Lula, Bob, and I left the SUV and stayed in the shadows as we crept up to our target. Lula and Bob plastered themselves against the side of the building and I moved around it, looking in windows. Most of the rooms were dark and empty. I reached the back of the building and I saw Nutsy strapped to the chair. He was slumped over, not moving. I couldn’t tell if he was dead or alive. No one else was in the room with him. I continued around to the far side of the building. The shades were down here, but there was no sign that lights were on or that people were inside. I scuttled across the front and rejoined Lula and Bob.
“I can see Nutsy,” I said. “He seems to be alone, but I find that hard to believe.”
“Are we going to go get him?” Lula asked. “I’m ready. I saw that picture of him, and I don’t like clowns being treated like that.”
“We’re going in through the back door and we’re going to get him out as fast as possible,” I said. “If it’s necessary we’ll use the flash-bangs and smoke bombs before shooting.”
“Okay,” Lula said. “I got it. Flash-bangs, smoke bombs, and then shoot. Is your heart racing? My heart is racing.”
“Yeah,” I said, “my heart is racing.”
Not as much as when I thought about marrying Ranger, but it was up there.
We inched our way around to the back of the building and I went to the back door. I looked in the window. Still only Nutsy in the room. I tried the door. Unlocked. Not a good sign.
Lula and Bob were close behind me.
“On the count of three,” I said. “One, two, three.”
I opened the door, we tiptoed in, and I immediately went to Nutsy. His color wasn’t good, but he was breathing. He was taped to a flimsy kitchen chair, and I decided it would be easier to transport him on the chair. I tipped it over and dragged it toward the door. Lula ran over to help, and that’s when Martin Plover walked in from the front of the house, gun drawn. Frankie came in through the back door.
“Set the chair down and back away from it,” Martin said. “Now!”
“Jeez, don’t get your shorts in a bunch over it,” Lula said. “This man is a clown. Have some respect.”
A third guy came in from the front of the building. He had a large steel barrel on a hand truck.
“We haven’t got enough barrels,” he said, looking us over. “I only brought three. What are you going to do with the dog?”
“We’ll turn him loose,” Martin said.
“You’ll get into big trouble for that,” Lula said. “We got leash laws in Trenton.”
“This is going to be fun,” Frankie said.
“Shut up,” Martin said. “This isn’t fun. It’s business. And I’m not happy about it. I’m tired of cleaning up your fuckups. You’re lucky one of these barrels doesn’t have your name on it.”
“Jeez,” Frankie said. “That’s harsh. I have some good ideas.” He looked over at Lula and me. “The balloons were my idea. And I was the one who texted you.”
“I liked the balloons,” Lula said. “They were a good touch. We would have had a hard time finding the house without them.”
“It sounds like you want to put us in the barrels,” I said to Martin. “Do you think we’ll fit?”
“We’ll make you fit,” Martin said, still scowling at his son. “I knew you and your sidekick would eventually come looking for Manley. It’s what you do, right? It turns out that killing is the easy part. Disposal is the hard part. I don’t mind digging one shallow grave at a time. Three is too much. So, we’ll pack you all up in the barrels, and Daryl will put the barrels in his truck, drive them to his boat, and dump them offshore. Very clean.”
“I’m not getting in no barrel,” Lula said. “I’ve got plans for the rest of the evening.”
“You’re going in first,” Martin said.
“The hell I am,” Lula said.
She reached into her tote bag and was pulling out her gun when Martin shot her. Bob ripped the leash out of my hand and lunged at Martin, clamping his teeth onto Martin’s wrist, shaking it like it was a dog toy. The gun fell out of Martin’s hand and skittered across the floor. I threw down a flash-bang in the direction of the gun, squeezed my eyes shut, and put my hands over my ears.
The instant the flash was over I grabbed my stun gun and tagged Martin. The barrel guy was staggering around, disoriented, and I managed to take him down too. Frankie had attempted to run out the back door but was blinded by the flash-bang and had crashed into Nutsy, still strapped to the chair. I cuffed Frankie and left him sitting on the floor.
“I’m dying,” Lula said, sprawled on her back. “I’ve been shot. It’s all over. Tell Julio I’m sorry I couldn’t make it for the end of Smackdown.”
“I don’t think you’re dying,” I said to her. “I don’t see any blood. I think you fainted. It looks to me like he shot your purse.”
“Are you kidding me? Damn him anyways. That’s a Gucci knockoff.”
“Do you have cuffs in there?” I asked her. “I only had one pair with me, and I put them on Frankie.”
Lula sat up and found a pair of cuffs in her bag. The barrel guy’s fingers were starting to twitch, so I used the cuffs on him. I gave the stun gun to Lula and told her to give Martin Plover more volts if he moved. I ran to the SUV, got another set of cuffs and a roll of surgical gauze, and returned to the building. Martin’s wrist was bloody and mangled from Bob’s giant canines, so I wrapped it in gauze and then cuffed him.
Bob was sitting in the middle of the room. He looked dazed and he was drooling. I put my arm around him and gave him a kiss on the top of his head.
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t want to shoot anyone, so I went with the flash-bang.”
My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was Diggery.
“I think we finally found him,” Diggery said. “The address is a little dicey so I’m hoping you can get here quick.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m in a fancy neighborhood. Just look for the big white house on Lasso Way. It’s got one of those circle driveways and my truck is parked one house away. We’re in the backyard. The missus of the house is passed out in bed, like always. The mister is out, and I don’t want to be here when he comes home.”
“Lasso Way sounds familiar,” I said. “Who owns the house?”
“Martin Plover.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “He isn’t coming home any time soon. I’m on my way. Don’t go anywhere.”
I called Morelli.
“Where are you?” I asked him.
“Route 1. I should be home soon. Forty-five minutes, maybe.”
“I have something you need to see. It’s on Lasso Way. I don’t have the exact address but it’s Martin Plover’s house. Can you do a detour?”
“Are you going to be there?”
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll do a detour.”
The two Plovers and the barrel guy were gaining function, mumbling and rolling around.