Top Secret Twenty-One: A Stephanie Plum Novel(52)

“Do you have it someplace you can reach it in a hurry?”

Lula searched through her huge purse, found the gun, and shoved it into the waistband of her black spandex skirt.

Forest Kottel’s photo was stapled to the second page of his file. Weathered face. Lots of tangled hair. Squinty eyes. His description had him at 5′ 10″ and 170 pounds. Caucasian. Connie had listed the color of his eyes as red.

We approached the first box and were at a loss what to do next. No doorbell. No name on the box. Lots more boxes in the alley. No way to know if there was something alive in the box.

“Knock, knock,” I said.

No answer.

“I’m not touching it,” Lula said. “That box got the skeebies. I can tell just by looking at it.”

I toed the box with my sneaker.

“Go away,” said someone from inside the box.

“I’m looking for Forest Kottel.”

“Well, you haven’t found him.”

“Thanks,” I said. “Sorry to disturb you. Have a nice day.”

“He lives in a box,” Lula said. “How nice could his day get?”

We tiptoed past several bedraggled tents and stopped at another box.

“Hello,” I said. “Anybody home?”

I walked around the box and looked inside through a door cut into the cardboard. Empty.

“Hey, look at that beauty of a box that’s alongside the dumpster,” Lula said. “It must be from one of them doublewide refrigerators. Now, that’s a box a man could be proud of.”

She took a step toward the box, and a little brown creature with big ears crept from behind the dumpster. It was followed by a second and then a third creature, all with teeth bared, softly growling.

“Chihuahuas!” Lula said. “It’s the rabid Chihuahuas from hell! Run for your life!”

Lula took off in her five-inch heels, waving her arms and shrieking, and I ran after her. She reached the Buick, wrenched the door open, and jumped inside.

“Did you see them?” she asked when I got behind the wheel. “Did you see their glowing eyes?”

“No. I didn’t see any glowing eyes.”

“They were from hell.”

“I don’t think so,” I said. “I think they were from someone’s cardboard box.”

“Yeah, but they looked ferocious.”

“They were only three pounds each.”

“Like big rats.”

“They didn’t look like rats. I thought they were kind of cute with their big ears.”

“I did like their ears,” Lula said. “But what about the creeping and growling?”

Okay, I had to admit I was freaked about the creeping and growling.

“Now that I’m thinking about it, I bet those dogs just need some bacon,” Lula said. “Everybody feels happy when they got bacon.”

“So you think if we gave them bacon, they’d be friendly?”

“Remember when we had to get past that alligator in whatshisname’s apartment? We just kept feeding him chicken wings. Our problem was we didn’t bring enough wings.”



I drove back down Stark, turned onto State Street, and pulled into a fast-food drive-thru. They didn’t list bacon on their à la carte menu, so I did the next best thing and got a bagful of bacon cheeseburgers.

“Those cheeseburgers smell pretty good,” Lula said. “I might have to test drive one or two of them. And personally, I think those Chihuahuas would have liked some fries.”

“You can have one burger. The rest are for the dogs.”

Kottel wasn’t a high-end bond, but when added to the Poletti capture money, my recovery fee would keep me going for a while. Problem was, I was having a hard time focusing on Forest Kottel when Ranger was tracking a psychopathic assassin who had me at the top of his hit list. I wanted to get Kottel as quickly as possible so I’d be free to help Ranger or maybe to go underground if necessary.

I returned to the alley off Geneva, parked the car, and set off with my bacon cheeseburgers. We approached the big box next to the dumpster, and two attack Chihuahuas circled the box and growled at us. I tossed a burger at them, and eight more dogs instantly appeared. All ten dogs pounced on the burger, devoured it, and then sat back on their tiny haunches looking at me expectantly.

“You got their attention,” Lula said. “You just better hope they don’t figure out there’s more burgers in the bag or they’ll be on you like white on rice.”

A shaved bald head popped out of a flap on the top of the box, followed by a lanky body dressed in a grungy black bathrobe. It was Forest Kottel.

“Who goes there?” he asked. “Who approaches my private lair and disturbs my minions?”

“This guy’s a whackadoodle,” Lula said. “We should have brought the butterfly net.”

“Stephanie Plum,” I said. “I represent your bail bondsman. You missed a court date, and you need to reschedule.”

“You remind me of someone,” Lula said.

Forest stood ramrod straight. “You may remember me from when I stole the moon. Or from when I saved the world from El Macho.”

“That sounds real familiar,” Lula said. “Like I read it somewhere or saw it on the news.”