Game On: Tempting Twenty-Eight (Stephanie Plum #28)(63)

Lucca got cuffed, and I was pried loose from his leg and helped to my feet. Vinnie looked even worse than I did. He had a bloody gash on his forehead and an eye that was starting to swell and bruise.

“What?” I asked, looking at Vinnie.

“He head-butted me in the crapper,” Vinnie said. “Knocked me out and got the key to the cuffs.”

“It’s one of my specialties,” Lucca said. “It’s like my head’s made of granite.”

Vinnie thanked the cop and the cart driver and pressed some money into their hands.

“Do you want some first aid?” I asked Vinnie.

“No,” he said. “I want to get this asshole locked up in jail.”

We marched Lucca across the road and into short-term parking. Vinnie smiled when we got to the Bronco.

“This is what you’re driving?” he asked.

“It belongs to a friend of mine,” I said.

“Sweet,” Vinnie said. “No wonder you didn’t want Lucca taking a leak in it.”



* * *




I chose to take Lucca to the back door of the police station rather than parking in the lot across the street and walking him over. It was late. It was dark. I had chocolate shake down the front of me and chili in my hair.

Vinnie walked Lucca in, and fifteen minutes later Vinnie came out with his body receipt. Mission accomplished.

“Now what?” I asked Vinnie. “Do you want to go to a clinic to get your head stitched together?”

“No,” Vinnie said. “Take me home.”

Vinnie lived in an upscale neighborhood in Ewing Township. I took Perry Street to West Hanover and got a call from Diesel.

“One of my men on the street spotted Oswald leaving a Starbucks on State Street. Oswald got into a black Porsche and long story short, my man was following in a cab and a couple minutes ago he lost Oswald a couple blocks before Stark Street. I don’t know where you are but if you’re in the area keep your eyes open.”

“I’m stopped at a light on West Hanover. I’m taking Vinnie home and I’m not far from Stark.”

I hung up and told Vinnie to look for a black Porsche 911. I gave him the plate number and I turned onto State Street.

“I might see it,” Vinnie said. “There’s a black car half a block in front of us that could look like a 911. Who are we tailing?”

“I’m hoping it’s Oswald Wednesday.”

“The black car just turned onto Stark.”

I was four cars back and I got stopped by a light. I put my flashers on and jumped the curb and crept along on the sidewalk until I got to Stark. Vinnie was loving it.

“This is what it’s all about,” he said. “The chase. And I don’t care what anyone says, you’ve got balls the size of Volkswagens.”

I got onto Stark and saw the 911 ahead of me. I got close enough to read the plate and knew it was Oswald’s car.

“Call the police and tell them we have Oswald Wednesday in pursuit,” I said to Vinnie. “Tell them we’re on Stark Street.”

I called Ranger on my phone and told him we were following Oswald’s Porsche. Problem was that it might not be Oswald behind the wheel. No matter, I was committed to the chase.

Stark Street starts out okay but the farther you travel the worse it gets, until it looks like a war zone with rats the size of dinosaurs. When we got to the fifth block the pill pushers and lady plumbers disappeared from the street corners. The Porsche was still in front of me. Impossible to know who was driving. I didn’t see any sign of the police. The Porsche pulled to the curb in the middle of the sixth block, and someone got out from behind the wheel and ran into a dark alley between two bombed-out buildings. Vinnie and I got out and ran into the alley. Vinnie took the lead with gun drawn. We reached the end of the buildings and heard gunfire on Stark Street. We turned and cautiously crept back to Stark, staying in the alley’s shadows.

A large black SUV, a Tahoe maybe, was next to the Bronco. It fired one last shot and the undercarriage of the Bronco caught fire. The fire licked up around the car and the black SUV drove away.

“What the what?” I said.

Two minutes later a Rangeman SUV angle-parked behind the flaming Bronco. Ranger’s Porsche parked behind the Rangeman SUV. I came out of the alley and stood on the sidewalk, gaping at Diesel’s Bronco.

Ranger came over and draped an arm around my shoulders. “Babe,” he said, “you destroyed two cars in one day. Way to go.”

“I was following the Porsche. It parked and someone got out and ran into the alley. Vinnie and I chased him and all of a sudden there was gunfire back on Stark. When we got to the street a black SUV was shooting up Diesel’s car.”

“This is the yellow and black Bronco?” Ranger asked.

“Yes.”

Tank was standing next to Ranger. Tank’s name says it all. He’s second in command at Rangeman and he watches Ranger’s back.

“Yellow and black’s gang colors,” Tank said. “This part of Stark belongs to Demon. Yellow and black is Venom colors. You don’t drive a yellow and black car in Demon territory. The shooters probably thought someone was in the car.”

Another Rangeman SUV and two police cars arrived.

“You’re getting special treatment,” Ranger said to me. “The police won’t ordinarily patrol this block.”