Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum #25)(27)

Hal shrugged into the windbreaker, hiding his Rangeman patch and holstered gun. Lula fluffed up her magenta hair and tugged her spandex skirt down over her ass. I followed behind, feeling like Frump Girl in my jeans and T-shirt and plain brown ponytail.

The parking area and the front of the warehouse were lit. Not quite as bright as daylight, but bright enough to buy and sell drugs, sex, and Snake Pit T-shirts.

Two garage bay doors had been rolled up, allowing people to enter and exit what had now become the Snake Pit. A band called the Romanian Slippery Unicorn was already onstage, blasting out music that was so bass-heavy I was getting heart arrhythmia. The lighting was lower inside. A cannabis and menthol vapor haze hung over the crowd.

Hal took point to get to the front, plowing through what appeared to be an army of stoner zombies. Lula followed Hal, waving her arms in the air, bobbing her head, and swinging her ass like she was on Soul Train. I stayed in Lula’s wake.

We got close enough to see when Rockin’ Armpits and Victor Waggle were about to take the stage. Hal changed direction and moved us left so we’d be in a good position when they finished playing and headed for the exit.

Hal watched the band and the crowd in full-on Rangeman protective mode. Lula took selfies, posted them for her Facebook friends, and looked like she knew what the band was playing. I focused on Victor Waggle and did shallow breathing, hoping to minimize the contact high.

At eleven-thirty I saw Victor look to the side of the stage and nod to someone. Hal saw it too and began to move us toward the side exit. Ten minutes later, the band played their last song, waved at the audience, and bounded off the stage. We made an effort to follow them but were stopped at the door.

Lula adjusted the girls and leaned forward. “Hold on here,” she said to the doorman. “We’re special friends of all them Armpits. We have a personal relationship. You can ask anybody, except for the little guy with the green hair. We don’t know him personal. Furthermore, I’ve had a request from certain members of the band to pay a visit and work my magic. They gonna be unhappy if you don’t let Lula through to work magic.”

“Okay, you can go in,” the doorman said. “But only you.”

“No way,” Lula said. “I don’t go nowhere without my security detail. When you got talents like I got you need people around who know CPR and shit.”

Most of Lula’s boobs had jiggled out by now with only her massive nipples caught inside the bustier. The doorman was having a hard time looking past the trapped nipple to the security detail.

“Whatever,” he said. “Maybe you want to save some of that magic for me.”

“When I’m done with you, your dick will never be the same,” Lula said. “I’ll ruin you.”

We all hurried through the door and looked around for Victor Waggle. Lighting was minimal, supplied mostly by Maglites and cellphone flashlights. There were thirty to forty people milling around in the small outdoor space. Some looked like the band about to go onstage next. Some looked like groupies and roadies. Some looked like event security. I spotted Russel Frick off to one side, packing his drum set into a cart.

“Hey,” I said, “remember me?”

“Bounty hunter.”

“Yeah. Is Victor here somewhere?”

“He went up front to find a meal ticket.”

“How do I get up front from here?”

Frick pointed to the narrow alley between the buildings. “Follow the yellow brick road.”

I grabbed Hal and Lula, and we ran down the alley to Stark. People were standing around talking, smoking, checking out street vendors. Victor Waggle was with several women in front of a food truck that was selling hot dogs. It looked like he was autographing photos.

We did a flanking maneuver and sneaked up behind him. I had my cuffs ready and was about to clap one on his wrist when one of the women yelled, “PIG!”

Victor whirled around, saw the cuff, and jumped away. One of the women kicked me in the knee, and two others pulled out guns.

“That’s rude,” Lula said to the woman who kicked me. “What’s the matter with you? You don’t kick sisters for no cause.”

“I got lots of cause,” the woman said. “I’m loaded with cause.” And she kicked Lula.

Lula swung her purse and hit the woman square in the face, knocking her off her feet.

Someone squeezed off a couple shots that took out a piece of Lula’s magenta hair before they embedded themselves in the hot dog truck. Everyone either hit the ground or ran for cover.

“I’ve been shot!” Lula screamed. “Lordy, someone help me. I’ve been shot.”

“She just got you in the hair,” I said.

Hal had the shooter by the back of her shirt. He was holding her at arm’s length with her feet not touching the ground. He had her gun in his other hand.

“What do you want me to do with her?” he asked.

“Put her down. We lost Waggle. He ran when she started shooting.”

Hal looked around. “It’s going to be hard to find him now.”

“We can try again tomorrow,” I said.

“Not me,” Lula said. “I’m not coming back here. These people have no respect. I got shoved and kicked and shot at. And I got my hair ruined.” She felt around where her hair had been shot off. “It’s not like hair grows on trees,” she said.