It was past 11:30 on Thursday night. Joe Morelli was slumped on his couch, debating whether to crash on it for the night, when the first text came in. Apparently somebody's brother's neighbor's cousin saw Stephanie arrive at Bud's Tavern with three big guys. And just like that, he went from too tired to go upstairs, to awake and aggravated. It wasn't like her to be out that late on a weeknight. And what was she doing with three of his guys while Manoso was out of town?
Morelli had thought that he and Stephanie finally breaking up for good would make his life easier, quieter. He was wrong. Car on fire? He'd get calls and texts. Rolled in garbage? Calls and texts. Out with that damn Cuban Lothario? Double the calls and texts. Joe Morelli and Stephanie Plum were still firmly linked in the eyes of the Burg and its grapevine. At least he'd been able to cut back on the antacids.
Tonight, detail after detail came in as if she was a Kardashian and the patrons of Bud's were compelled to document the event. Multiple sources were eager to let him know: Stephanie and the guys were playing pool; the guys were dancing but Stephanie wasn't; Kenny Hollis got turned down twice; Marsha Mulcahy danced with two of the guys but went home disappointed and alone, and so on.
Thanks to his position as a homicide detective, Morelli couldn't turn off the phone so he did his best to ignore the texts. Tossing the phone onto the coffee table, he checked that Bob the dog was still asleep on the floor by his feet. He pulled the afghan throw from the back of the couch and nodded off.
He was staring into the display case at the Tasty Pastry. Instead of delicious baked goods, the case was full of women he'd dated. He was trying to decide between Terry Gilman and a brunette he'd spent a week with while he was in the Navy when something soft and gooey began hitting him again and again. Looking down he saw he was being pelted with cupcakes, the icing smearing all over him. The cupcakes were piling up at his feet and quickly rising higher, pinning him to the spot. Soon he was engulfed in a mound of cupcakes, limbs locked in place, struggling to breathe under the weight, unable to call for help. A repetitive noise caught his attention. Was it the bakery's fire alarm? Burglar alarm?
Morelli woke with a gasp, tangled in the afghan. He wanted to forget that dream as soon as possible. No symbolism there, no sirree. He pushed it out of his mind as he realized that the noise in his dream was his ringing phone. Expecting to hear about another shooting among the gangs on Stark Street, he answered. It was his buddy Colson in Dispatch, alerting him to a "sitchy-ation". Colson deliberately mispronounced the word, imitating a long-gone Sergeant that had been a pain in both their asses back in the day when they were rookies together.
While Morelli had slept, Stephanie had somehow hooked up with her grandmother Edna Mazur and Edna's friend Marilyn Gluck. The three of them were piled in the Buick known as Big Blue. And everyone's favorite pedantic patrolman, Officer Benny "Picky" Gaspick had pulled them over. Colson found out when Picky had him run the vehicle's plates and Mrs. Gluck's license. When Morelli heard why Picky felt it necessary to detain the trio at 1:45 in the morning, he couldn't help saying "Are you fucking kidding me?" and made Colson repeat it.
Thanking Colson for the info, Morelli disconnected and started an internal debate. Technically, Stephanie was not his problem, nor were Grandma and Mrs. Gluck. Morelli was not at all obligated to check on or assist these people in any way. That was one hand. On the other hand was Officer Gaspick, Pedant Extraordinaire. Nobody deserved him, especially in the middle of the night. Or morning. Whatever. Back to the first hand, he'd hate to see anything happen to either of the two elderly ladies, and the younger one needed a handler at the best of times. Crap.
Cursing under his breath, Joe pulled on his shoes and straightened his sleep-rumpled clothes. He patted Bob on the head and headed out to the location Colson had given him. It wasn't long before he saw the flashing lights of Gaspick's cruiser. Morelli pulled up behind it and got out. Big Blue was in front of the cruiser, lit up by its headlights. He could see that all the windows in the Buick were down and the ladies were inside. Gaspick was standing between the two cars, on the curb side of the vehicle for safety, writing the ticket. Not wanting to surprise the man, Morelli announced himself as he approached. He tried to speak loudly enough for Picky to hear, but not so loud that he caught the attention of the women. He stood by Picky with his back to the Buick, hoping to fly below the radar.
Behind him, Morelli heard Edna Mazur call out, "Well, if it isn't the Italian Stallion. Are you here to back up Barney Fife in case we get rowdy? Or were you hoping to do some frisking?" Edna clicked her dentures in what he assumed passed as flirtation among the senior set. "Want me to assume the position?"
Suppressing a shudder at the image that presented, Morelli ignored her and asked Gaspick why he had pulled the Buick over.
"The driver was in violation of New Jersey statute 39:4-97.1 by driving five miles under the speed limit," Picky said, as if that was a reasonable thing to do.
Morelli stared at him. Unbelievable. This shit right here was why he got the nickname Picky. It had nothing to do with his last name. Time to set him straight.
"That statute doesn't specify how slow is too slow." Picky started to reply but Morelli held out his hand and cut him off. "What it does specify is that it has to be slow enough to impede or block traffic. It's the middle of the damn night. Even in Trenton, there is little traffic at this time and it's certainly not being blocked. Tear up that ticket and send them on their way."
