Top Secret Twenty-One: A Stephanie Plum Novel by Janet Evanovich(74)

“Help yourself.”

I took a bite and sighed. “Yum.”

“You can say that again. This here’s my favorite pizza place of all time. It’s got something special about it. It must be those herbs.”

I looked at the pizza. Basil leaves, oregano, something else.

“You see these green things?” I asked Lula. “What are they?”

“Herbs.”

“Yes, but what kind?”

“I’m not actually up on my herbs,” Lula said.

I suspected it was weed. Anything this good had to be illegal. I picked them off my piece.

The dogs were restless in the back of the SUV.

“I’m going to walk the pack,” I said.

“You need help?”

“I’ll be fine. Briggs has been working with them, and they’re much better on the leash. Stay here and enjoy the pizza.”

I walked one block toward State Street and turned the corner. I knew there was an empty lot with some scraggly grass halfway down the block. I got to the lot and commanded the dogs to tinkle. They didn’t look immediately motivated, so I walked them around a little on the grass and got most of them emptied out. I came back to the Mercedes and found a note on Lula’s seat.

Got tired of sitting here so I took the last two pieces of pizza to Buster. Maybe I can get him to adopt a dog. Bring the dogs up when you get back.



Crap.

I looked up at Buster’s windows and called Lula. No answer. I didn’t trust Buster, and I had no idea what was going on with the hoodie guy. He didn’t look any different from the rest of the men on the street, but truth is, those guys were sort of scary-looking.

I crossed the street and pushed the intercom buzzer. No answer. I pushed it again.

“Yes,” someone said. Not Buster.

“Is Buster there?”

“No. Come back later.”

The intercom went dead.

I leaned on the button.

“What?”

“Is Lula there?” I asked.

“Who?”

“Lula.”

There was some static and muffled talking. And the door buzzed open. I stepped inside, took Morelli’s gun out of my messenger bag, and crept up the stairs, feeling like an idiot. I had eight Chihuahuas and a gun in my hand. Could it get any more ridiculous?

I stopped at the head of the stairs and listened. Dead silence. I stepped into the apartment and my heart flipped. Buster was sitting on a chair from the dining table with his arms handcuffed behind his back. Lula was out cold on the floor, twitching. The hoodie guy had a gun trained on me.

“What’s going on?” I said, trying hard to control my voice so I didn’t sound like Minnie Mouse.

“Put the gun down,” the hoodie guy said.

“Nope.”

“I’ll shoot you.”

“Maybe I’ll shoot you first,” I said. “Who are you anyway?”

“Miguel.”

“What happened to Lula?”

“Stun gun,” Miguel said. “I think she knocked herself out when she went down. She got no muscle coordination. What’s with the dogs?”

“We thought Buster might want to adopt one.”

“Buster’s not going to be in shape to take care of a dog. You don’t pay up to your creditors, you die. That’s our message. We give him girls and drugs, and we expect payment. That’s fair, right?”

The Chihuahuas were in a pack, pressed against my ankles, shaking bad enough for their eyes to pop out of their heads and roll across the floor.

“Yeah,” I said, “that’s fair, but he can’t pay you if he’s dead.”

“Our accountant writes it off as a bad debt and we move on,” Miguel said. “You can only spend so much time on these losers. Time is money.”

“Okay,” I said. “So how about if I drag Lula out of here and let you get on with your business transaction.”

“No can do that. It wouldn’t be good for my health to leave witnesses like this. I’m going to have to kill all of you. Good thing I got a lot of bullets.”

He clearly thought this last statement was hilarious, and he totally cracked himself up.

“Wha,” Lula said, the twitches turning to thrashing. “Whaaaa’s happening?”

“I might have to shoot her first,” Miguel said.

Lula’s eyes slid half open. “Jesus?”

“No. I’m Miguel,” he said.

Lula pushed herself up to a sitting position. “I’m all tingly.”

“Stun gun,” I said.

“Oh yeah, now I remember. That * stun-gunned me.”

She got to her feet, tugged her ultrashort spandex skirt down over her ass, adjusted the girls, and glared at Miguel.

“What the hell’s the matter with you?” Lula said. “Didn’t your mama teach you anything? You got no manners. And where’s the rest of my pizza?”

The Chihuahuas had stopped vibrating and were at rigid attention, focused on Miguel, their tiny lips pulled back in a snarl.

“Move to the wall,” Miguel said to Lula. “Hands on your head.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“I’ll shoot cutie pie here.”