Turbo Twenty-Three (Stephanie Plum 23)

“Do you want to get in?” Lula asked. “I got a knack for getting in.”

Her knack for getting in was to break a window or door.

“No breaking in,” I said. “I don’t want him to know someone was snooping around.”

We were on the side of the house, and my heart skipped a beat when Butchy’s truck drove up. He turned into the driveway and cut the engine.

Lula and I froze, not sure if we’d been seen. I heard the driver’s door open and close, and I held my breath. I couldn’t see the driveway or the front of the house, but I heard Butchy’s footsteps. He walked from the truck to the front door, the door opened and closed, and a light flashed on in the living room. A moment later a light flashed on in the kitchen. I crept closer to the window, and I saw Butchy go to a drawer next to the sink and take out a gun.

Crap!

“Feet don’t fail me,” Lula said, and she took off running.

I turned and took off at the same time. We reached the end of the block, and ducked behind a parked car a beat before Butchy came out his front door. He looked up and down the street, walked out to the sidewalk, and looked up and down again. He wheeled around and went back inside his house.

Lula and I scurried across the street and jumped into my car. I made a U-turn and took off.

“You’ll notice how I used restraint and didn’t shoot him or nothing,” Lula said. “Only reason I ran was because I knew that’s what you wanted. Ordinarily I wouldn’t run.”

“Running was the right thing to do,” I said.

“I bet he’s the killer,” Lula said. “He’s got a freezer and a gun.”

I turned onto Broad Street. “He’s on the list.”

“Do you think he saw us?”

“He saw something, but I don’t think he recognized us. It was pitch-black, and we were against the house.”

I dropped Lula off and drove home on autopilot. My cellphone rang when I pulled into my parking lot.

“Babe,” Ranger said. “Your car has been in Pennsylvania all afternoon, but your messenger bag has been all over the place.”

“I got a new car. The old one was leaking stuff.”

“Who were you visiting in the Burg?”

“Butchy from the loading dock. Turns out he’s got a large chest freezer and a collection of what I suspect are hijacked shoes, toaster ovens, and microwaves in his garage. And he’s got a gun in his kitchen drawer.”

“And the bar in north Trenton?”

“I was socializing with Kenny Morris. He’s very angry.”

“Does he have a gun and a freezer?”

“Don’t know. It didn’t come up in conversation. I suspect he has a freezer because he lives at home, and his father owns an ice cream factory. Do I have an assignment for Monday?”

“I’d like you at the Bogart factory. It’ll be your last day there. I have technicians working today, and on Tuesday I’ll have the cameras up and running.”

“There’s no way I’m getting back into the clown suit.”

“I’ll work around it.”

I said good night to Ranger and trudged into my apartment building and up the stairs to my apartment. Morelli was asleep on my couch. Bob was asleep on the floor beside him. Bob opened an eye and looked at me and went back to sleep. Morelli woke up and took a couple beats to focus.

“And?” he asked.

“Butchy from the loading dock has a gun.”