Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum #24)(59)

I introduced myself and explained to LeRoy that he’d missed his court date and needed to reschedule. I omitted the part that court was no longer in session so if I brought him in to reschedule he’d most likely be spending the night in jail.

“I’m depressed,” LeRoy said. “I don’t want to go to jail right now. I don’t want to go out of the house. I don’t ever want to go out of the house. I don’t know what came over me. I was having a real good time, and then next thing I was naked and in jail. And now there’s all these pictures of me online. I look like a beached whale. And if that wasn’t bad enough, I passed out on the cake. My kids aren’t talking to me, and my wife moved out.”

“Jeez, that’s horrible. I’m sure it’s only temporary with your kids and wife.”

“I could use a drink,” LeRoy said.

“That might not be a good idea. How about a bucket of chicken? I have a friend in the ER. I have to go pick her up and buy her some chicken and biscuits. You could come along.”

“Chicken might be good.”

I looked at my watch. “I need to get back to her. Shut the television off and lock up your house.”

“Am I going to jail?”

“Yes, but we’re going to get chicken first.”

Five minutes later I was once again double-parked in front of the ER entrance. I left LeRoy cuffed in the back seat, and I ran in to check on Lula.

“How’s she doing?” I asked Louise.

“She’s okay,” Louise said. “She’s finally stopped asking for a Fudgsicle. She has a minor concussion. Nothing serious. She’s ready to be discharged.”

I got Lula out of the building and buckled into the front seat.

“Hello, handsome,” she said to LeRoy. “What’s your problem?”

“He’s FTA,” I said. “I picked him up while you were in the ER. He’s going for chicken with us.”

“What did he do?”

“Drunk and disorderly,” I said.

A loud sigh came out of the back seat.

Lula swiveled around and looked at him.

“I was stupid,” LeRoy said.

“I bet I got you beat,” Lula said. “I just got hit in the head by a drone.”

“I drank too much and passed out naked on my birthday cake,” LeRoy said.

“Did you face-plant?”

“I everything planted. It was a big sheet cake.”

“You win. Did you at least get to eat some of it?”

“I don’t think so. I can’t remember. They hosed me off before they locked me up.”

I swung into the drive-thru and ordered two buckets of chicken, two orders of biscuits with gravy, two extra-large sodas, and two apple pies.

“How come you’re not eating?” LeRoy asked me.

“I have a date later,” I said. “We’re going to the Mexican place by the hospital.”

Another sigh. “I ate there with my wife before she left me.”

“Why did your wife leave you?” Lula asked.

“I embarrassed her when I passed out on my cake.”

“That’s it?”

“It was at Chez Thomas. And I was naked. And then I punched the ma?tre d’ in the face.”

“Sounds like a good time to me,” Lula said. “Any time you want to get naked and cover yourself with cake you just give me a call.”

“Really?”

“Hell, yeah.”

I parked in the Cluck-in-a-Bucket lot, unlocked LeRoy’s cuffs, and distributed the food. By the time I reached the police station on the other side of town, Lula and LeRoy were working on their pie.

“I’ll call you when I get out of jail,” LeRoy said to Lula. “I don’t think I want to pass out on my cake anymore, but we could go bowling or something.”

“I’m up for that,” Lula said. “I’m all about throwing big balls around.”

I walked LeRoy into the station and turned him over to the cop at the desk.

“Sorry it’s too late to bond you out today,” I said to LeRoy, “but Connie will do it as soon as you see the judge tomorrow.”

“Thanks for the chicken,” he said. “I’m not so depressed anymore. And I like your friend Lula.”

I got my body receipt and hustled across the street to Big Blue. I crawled along in rush-hour traffic, finally reached the office, and dropped Lula off at her car. I looked at my watch for the tenth time in fifteen minutes. I was late for Morelli. I circled a couple blocks, found a space, and attempted to parallel park the Buick. Impossible. I finally parked in the hospital garage and power-walked to the restaurant. Morelli was already seated.

“Sorry I’m late,” I said to Morelli. “One of those days.”

“Cupcake, all your days are ‘one of those days.’” He stood and gave me a hello sort of kiss. “That’s why I love you.”

“You love me?”

“Yeah. You didn’t know that?”

“It’s nice to hear. I love you too.”

Morelli grinned. “How much do you love me?”

“A medium amount.”

“Really? Medium? Not a lot?”

“‘A lot’ might indicate impending marriage plans.”