09 To the Nines (31 page)

I backed myself into the test room and closed the door. I took up a position behind a desk, kneeling with my forearms resting on the desk, two-handing the gun to keep it from shaking. I was doing deep controlled breaths, telling myself to focus, to be a professional.

I heard the door open and I shouted for Clyde to stop. There was a gunshot and I felt the hit to my shoulder. And in that instant, I unloaded everything I had. I squeezed off all six rounds, shooting blind. The last shot was followed by silence. It was solid black in the office. I couldn't see my hand in front of my face. Either Clyde was dead or else he'd retreated. I wasn't willing to leave the desk to find out. It was Dolly Freedman's desk. I reached into her top drawer and got her pepper spray. Then I ducked under the desk and waited.

I heard something scuff in the direction of the door and my heart stuttered. He wasn't dead! The monster wasn't dead. A sob caught in my throat and I blinked back tears. There was the rustle of clothing directly in front of me and I covered my face with my arm and hit the trigger on the pepper spray.

“Oh shit. Fuck!” A man's voice. Not Clyde.

The spray was knocked out of my grasp, a hand grabbed me by the front of my shirt, hauled me out from under the desk and dragged me to my feet, moving me out of the area, away from the spray.

I was told to hold still. I knew this voice. I was held tight to Ranger. He slid goggles over my head and I was able to see in the dark. Ranger had two men with him. Cal and Junior. And Junior was bent at the waist, gagging. That was the one I got with the spray.

“Sorry,” I said.

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand.

I looked to the door and saw feet. Clyde's. The feet weren't moving. Clyde hadn't jumped away fast enough. Turned out Clyde wasn't as smart as he thought.

“Dead?” I asked.

“Looks that way. From what I can see, he took three in the upper body.”

“I was shooting blind in the dark,” I said. “I didn't know if I hit him.”

“Anyone else in the building?”

“He has Albert Kloughn tied up with a bomb strapped to his chest in one of the offices. He said he had another hostage. I don't know who that is. I didn't find the other hostage.” My knees gave out and I sort of sunk into Ranger and dissolved into tears. He had his arms tight around me, holding me to him. He sent Junior in search of the mechanical room to get the lights back on. He sent Cal to search for the second hostage. Then he called Morelli.

“I've got Stephanie,” Ranger said. “She's safe, but there's a hostage unfound and a hostage potentially carrying a bomb. I haven't seen the bomb. I'm going to check it out now.”

“Where's Joe?” I asked, wiping my nose with the back of my hand, trying to regain some control.

“We split up. I got the factory and he went to Clyde's house.”

“How did you know it was Clyde?”

“Cal saw the truck tear past him. He didn't know what the truck driver was up to, but he thought it was suspicious enough to check with Morelli. Cal got part of the plate and Morelli ran it through the system, checking it against the principles.”

The lights flickered and we took our goggles off. Every light flashed on at full power and we got a better look at Clyde. He was lying faceup. The monster was gone and Clyde looked very ordinary in death. In fact, he looked oddly peaceful. Maybe it had been a relief to give up the game.

“Help,” Albert Kloughn said. His voice was barely a whisper.

We all turned and stared at him, strapped to his chair on the other side of the warehouse. His face was red and mottled and he looked like he wasn't going to live long enough for the bomb to explode.

Ranger jogged across the room. “Try not to move,” Ranger said to Kloughn. “I'm coming around to take a closer look.”

We all followed after Ranger, watching from the hall while Ranger went into the office.

“I think it's a dummy,” Ranger said, “but I'm not an expert.” He took out a pocketknife and cut the duct tape away from Kloughn's ankles. He sliced into the tape binding Kloughn to the chair. “I'm not going to touch the device you've got strapped to your chest,” Ranger said. “Stay here in the chair until the police get here with a demolition team.”

Rangers walkie-talkie chirped.

It was Cal. “You have to see this,” he said. “I think I found the second hostage. I'm in the lunchroom.”

We left Junior with Kloughn and we followed the hall to the lunchroom. Cal was standing hands on hips, smiling up at Lula. She was swinging like a giant pifiata from a rope attached to a ceiling fan. She was still wearing the poison green top and the yellow stretch pants and her feet were treading air about fifteen feet off the ground. Her arms were duct-taped to her sides and she had duct tape across her mouth. A thick rope was wrapped around and threaded through the duct tape on her body and then looped around the fan. She had the beady little charging bull eyes, she was making angry mmmmrf mmrff sounds under the duct tape, and she was kicking her feet. Plaster dust was sifting down on her head from the ceiling fixture.

