Explosive Eighteen - Janet Evanovich [51]
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When I ventured out of my bedroom a few hours later, Joyce was dressed and watching television. Her hair was without enhancement, looking freaking scary, and she hadn’t removed last night’s makeup. The overall effect was Bride of Frankenstein.
I slipped into my bathroom and looked at the floor. The dead hair had been removed, but there were ten rounds embedded into the tile. The good news is that I obviously know how to shoot the Glock. One less thing to worry about.
I studied my face in the mirror. The swelling had gone down, but the bruising would stop traffic. I took a fast shower, got dressed, and hustled to the kitchen.
“Coffee!” Joyce yelled at me. “I need coffee.”
“Coming up. Why didn’t you make it for yourself?”
“I couldn’t find any Kona. Where do you keep your good coffee?”
“The same place I keep my crappy, cheap coffee. Oh wait a minute, I only have one kind of coffee.”
If she stayed here long enough, I would for sure kill her. I needed a new plan. Something that didn’t involve hair pulling and bitch slapping, because I’d lose that one. I’d missed my chance to zap her last night. I had to think of something better today. Maybe I could tag team with Lula. One of us could distract her and one of us could zap her.
I made coffee, but beyond that, there wasn’t much. My mom’s leftovers were gone. I had half a box of crackers, half a box of Froot Loops, and hamster crunchies. No milk, no juice, no fruit, no bread. The peanut butter jar was empty. I ate a handful of Froot Loops and brought the rest of the box to Joyce with her coffee.
“This is all I’ve got,” I said. “I have to go shopping.”
“Froot Loops?”
“They’re almost like fruit,” I told her.
“I need cream for my coffee. And I like a croissant for breakfast.”
“Turns out I’m all out of cream and croissants, but I’ll bring something good back for lunch.”
Plus, I would bring Lula and the stun gun.
“I want chicken salad from Giovichinni’s,” Joyce said. “And get a bottle of chardonnay.”
“You bet.”
What I was going to get her was enough volts to light up a small city.
I chugged my coffee, shoved my computer between my mattress and box spring, put the tools of my trade back into my messenger bag, and grabbed a sweatshirt.
“There are a bunch of people trying to kill me,” I said to Joyce. “So keep the door locked and don’t let anyone in.”
“Bring them on,” Joyce said.
I checked my peephole before I opened the door. No one in the hall. Yay. Also, no one in the elevator or parking lot. I drove through town, parked in front of the office, and spotted the Lincoln across the street. I waved to Slasher and Lancer, and joined Connie and Lula inside.
“Whoa,” Connie said. “What happened to you?”
I felt my cut lip for swelling and decided it was almost back to normal. “Parking garage incident.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yep,” I said. “I’m good to go.”
“Anyone we know do this?” Lula asked.
“Razzle Dazzle. He’s one of the idiots after the photograph I don’t have.”
“Talk about idiots,” Lula said. “Those two clowns been sitting across the street for an hour. They’re real dummies. They didn’t shoot at you just now or try to snatch you. They probably don’t even got a Taser. I’m starting to feel sorry for them. It’s like they’re amateurs.”
Connie handed me a file. “I plugged them into one of the search programs for you. They look to me like rent-a-thug. They were both employed as security for one of the casinos in Atlantic City and were terminated six months ago when the casino budget was trimmed. No work record since. Lancelot is married with two kids. Larder is divorced and living with his mother. His last wife got the condo.”
“How many wives has he had?”
“Four,” Connie said. “No kids.”
“And the Lincoln?”
“The Lincoln is hot. It was stolen off a lot in Newark. Do you want me to turn them in?”
“No. The Lincoln is easy to spot. I’d rather know where they are.”
“How’s your stomach?” I asked Lula.
“It was good when I got up, but it’s not so good now,” Lula said.
“Maybe