Dirty Thirty (Stephanie Plum, #30)(22)

“I don’t know if we’re so happy about this,” Lula said. “He doesn’t sound like such a nice guy.”

“True. But we know he’s not especially smart, so that gives us an advantage.”

“Yeah,” Lula said. “We’re totally smart. We got smart in spades. And I got a gun.”

I turned into the driveway and parked behind the Range Rover.

“You’re parking behind him so he can’t drive off,” Lula said to me. “That already shows how smart we are.”

I had a dilemma now. What to do with Bob. I didn’t want to bring him to the house and put him in harm’s way. I also didn’t want to leave him alone in the car one more time.

“This is the plan,” I said to Lula. “You take Bob and stay behind me when I go to the door. I don’t want to bring Bob into the house.”

“Yeah, but what if Farcus is in there and things get dangerous?”

“Then I especially don’t want Bob involved.”

I handed Bob’s leash to Lula, and I walked to the bungalow’s front door. I rang the bell and a woman answered. She was midforties with a mess of red hair and a nose ring. She was wearing a tank top that showed off some gym muscle and a lot of tattoos. She had diamond studs in her ears that were about two carats each.

“What?” she said.

“I’m looking for Farcus,” I said. “I saw his Range Rover in the driveway.”

“And?”

“I owe him some money,” I said. “He wasn’t at his house.”

“He isn’t here.”

“His car is here.”

The woman leaned to one side and looked behind me. “What’s with the dog and fatso?”

“Excuse me?” Lula said.

“No insult intended,” the woman said. “I happen to be a personal trainer and I could get that fat off you, in case you’re interested.”

“I’m not fat,” Lula said. “I’m a big voluptuous woman and you’re a skinny bitch. No insult intended.”

“None taken,” she said, “but you’ve gotta get the dog out of here. My Sally Belle doesn’t like other dogs.”

“What kind of dog is Sally Belle?” Lula asked.

“She’s a purebred poodle doodle,” the woman said. “And she’s very sensitive.”

“This here is Bob,” Lula said. “And he’s very orange.”

“About Farcus,” I said to the woman.

“I told you. Farcus isn’t here.”

“Then you wouldn’t mind if I look around.”

“Freaking A, I’d mind,” she said. “Take your orange dog and get your ass off my property.”

I showed her the badge I bought on Amazon and told her I was representing Vincent Plum Bail Bonds and that I had a right to search her house.

“Over my cold dead body,” she said.

“Hunh,” Lula said. “Do the world a favor.”

“You want a piece of me?” the woman said to Lula. “You think you got what it takes?”

“I got more than what it takes,” Lula said. “You’d be a puddle of rancid grease when I was done with you.”

“No rancid grease puddles,” I said. “Let’s keep this civil and professional.”

The woman tried to shut the door, but I got my foot in the way. Lula put her weight to the door and muscled it open. I stepped in first, the woman sucker punched me in the face, and Lula let go of Bob and took the woman down to the floor. The poodle doodle ran in to see what was going on and Bob lunged at the poodle doodle.

“Run, Farcus,” the woman yelled. “Run!!”

I caught a glimpse of Farcus heading for the back of the house and I took off after him. I chased him around the house and saw him jump into his Range Rover. The woman ran out of the house and barely got in the Rover before Farcus put it in reverse and rammed my Cherokee into the road and out of his way. Under more normal circumstances I might have been able to catch him, but I was hampered by the blood dripping out of my nose.

I pinched my nose shut, tipped my head back a little, and walked into the house. Lula was on her feet, arranging the girls and tugging her tiny spandex skirt over her plus-size ass. Bob was in the middle of the room humping the poodle doodle.

“Oh crap,” I said.

“Yeah,” Lula said. “Bob’s doing the nasty with Sally Belle. He’s not just fooling around either. He’s doing some impressive thrusting.”

“We should try to separate them.”

“That don’t seem right,” Lula said. “He’s banging his brains out. Seems like he should at least get to finish.”

“He’s neutered. How much of a finish can he get?”

Lula found her cell phone in her giant handbag and went to Google. “It says here that he can finish. He just can’t make puppies.” She turned her attention from Bob to me. “You’re a mess. You got blood all over you.”

“It’s my blood from when Trundle’s girlfriend hit me in the nose.”

“She got away from me and ran out of the house, and while I was getting myself up off the floor, I heard a car crash. What happened out there?”