Rangers face creased into a smile. “I love my job,” he said.

“He must have gotten her up there with a forklift,” Cal said. “There's one parked down the hall. Do you want me to drive it down here?”

“Don't need it,” Ranger said, shoving a table under Lula, climbing onto the table.

Her feet were still swinging in the air and she was still kicking.

“You kick me and I'm leaving you here,” Ranger said.

“Hmmph,” Lula said under the duct tape.

Ranger worked at the rope with his knife, the rope gave, and Lula dropped onto the table. Cal reached out to support her and the two of them went to the floor.

I ripped the tape off Lula's mouth and Ranger cut the tape that was binding her arms.

“I was drugged!” Lula said. “Do you believe it? I was taking the garbage out and he shot me in the ass with a dart. That little shit, Clyde. Next thing I know I'm swinging around from the ceiling. I'm beside myself. I'm in a state. I didn't know what to think. I saw some kinky shit when I was a ho, but I never did anything like this.” She looked around, wild-eyed. “I need something to eat. This here's an eating situation.” She spied the vending machine and stormed across the room. “I need money. I need quarters or dollars, or something. Omigod, they got Twinkies in here. I need a Twinkie real bad.”

“What about the supermodel diet?” I asked Lula.

“Fuck that. I hate those boney-ass supermodels anyway. I don't know what I was thinking.” Lula was shaking the vending machine. “Who's got a hammer?” she asked. “Somebody help me out here.”

Ranger slid a dollar into the machine and Lula punched the button.

“Hello, Twinkie,” she said. “I'm coming home. Lula's back in town.”

It was way after midnight when Morelli and I got back to his house. Morelli dragged me up the stairs, stripped my clothes off, and shoved me into the shower. I had paint everywhere. Yellow, red, blue.

“You're a disaster,” Morelli said, standing to one side, watching me.

“Is it coming out of my hair?”

“It's out of your hair, but I think you might have a permanent blue stain down the back of your neck. You're not going to believe this,” Morelli said, “but I'm too tired for sex. I'm beat. I'm not even forty and you've turned me into a burnout. I'm standing here, looking at you naked in the shower, and nothing's happening.”

The soap slid from my fingers, I bent to retrieve it and Morelli changed his mind on the burnout.

“Move over,” Morelli said, peeling his clothes off. “I can see you need help here.”

I woke up feeling great. I opened my eyes and I knew it was over. No more red roses and white carnations. The sun was shining. Birds were chirping. Albert Kloughn didn't explode with the bomb. Morelli was beside me, still sleeping. Life was good. Okay, so I was slightly homeless and I had a blue stain down the back of my neck. Ranger was still at large, waiting to get even for the Apusenja event, but that was in the future. It could be worse. Eventually I'd get my apartment back. And in the meantime I was with Morelli. Who knows, maybe I'll just stay here. Then again . . .

The doorbell rang. I propped myself up on an elbow and looked at the bedside clock. Eight-thirty.

Joe put his hands to his face and groaned. “Was that the doorbell?”

I got out of bed and went to the window. Joe's mother and Grandmother Bella were on the front porch. They looked up at me and smiled.

Shit.

“It's your mom and Bella,” I said. “You'd better go see what they want.”

“I can't go,” Joe said. “My mother would fall off the porch if she saw me like this.”

I looked under the sheet. He was right. His mother would fall off the porch. “Fine!” I said, rolling my eyes. “I'll go. But you'd better throw some cold water on yourself and come down and rescue me.”

I wrapped a robe around myself and ran a hand through my hair on the way down the stairs. I opened the door and tried my best to smile, but my mouth only partly cooperated. .

“Coffee cake,” Joe's mother said, handing me the bakery bag. “Fresh-made today. And Bella has something to tell you.” Joe's mother elbowed Bella.

“It's about the vision,” Bella said. “I was wrong about the dead blond wife and the babies. It wasn't Joseph in the vision. It was Bobby Bartalucci.”

“That's a relief,” I said. “But poor Mrs. Bartalucci.”

“I could have been wrong about the dead part, too,” Bella said. “Maybe she was just sleeping.”

I heard Morelli on the stairs behind me. Felt his hand rest on my shoulder. “Morning,” he said to his mother and grandmother.

“And one more thing,” Bella said to me. “It's about your car. It's going to be blown up. Kaboom. There's going to be nothing left of it, but don't worry, you won't be in it. I had a vision.”

Bella and Joe's mom drove away and Joe and I stood in the open doorway, staring at my car.

“Something to look forward to,” Joe said. And then he kissed me and took the bakery bag into the kitchen.

THE END