Top Secret Twenty-One: A Stephanie Plum Novel by Janet Evanovich(44)

“Good grief.”

“So how about it? Maybe you could go talk to Buster.”

“I can’t just go talk to Buster. What would I say?”

“You could ask him if he’s trying to kill me. And then you could tell him to cut it out or else.”

I left Briggs in my apartment and drove back to the bail bonds office.

“Where’s your little buddy?” Lula asked.

“I left him in my apartment. It’s sort of habitable.”

“Aren’t you afraid someone’s going to shoot another rocket through your wall if Briggs is living there?”

“Yes, but it was the best of all the alternatives.”

“You better hope the police find this rocket shooter guy,” Lula said.

I hiked my messenger bag higher on my shoulder. “I’m going to talk to Buster,” I said.

“I’ll go with you,” Lula said. “Maybe I’ll get a look at the killer Chihuahuas. And besides, I want to ride in Ranger’s Porsche.”

Ordinarily you wouldn’t park a decent car on Stark Street, but Ranger’s car was so expensive that it was protected against theft or vandalism. It would be thought that Ranger’s Porsche belonged to either a high-level drug dealer or someone making a major drug investment. And the locals didn’t want to mess with either of those kinds of people. The locals knew to protect the marketplace. Not to mention the Porsche had an alarm system that could be heard for miles. I found a parking place on Stark, and Lula and I marched over to Buster’s building and rang the buzzer on his intercom.

“Talk to me,” Buster yelled.

“It’s Stephanie Plum,” I said. “I came to show you my breasts.”

“Come on up.” And he buzzed the door open.

“That works good,” Lula said. “That’s better than the pizza delivery thing. I gotta remember this.”

Buster was waiting for us at the top of the stairs.

“Two for the price of one,” he said.

“Bad news,” I told him. “I lied about the breasts.”

“How about her?” he said. “I’d rather see hers anyway.”

“Sure,” Lula said.

She pulled one out of her tanktop, and I clapped my hands over my eyes.

“Holy crap,” Buster said. “That’s massive.”

“And because I’m in a good mood,” she said to Buster, stuffing herself back into her clothes, “I’m not even going to charge you for looking.”

“About the real reason for this visit …,” I said.

“You got Jimmy behind bars,” Buster said. “Now what?”

“I want to talk to you about Randy Briggs. Are you trying to kill him?”

“Gee, why would anyone want to kill Briggs? He’s such a sweet guy.”

“Actually, I don’t care if you want to kill him,” I said. “I just don’t want another rocket shot into my apartment. And I don’t want to find Briggs bleeding on my floor. So if you want to kill him, I’d appreciate it if you’d do it someplace far away from my apartment.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Buster said. “You sure you don’t want to show me your tits?”

“I’m sure.”

“Do you want to see mine?”

“No!”



I stopped at a deli on lower Stark, and Lula made a sandwich run while I took a call from Briggs.

“I need to go food shopping,” Briggs said.

“And?”

“I haven’t got a car.”

“Do you have feet?”

“Yeah, but there aren’t any supermarkets nearby, and I can’t carry a whole lot anyway. I swear this is the last favor I’ll ever ask of you. Ever, ever, ever.”

I dropped Lula at the office and picked Briggs up at the back door of my apartment building. He’d cleaned himself up as best he could, but his hair was singed, his face looked sunburned, and he still smelled slightly of smoking rubber.

“I just need some basic things,” Briggs said. “And I want a bottle of wine.”

“There’s a liquor store next to Shop and Bag.”

“This is a really nice car,” he said. “I like riding in it. These seats are real leather, too. Do you get it on with Ranger in this car?”

“Ranger isn’t my boyfriend. Ranger and I have a professional relationship.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean you can’t play hide the salami once in a while.”

I punched XM Radio on, tuned in to an electronic dance station, and turned the volume up. Ten minutes later I swung into the Shop and Bag strip mall parking lot.

“You work on your grocery list, and I’ll get the wine,” I said. “What kind of wine do you want?”

“I want a cabernet. California is okay. And get me a Russian River pinot noir.”

“Sure. What’s your price point? Do you want something in a box or in a bottle?”

“How about you get the food and I’ll get the wine,” Briggs said.

I took his shopping list and looked it over. Seemed simple enough. Bread, milk, cereal, butter, coffee, some deli meat, cookies, and cheese. I added a bag of chips, a frozen pizza, a jar of peanut butter for me, and a chew toy for Bob. I was at the checkout when an explosion rattled the store windows. I left my shopping cart and ran outside. Black smoke billowed off a flaming inferno, and people were running toward something lying in the parking lot.