flashed the light on Lula and then on the cat. It was a fluffy white cat with a pink collar.

“It don’t look like a killer cat,” Grandma said. “It’s a pussycat.”

“Well, I hate cats. I’m allergic to cats,” Lula said. “And anyways you never know which one of them is a killer.”

She bent down to pick Briggs up, and she farted.

“Cut!” Howie yelled.

“What do you mean ‘Cut’?” Lula asked. “You keep yelling ‘Cut’ and we’re never gonna get done with this thing.”

“You farted,” Howie said.

“It’s a human dilemma,” Lula said. “You telling me you don’t fart?”

“Not on camera,” Howie said.

“Well, excuse me,” Lula said. “It was my body releasing all my pent-up frustration. It’s not like this here’s a perfect filming experience for me. Every time I turn around, Short Stuff got his nose in my business. But I’m not acting like some prima donna and complaining about it.”

“Maybe I don’t like that your business is always in my face,” Briggs said. “You ever think of that?”

A woman came out from the doorway and scooped up the cat.

“Good kitty,” the woman said. “Good job.” She looked over at Howie. “Will you need Snowball any more?”

“No,” Howie said. “We’re done with Snowball.”

“I think I skinned my ass when Sasquatch knocked me over,” Briggs said. “Someone look and see if I’m bleeding.”

“Excuse me for knocking you over,” Lula said, “but it was a frightening experience. Just like it was supposed to be. It was supposed to point out the dangers of moving around in a city where you got cats and shit. I bet we got some good film on that. Like I had fear going. That’s genuine emotion.”