Fearless Fourteen - Janet Evanovich [69]
I absentmindedly looked around as I took another step forward. Two people in front of me. Three lined up behind. There were five registers working. I was in the line farthest from the door. I looked over and saw a stocky guy push in. Big head, balding, curly black hair. Unibrow. Looked like he slept in his clothes. Dom.
I had nothing on me to help subdue him. Stun gun, pepper spray, cuffs were in my purse in the car. He was bigger and meaner than me, and I had no legal reason to apprehend. I moved out of line, keeping my eye on him, trying to be invisible. My plan was to work my way around to the door and try to follow him when he left.
Dom was rumbling around, looking for the shortest line. My line moved forward, Dom elbowed his way over and spotted me. Our eyes locked for a moment, and Dom whirled around and shoved his way to the door. His effort was misconstrued as line-breaking, and this was an unfortunate thing, since line-breaking doesn’t go down well in Jersey.
“Asshole,” some woman said, giving him a hard shot to the kidney.
Dom instinctively turned on her and coldcocked her with a punch to the forehead. The woman went down to the ground and the rest was pandemonium. I dove for Dom and missed him by inches. Mothers were grabbing for their children and dropping food. Clucky Chicken was in the mix, waving his wings, trying to keep his footing. I slid on mashed potatoes and took Clucky down with me. A pack of people piled on top of us.
“I hate this lousy job,” Clucky said, kicking people off him. “This is the third time this has happened this month.”
I was on hands and knees, and I saw Brenda and her crew at the door. Brenda had a mic in her hand and the camera guy was filming.
“This is Brenda reporting from Cluck-in-a-Bucket,” Brenda said. “Bringing you a live update on the latest developments in the hunt for the missing nine million dollars. We’re here to interview Stephanie Plum.”
I dragged myself to my feet and picked mashed potatoes out of my hair. I was drenched with soda and covered with gravy. I looked around, but I didn’t see Dom.
“So,” Brenda said, pointing the mic at me, “are you making any progress at locating the money?”
“How did you find me?” I asked her.
“We were driving by and saw the Zook car in the parking lot.”
Great. The Zook car.
“No comment,” I said, easing my way past the film crew.
“Jeez,” Brenda said. “Give me a break here. I’m trying to get something going. Do you have any idea what it’s like for a sixty-one-year-old woman in show business? The only parts you can get are witches and grandmothers.”
“What about the stage show?”
“The stage show sucks. I’m playing Trenton, for crying out loud! All the men in the act are gay and all the women are forty years younger than me. Okay, I know I don’t look my age, but I’m busting my ass on maintenance. I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up before I need more work.”
“What kind of work?”
“All kinds of work. My facelift is eight years old. I’ve got two years, tops, and then the warranty runs out. The implants are shifting in my breasts, and these young guys I’m fucking are killing me. I’m going to need a vagina transplant.”
“Maybe you should consider a man more your own age.”
“Have you ever seen a man my age naked? It’s frightening. It’s like everything has stretched. And then you do the deed with him and it’s like fucking Rubberman. And halfway through, you’re wondering what the heck that noise is and you realize he’s fallen asleep and he’s snoring. You have to have football playing on television to keep him awake.”
“Sometimes Joe watches football after.”
“Joe. Is that the Italian Stallion who turned the hose on me?”
“Yep.”
“No offense, but I wouldn’t mind doing him.”
“No offense taken. Almost everyone wants to do him.” I looked down at my shirt. The gravy was congealing. “I need to get home and change my shirt.”
“Well, there you have it from Stephanie Plum,” Brenda said to the camera.