Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum #24)(30)

We all wanted dessert.

? ? ?

We finished lunch and pushed back from the table.

“I’d offer to help you take down Johnny,” Grandma said, “but I got an appointment at the hair salon. I have to keep up appearances in case my honey decides to visit me or vice versa.”

My mother still had the cake knife on the table. She was looking like she wanted to plunge it into her heart and end it all, so I removed the knife from the table, washed it, dried it, and put it back in the knife drawer.

“Great lunch, Mrs. P.,” Lula said. “You sure know how to put out a spread.”

I gave my mom a hug. “Thanks for the lunch. Don’t worry about Grandma.”

“I’ll never forgive your grandfather for dying,” my mother said. “God bless his soul.”

? ? ?

Lula and I drove four blocks and parked across the street from Little Pinkie Chucci’s house.

“It doesn’t say anything about him in the file,” Lula said. “Is he married?”

“He’s married to a guy named Butch. They both work at the gym on Center Street. Butch is a physical therapist, and Little Pinkie is a trainer.”

We crossed the street, and I rang Little Pinkie’s doorbell. No one answered, but there was a lot of barking on the other side of the door. I rang the bell a second time, and the barking continued.

“I’m guessing that Little Pinkie and Butch are at work, and Johnny isn’t here either,” I said. “If someone was home they would have attempted to stop the barking.”

Lula was already creeping around the house, looking in the windows.

“The dog that’s making all that noise is about three pounds. It’s one of those Chihuahua dogs,” Lula said. “I can see the little ankle biter looking up at me.”

I moved next to Lula, checked out the dog, and continued walking. I was able to see the kitchen from the back door window. Everything was neat and clean. Two cereal bowls and two juice glasses in the dish drain. No indication that a third person was living in the house.

“No sign of Mr. Underpants,” Lula said. “Now what?”

“Now we go to the gym to talk to Little Pinkie.”

“Okay, but don’t forget about Slick. I promised him a camera.”

“It’s on my list.”

Ethel was also on my list. I didn’t think two donuts was going to hold her, and the last thing I wanted was for her to be ravenously hungry when I opened Diggery’s door.

The Center Street gym was a large, blocky freestanding building with statues of Greek gods by the front door. We found Little Pinkie in the free-weights area. I hadn’t seen him in years, but he was as I remembered. Over-muscled and over-tattooed. Dark hair slicked back. Missing a finger.

He recognized me too, and he guessed why I was there.

“Johnny was crashing at my house, but it didn’t work,” Little Pinkie said. “Killer hated him.”

“Killer?” I asked.

“My dog.”

“The Chihuahua?”

“Yeah. It was unpleasant, so Johnny moved out.”

“Do you know where he went?”

“Sure, but I’m not telling you. That would be ratting on my brother.”

“Yeah, but he’s a felon,” Lula said. “And besides that, he’s a goofball. He robbed a jewelry store wearing a pair of tighty-whities on his head.”

“He might have been ’shroomed up, but he’s clean now,” Little Pinkie said. “He’s trying to get his life together.”

“He could get it together in prison,” Lula said. “They got dumbbells there. He could come out looking like you.”

“Something to think about,” Little Pinkie said, “but I’m not telling you where he is.”

We left the gym and went to Lula’s apartment to get the camera. I drove her to the cemetery, but she wouldn’t go beyond the gate.

“You’ve got to take the camera to him,” Lula said. “I don’t like cemeteries, and I don’t like zombies. And the thing is, I’ve got the feeling that I’m one of those people who attracts zombies. And now that we’re here I’m going creepy-crawly.”

“I thought you were all into this. You wanted to be filmed with the zombies.”

“I’m rethinking that part of it. I could be interviewed at some other location, and they could edit me in. They do that stuff all the time.”

I rolled my eyes and blew out a sigh. It wasn’t a spectacular eye roll. I didn’t really have my heart in it. Truth is, I was getting weary of the zombie routine. I took the camera and walked it back to Slick. He was sitting with his back to a tree, and he was writing in a journal.

“What are you writing?” I asked him.

“A book. I’m going to send it to Oprah when I’m done.”

“You have big plans.”

“I’m short. I have to think tall.”

I nodded acknowledgment. It was an admirable philosophy. It would be even better if he threw some common sense into the tall thinking.

“I don’t suppose you’ve spotted any zombies,” I said.

“Not yet. I’m hoping for some good activity tonight.”

I handed the camera to him. “This is from Lula. It didn’t come with an instruction book, but hopefully you can figure it out.” I gave him my card. “Call me if you see any zombies, or if you get tired of sitting here and want to get carted off to jail.”