Turbo Twenty-Three (Stephanie Plum 23)

I supposed that would be me.

“Come on, Randy,” I said. “Let’s go home.”

I walked him to his car and watched him get in.

“Do you have clothes?” I asked him.

“I had a bathrobe. I guess it’s still on the catwalk. Maybe someone will mail it to me.”

“You can’t drive home like this.”

He looked down at himself. “I’ve still got a stiffie.”

“So it’s not all bad,” I said.

“I’d sort of like it to go away.”

“Not my rodeo,” I said.

“You want to go to a bar? Get a drink?”

“You’re naked.”

“There must be a bar where nobody would care,” Briggs said.

“We could try Kranski’s in north Trenton. I know the bartender.”

• • •

Briggs followed me to Kranski’s, and we walked in like there was nothing unusual and climbed onto barstools. A couple guys were watching Monday Night Football, and an older woman was nursing a drink at one of the high tops.

Bertie sauntered over and looked at Briggs.

“Short Stuff hasn’t got any clothes on,” Bertie said.

“He’s had a hard day,” I said. “He went bungee jumping and it sort of went downhill from there.”

“I don’t mind, but I’m going to have to Lysol that stool when he leaves,” Bertie said.

“Vodka rocks with a bourbon chaser,” Briggs said. He cut his eyes to me. “No pockets. No wallet.”

“Run a tab,” I told Bertie. “I’ll have a beer. Surprise me. And we could use some nachos.”

“I know this is one of those pity things, but it’s still nice,” Briggs said. “It’s like we’re friends.”

“It’s not a pity thing. You got dropped a hundred feet. You deserve a drink.”

“It was sort of a rush.”

“Really?”

“No,” Briggs said. “It was heart attack scary. I thought I was going to die. For all I know I did die. Just not forever.”

“Are you going to do the zip-lining film?”

“Maybe. I’m getting to like being naked.”

Bertie brought our drinks and the nachos, and I asked him about Kenny Morris.