Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum 24)

“Read through his file. Does he have a significant other? He’s some sort of activist. Does he belong to any organizations? Political affiliation?”

“There’s nothing like that in here.”

I called Morelli. “I’m looking for a twenty-nine-year-old guy who has no job and no address. He’s confused about his gender, and he blew up a building trying to cook meth.”

“Zero Slick,” Morelli said.

“Yeah. How do I find him?”

“He’s a paid activist. He gets fifty bucks and a ride on a bus, and he holds up a sign at whatever event he’s assigned.”

“And?”

“Don’t know beyond that. You need to look for some sort of protest.”

I disconnected and drove out of the lot. “You need to find a protest,” I said to Lula.

“Anything special you have in mind?”

“No.”

“How am I supposed to do this?”

“Go to Google and ask for future protests in Jersey.”

“Google isn’t telling me anything,” Lula said, “but there’s some idiot holding a town hall fiasco at the firehouse tonight. I know about it on account of they canceled bingo. Your granny is probably going to be there protesting the canceling. Does that count?”

My Grandma Mazur moved in with my parents when my grandfather checked in to Hotel Heaven. My father is of the opinion that this left him in hell on earth. My mother is a good Catholic woman who goes to mass at least three times a week and prays for God to help her have a cheerful, charitable attitude. When that doesn’t work, she drinks. Personally, I think Grandma is a hoot, but then I don’t have to live with her.

“Do you know anything about the idiot?” I asked Lula.

“He’s some politician.”

“Good enough. Do you want to go to a town hall fiasco with me tonight?”

“Sure. Haven’t got anything better to do since they canceled bingo.”

THREE

EDWARD KOOT WAS next on my to-do list. He lived alone in a small row house three blocks from the coffee house he shot up. I thought chances were good that he was home since he was now unemployed.

“He even looks angry in his picture,” Lula said, paging through Koot’s file. “I could tell you what his problem is right now. He needs Botox. I always say, you are what you look. I bet you shoot this man up with Botox, and his whole personality changes.”

I slowly drove past Koot’s house. No activity on the street. Shades drawn on all the windows. I turned into the alley that intersected the block and stopped when I got to the back of his house.

“Someone’s in there,” Lula said. “The shade’s up, and I can see someone walking past the window. Probably it’s the kitchen.”

I dropped Lula off with instructions to stay put unless he bolted. I drove around to the front, parked, and went to the front door.

Koot answered on my second knock. “What?” he asked.

I introduced myself and told him he’d missed a court date and needed to reschedule.

“I’m not going to no stupid kangaroo court,” Koot said. “I’m the one who should be suing. Every day I get a caramel macchiato. I’m a loyal paying customer. And all of a sudden I get a half a macchiato from some new little snip just started working there. And do you know what she told me when I asked for the rest of my macchiato? She said, ‘Move along, old man. You’re holding up the line.’ The hell I will, I told her. And then she said she was gonna call the police. Can you imagine? It was like I was on an airplane. What’s happening to this country?”

“I understand your frustration, but probably it wasn’t a good idea to shoot up the coffee shop.”

“You can only push a man so far,” Koot said.