Game On: Tempting Twenty-Eight (Stephanie Plum #28)(10)

“It’s a cutie all right,” she said.

He pulled his pants up and grinned. “Thanks. I get a lot of compliments.”

“Is that how you got the indecent exposure ticket?” Lula asked. “Were you just plying your trade?”

“Someone sent me to moon a cranky old lady who didn’t want to be mooned. It’s my first arrest. Usually, people think it’s funny. I get a lot of ladies’ luncheons. Birthday parties and baby showers. Lately I’ve been doing baby reveals. That’s where people find out if it’s a boy or a girl. I write the baby’s gender on my butt cheek.”

“That’s clever,” Lula said. “Entrepreneurial. And I’m all about that. How’s the pay?”

“I’m doing okay.”

“I could drop my pants,” Lula said. “I’d be a good mooner.”

“There aren’t a lot of women in the profession,” Krick said. “You could corner the market.”

“Getting back to your court appearance,” I said.

“Yeah, but he said he had a job,” Lula said. “I’m interested in this. Where are you working, honey?”

“It’s a birthday luncheon,” Krick said. He took a note card out of his shirt pocket. “Mae Horowitz is turning sixty-five today and a bunch of her lady friends are throwing her a lunch party. It’s at one of their houses. It’s on Jigger Street.”

“I know where that is,” Lula said. “It’s on our way to the courthouse. We could drive him to Mae’s party and then after the ladies all get to look at his behind, we could take him to the courthouse.”

“I guess that would be okay, as long as he doesn’t spend too much time with Mae.”

“A couple minutes tops,” he said. “That’s the good part about mooning as opposed to being a stripper or a clown. No one expects you to stay and entertain. I go in and sing happy birthday, I drop my pants and wiggle my butt, and I leave.”

“I’m learning a lot here,” Lula said. “I’m taking notes.”

I had big plans when I was a kid. I fully expected that Tinker Bell would seek me out, douse me with fairy dust, and I’d be able to fly. When I grew out of my Peter Pan fixation, I had a secret life as a superhero. The superhero phase morphed into more adult aspirations and delusions of grandeur. I toyed with ideas of being a doctor, a supreme court judge, a microbiologist, a fashion designer, a fireman, a marine biologist.

None of those aspirations stuck, and when I graduated from college, I got a job in retail. Retail was an epic fail, and now here I am attempting to capture a professional mooner who probably makes more money than I do. How did this happen? When did my bright future go astray and get lost on the road to the shitter? I’m pretty sure this is all Tinker Bell’s fault.

We loaded Krick into my car, and I drove us to Jigger Street. I parked at the curb, behind three other cars.

“These cars must belong to the birthday party ladies,” Lula said. “And we know we’re at the right place because there’s a Happy Birthday balloon attached to the mailbox.”

“Give me ten to fifteen minutes,” Krick said. “This is an easy gig.”

Lula and I watched him walk to the door, ring the bell, and get let in by a smiling sixty-something woman. Fifteen minutes later, we were still waiting.

“I’m going in if he’s not out in five minutes,” I said to Lula.

“They might have kidnapped him,” Lula said. “I understand that these older women can get aggressive. They might not have seen a really nice behind in a while and got carried away.”

“I think it’s more likely that he skipped out the back door and called Uber to come pick him up.”

“That would be disappointing,” Lula said.

After four minutes I got out of the car, went to the door, and rang the bell. The same smiling woman answered.

“I’m looking for the mooner,” I said.

“He left about ten minutes ago,” she said. “He was fun. He’s an excellent mooner.”

I returned to my car and drove around the block. “Keep your eyes open,” I said to Lula.

“I don’t see him,” she said. “Keep driving.”

I turned a corner and Lula leaned forward. “There he is!” she said. “He’s standing on the next corner. I bet he’s waiting for someone to pick him up. Drive closer and I’ll jump out and cuff him.”

I stopped directly in front of Krick, Lula jumped out, waving her handcuffs, and Krick took off.

Lula was wearing five-inch spike-heeled pumps and a red spandex dress that barely covered her hoo-ha. She was running flat-out, knees up, and she was screaming out cuss words at Krick. Krick cut between two houses, and I sped around the block, hoping to cut him off. I screeched to a stop, got out of my car, and looked around. No Krick. Lula ran up, gasping for breath.

“What the fork!” Lula said, tugging her dress down over her ass. “Where did he go? I lost him when I had to get over the fence.”

We listened for footsteps.

“I only hear traffic,” Lula said.

“He’s here. He’s hiding.”

“There are a lot of bushes behind this house,” Lula said. “He has to be in the bushes.”