Game On: Tempting Twenty-Eight (Stephanie Plum #28)(62)

“You know nothing,” I said. “The backseat is the baby maker.”

I chugged home in the bulbous, baby blue and white gas guzzler and parked next to Diesel’s Bronco.

“I have to pick Vinnie up at the airport tonight,” I said. “Can I borrow your car?”

“Are you sure you want my car? It doesn’t have portholes in its hood like your car.”

“If I drive the Buick to Newark, I’ll have to stop six times for gas.”

I let us into my apartment and unpacked the food bag. Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, gravy, green beans, a couple of apples, an orange, a bunch of bananas, homemade chocolate chip cookies, a tub of vanilla ice cream.

“Your family never disappoints,” Diesel said. “They always rise to expectations.”

We fixed plates and ate in the kitchen.

“Vinnie comes in at eight o’clock, so I’m leaving here at six,” I said. “You never know what traffic is going to be like on the turnpike, and Vinnie isn’t going to want to sit around in the terminal with a guy in cuffs.”

“Do you want company?”

“Don’t you have anything better to do?”

“Almost anything is better to do,” Diesel said.

True enough.

“I have a videoconference at ten o’clock,” Diesel said, “but I can do it on the road.”

“I thought you weren’t doing any of that anymore.”

“It was a pleasure short-lived. Ana got me up and running again.”

“It’s not necessary for you to tag along,” I said. “Just don’t drink all the wine. I’m going to need a glass after an hour in the car with Vinnie.”

I brushed my hair up into a ponytail, hung my messenger bag on my shoulder, and drove off in the yellow and black Bronco. I hit traffic ten miles before the airport turnoff on the turnpike and slowed to a crawl. This wasn’t a disaster. I’d allowed for it. Besides, I was in a cool car, and I had a superior sound system with a seventies station blasting out music. I reached the airport exit, navigated the jumble of signs, and pulled into short-term parking for terminal B. I went into the terminal and saw on the big board that Vinnie’s plane had landed, so I showed my paperwork to TSA and went straight to Vinnie’s gate.

This wasn’t my first felon pickup, so I knew the drill. Vinnie would be the last to leave the plane. They wouldn’t have checked luggage. We’d go through the terminal as efficiently as possible, straight to the car.

Vinnie had gone to Miami to escort Larry Lucca back to Trenton to stand trial for identity theft. Lucca had skipped out on his Jersey court date in favor of partying in South Beach. Vinnie had tracked him down and apprehended him.

People were beginning to straggle out of the jetway. I was standing close to the open door, watching for Vinnie. The flow of deplaning passengers stopped, and a flight attendant stepped out. Vinnie followed with Lucca. Lucca’s hands were cuffed in front of him. Not as secure as hands cuffed behind, but it would allow Lucca to use the restroom.

Vinnie looks like the human version of a ferret. Slim, black hair slicked back, beady little black eyes, no apparent bone structure. His shirts are too shiny, his pants are too tight, and his rings can substitute for brass knuckles.

Lucca stood three inches taller than Vinnie and weighed about a hundred pounds more. Lucca looked like he could play defense for the Packers.

Vinnie had his hand on Lucca’s right arm, I took the left arm, and we guided Lucca through the crowd of people waiting to board.

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” Lucca said.

“You’re going to have to hold it,” Vinnie said.

“I can’t hold it anymore,” Lucca said. “I didn’t go on the plane and now I have to go.”

I wouldn’t ordinarily care, but I was about to put this monster guy in Diesel’s cool new car. I wasn’t sure what all Lucca had to do in the bathroom, but I didn’t want him doing it in the Bronco.

“Maybe you should let him go to the bathroom,” I said to Vinnie.

Vinnie growled, narrowed his eyes, and yanked Lucca toward the men’s room. I stood guard outside. A couple of men came out. No Vinnie or Lucca. A man went in and came out. Still no Vinnie or Lucca. I was about to call Vinnie on his cell phone when Lucca burst out of the men’s room and ran past me. No handcuffs. I could hear Vinnie swearing inside the men’s room. I figured if he was swearing, he had to be okay, so I took off after Lucca. He was big, but not especially fast. He was plowing through clumps of people, knocking them aside like they were bowling pins. I was running in his wake. I was more agile, but I wasn’t exactly Olympics track material.

We were running flat out following exit signs. Lucca stopped for a moment, confused by the signs, and I body-slammed him. He didn’t budge. He turned and looked at me like what the hell? I slid down his body and wrapped my arms around his leg. He tried to kick me loose, but I held tight. He got his bearings and took off power walking, dragging me along on his leg. People were clearing the way for him, looking on in horror. Okay, truth is, I felt stupid. I mean this was embarrassing, but I wasn’t giving up. I didn’t care if he dragged me all the way to Carteret, he was going down.

I could hear noise behind me. It was the weee-ah, wee-ah siren of a people mover cart. I looked over my shoulder and saw the cart and its flashing red light. It caught up to us and Vinnie jumped out. He had a cop with him. I still held tight to Lucca. Lucca turned and flailed out with his arm, catching a guy carrying a chili dog and a shake. The guy went to the floor and the dog and the shake dumped on me. I was beyond caring.