Turbo Twenty-Three (Stephanie Plum #23)(48)

The pizza delivery car stopped in front of the office, and the delivery kid got out with the pizzas.

“Hurry up,” Lula yelled at him. “Can’t you see I’m in need of a pizza? You think I got all day? I received bad news and I gotta console myself. I’m one of them comfort eaters.”

She took the two pizza boxes, stuffed some money into the kid’s hand, and brought the pizza to the desk.

“I knew it was a mistake to have that cat in the film,” she said. “He was a scene stealer, and it was hard for people to tear themselves away from him so they could see me showing my mix of terror and bravery all at the same time.”

Lula took a piece of the extra-cheese pizza and sunk her teeth into it.

“Good thing I got a backup plan,” Lula said. “I thought something like this might happen on account of you never know if people got any taste. It could have been some intern who knows nothing that got my film. Or she could have had a bad day. Like she might have got up this morning and found she had a STD. That could affect the way you think all day.”

I helped myself to a piece of the extra-cheese and Connie took from the box with the works.

“I suppose you’re wanting to know what my next audition tape is going to be,” Lula said. “Remember I told you about naked bungee jumping? Only it won’t be for Naked and Afraid because it don’t fit their format. I’m thinking we send it to CNN. They got that Anthony Bourdain show, and me and Briggs would be the perfect lead-in. We could do a travelogue of naked bungee jumping all over the world. Problem is, Bourdain might look lame after people get to watching me and Briggs. Bourdain might have to up his game.”

“Why would you do it naked?” I asked.

Lula took a second slice of pizza. “That’s our thing. Like, it’s our trademark. Anybody can go bungee jumping, but how many people go naked? You see what I’m saying? We could bungee jump off that bridge in London or off some crazy rope bridge in Africa. And then I was thinking for the second season we could do naked zip-lining.”

I had a mental image of Lula zip-lining through a jungle, screaming like Tarzan. Hilariously funny and utterly awful.

“My problem is I gotta find a place to bungee jump here in Trenton,” Lula said. “After I get to be famous I imagine they’ll let me jump from anywhere, but this first film could be tricky.”

“Are you jumping at night or during the day?” Connie asked.

“Most likely at night,” Lula said. “We got the infrared camera, and I’m thinking it adds drama to the event. Plus I noticed the dimples in my ass don’t show up on infrared.”

“You have a double problem,” Connie said. “You have to find someplace they’ll let you jump, and then you have to figure out a way to do it without getting arrested for indecent exposure.”

“It pretty much rules out all the bridges,” Lula said. “And there’s some big buildings going up, but I’ve taken a look at most of them, and they don’t lend themselves to bungee jumping. Some people use them big skyhook cranes for jumping. We could do that if I could find one in the right spot.”

“What about the junkyard?” Connie said. “They have that catwalk running between the control tower and the giant magnet that picks the cars up and puts them in the crusher.”

Lula’s eyes got wide. “That’s perfect. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. I even got a good relationship with the asshole who runs the junkyard. We go way back.”

I looked over at Connie and gave her a “What, are you nuts?” gesture.

“That’s a terrible idea,” I said to Lula. “You’re going to die. You don’t know anything about bungee jumping.”

“I Googled it,” Lula said. “I’m pretty sure I could do it. And anyways, I’m sending Briggs off first.”

I drove to Hamilton Township and found Ducker’s apartment complex, which consisted of eight two-story blocky redbrick buildings arranged around a parking lot. Entrances were flanked by fake white columns. Landscaping was minimal. I’d been here before, and I knew everyone had either a patio or a balcony in the back. Not high-end luxury but not ghetto either. More than I could afford.

Ducker’s silver Kia was parked close to his building. Probably he was in his apartment, cleaning his gun and plotting his revenge on Bogart. It didn’t seem likely that he had a massive freezer, so turning Bogart into a Bogart Bar might be difficult.

I was here because I was curious. I didn’t expect the visit would accomplish anything beyond confirming Ducker was tucked away in his apartment and not out hunting down Bogart. Not that I cared a whole lot about Bogart. I didn’t want to see him dead, but I wasn’t liking him either. And I could feel my initial outrage about the Bogart Bar crime fading. It looked as if I was done snooping for Ranger. Good riddance to that job. My nose still glowed in the dark.

I sat in the lot, watching Ducker’s building. Not sure why. It was like a boring book that you keep reading because there’s the promise that something astonishing might happen on the next page. After an hour with nothing astonishing happening on the Ducker front, I gave it up and drove home.





TWENTY-ONE


BRIGGS WAS SITTING on the floor in the hallway, his back to my front door. I was tempted to turn and run, but he saw me exit the elevator, and he would have run after me.