Game On: Tempting Twenty-Eight (Stephanie Plum #28)(42)

Oswald turned down a side street and we ran after him. He was surprisingly fast for a pudgy little guy. Lula sounded like a steam engine with asthma, chugging beside me.

“Damn,” she gasped, “the son of a bagel can run.”

I wasn’t gaining on Oswald, but I wasn’t dropping behind, either. He entered a building and took the stairs. One floor, two floors, three floors. My lungs were burning, and my legs were failing me. Lula was still on the street. Oswald took a door and disappeared. I was cautious at the door. I didn’t know if he was armed. I opened the door and jumped to the side. No one shot at me so I peeked out. The door opened to a hallway and an elevator. No Oswald in sight. I carefully walked into the hall and looked at the elevator. It was going down.

I called Lula to tell her to monitor the elevator. No answer. I went back to the stairs and ran down. I got to the first floor and heard gunshots below me. I had an adrenaline surge that had my heart rate at stroke level. I burst out of the door at ground level and almost knocked Lula over.

“What happened?” I asked Lula. “I heard gunshots.”

“I was standing here catching my breath and next thing he came out of the elevator. I had my gun in my hand and I said, ‘Stop, or I’ll shoot.’ He did one of those kung fu moves you see on television and knocked me on my ass. I fired off a couple shots, but he got away.”

This wasn’t a surprise to me. I’ve seen Lula fire point-blank at a target and miss it. Lula was the worst shot ever.

We walked back to the car, keeping watch for Oswald. We didn’t see Oswald and when we got to the car it had a police boot on the left front tire and a ticket on the windshield.

“What the heck?” Lula said. “The police truck must have been sitting around the corner waiting for someone to park here.”

I called Morelli and told him about Oswald and the parking problem.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Morelli said. “Stay with your car.”

An hour later, the boot got removed but the ticket stayed on my windshield. I didn’t see Diesel cruising around. I didn’t see Oswald waltz by. And Lula had already taken an Uber back to the office. It was after five o’clock when I drove into my apartment building’s parking lot. The remains of the motor home had been removed and the blacktop had been swept clean. I bypassed the stairs and took the elevator to my apartment.

Diesel was in the kitchen pulling containers out of a grocery tote bag. Green salad, steak fries, cheeseburgers, seven-layer carrot cake with cream cheese frosting. “Ana brought us dinner,” he said. “I told her I was in a burger mood.”

“I’ve never met her, but I love her,” I said.

I went into the dining room to dump my messenger bag by my seat at the table and looked into the living room. My furniture was gone and in its place was a new overstuffed, arctic gray couch in a soft chenille fabric, two matching swivel chairs, a new iron and glass coffee table, and a large flat-screen television.

“Excuse me,” I said to Diesel.

“What?”

“The furniture.”

“Ana got it. I told her I needed a television and she sort of ran with it.”

“What was wrong with my television?”

“It was fuzzy and there’s a game I want to watch tonight.”

“This is why you can’t stay here,” I said. “You have no boundaries. You come in and take over.”

“Do you want your stuff back?”

I gave up a sigh and acknowledged that I was doing way too much sighing. The sighing was getting old. “No,” I said. “I don’t want my stuff back. Thank you.”

“Problem solved,” Diesel said.

How could I possibly want my stuff back? My stuff was old and horrible.

I returned to the kitchen, filled a plate with food, and took it to the table. “Did you have any luck finding Oswald today?”

“No,” Diesel said. “I cruised around for about an hour and gave up. I needed to go back to the apartment to do some computer work.”

“I never pictured you as a computer guy.”

“It’s hard to avoid it. How do you picture me?”

“Beach bum.”

“That’s the guy I want to be. How was your day?”

“After I got my FTA rebonded, Lula and I went into town to look for Oswald. I saw him come out of an office building and I chased him and lost him.”

“I’ve never been instructed to apprehend him before,” Diesel said, “but he’s been a bad actor in other projects where I’ve been involved. He’s unpredictable because everything is a game to him. He doesn’t always do what’s expected or logical. He’s like a cat that enjoys playing with a mouse before eating it. I’m sure he loved having you chase him just like he got off on our car chase three days ago.”

I finished eating and opened my laptop. First up was an email from Grandma.

You made local news, she wrote. There was an article on the viewing last night and the size of the crowd. They had a picture of the mob scene in the lobby and you’re right up front. It’s a real nice picture of you. I read the paper online, and I took a screen shot for you. I attached it to the bottom here.

I looked at the picture, and what caught my attention more than the photo of me was the woman standing a couple people behind me. She was just a face in the crowd, but I was almost certain it was the woman I’d seen at Melvin’s door, Charlotte Huck.