Picky tried to argue but Morelli quickly shut him down. Pursing his lips in disapproval, Picky finally co-operated, voiding the ticket. Morelli headed back to his vehicle as Picky returned to the Buick to send Mrs. Gluck on her way with a lecture instead of a fine. Morelli didn't get three steps before he heard a car door slam and uneven footsteps. He turned to see Stephanie glaring at him. She was dressed simply in brown boots, jeans, and a purple button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up but on her it was sexy as hell.
One look, though, and he could see that she was wasted. Glassy-eyed, swaying, she could still be sharp-witted at times, even when she was too compromised to remember the conversation the next day. Morelli was surprised that whichever Rangeman she was with let her get that drunk. Grudgingly, he admitted that usually they all kept a good eye on her. Then again, once Grandma got involved there was no telling what could happen. None of the texts that he had gotten had mentioned Grandma Mazur or Marilyn Gluck.
"What are you doing here, Morelli? We're pertinent. Peppermint. Permanent. Permanently off. Broke up for good."
"You know that and I know that, but I've been getting texts about you being out at a bar with a bunch of guys since 11:30 tonight," he groused. "Then you got pulled over by a cop and I got calls about that, too."
Once again he found himself compelled to point out that if she didn't want to be talked about then she should quit drawing attention to herself. If she was going to do outrageous things that got everyone's attention then she couldn't complain when they looked. As always, she refused to see his point.
Huffing, Steph crossed her arms. "Can't I go out for a couple of drinks and play some pool without having people tattle on me? Why am I always a source for gossip?"
He felt the familiar frustration bubble up. How could she still be asking why? If, just once, she'd listen to him, she would know because he'd been telling her for years that she needed to tone it down. Weird shit followed Stephanie like a dog on a leash, jumping up at the least provocation. Same with her grandmother. Put the two of them together and it was almost guaranteed that something would explode, or catch on fire, or go wrong in a really strange way that never happened to anyone else. The whole town watched her like she was Must See TV. He wondered whether the Rangemen even knew where she was.
Irritated at having to say all the same things over and over again, he lashed out. "You're a source of entertainment! No one wants to miss out on the next episode of the Stephanie Shit Show." Running his hand through his hair, he tried to calm down. At least he was able to tone it down. "Face it, you're infamous. No, I take that back. Your exploits have a way of going beyond infamous to legendary."
"Legendary?" She made a rude noise he took as a dismissal. "Lester's thingy is legendary."
"And just how, exactly, do you know that?" Even as the words left his mouth, Morelli wished he could call them back. They might not be together anymore but he really didn't want to know about Steph's private life and he really really didn't want to know about another man's private parts.
Steph shrugged, wobbling as the small movement made her unsteady. "It says so on his underwear." She gestured back and forth across her pelvis as if Morelli was unfamiliar with the usual location of underwear and needed a helpful reminder. "The L-l-l-legend." She drew out the 'L' sound while moving her hand in an arc overhead, as if picturing the word in the sky. "You can ask, if you want to see for yourself."
"Oh for – I do NOT want to see Lester's –"
"Not his thingy." Steph's laugh was interrupted by a hiccup. She tried to give Morelli a playful slap on the arm but missed and lost her balance, falling face-first into his chest and leaving behind a smear of mascara when he gripped her upper arms and pushed her back to an upright position. "His boxer briefs. With the big word for his big thingy."
"Santos." Morelli's mind couldn't grasp what he was hearing, compelling him to repeat it back to her. "Lester Santos is running around Trenton in boxer briefs imprinted with The Legend?"
What the actual fuck. How the hell did this conversation take a hard turn from Stephanie's outrageous behavior to a description of Santos' dick? His head was starting to hurt.
"Well, yeah." Her eyes blinked slowly but not at the same time, the right one lagging behind the left. "I mean. He took off the stick figure porn ones, probably because they glow in the dark. Like consummations." Stephanie frowned and tried again. "Constipations. Stellations."
One finger raised up in a 'Hang on. I got this.' way as she carefully enunciated the next word. "Constellations. Besides, he's got his pants on. So far. Though, a couple of ladies seemed ver-r-ry interested. Anyway, pants up means you can't just –" Covering her eyes with her hands, she pulled them away just enough to see through "– Peek-a-boo! Peek at them" Her hands dropped and she shrugged. "Gotta ask."
There was a long pause as Steph swayed like a flower in a gentle breeze before adding, "Ranger goes komodo. He prolly can't find anything big enough to," both of her hands made a shoving gesture by her crotch, "cram it into."
Well, fuck. Squeezing his eyes shut, he put one hand to his forehead to rub his temples as the pain in his head jumped up a notch. Morelli really didn't want to hear about the giant lizard lurking in Ranger's trousers and what he might be cramming it into.
During his stint in the Navy, Morelli had confirmed that he was above average in that area. But there were rumors, whispers really, about what most of those assholes at Rangeman were packing. If those whispers were true, then Manoso and his cousin were top dogs deserving the moniker of legendary. It might explain their unshakable aplomb and self-confidence. They possessed the literal definition of Big Dick Energy. What really pissed him off was that the first time he ever heard that phrase he immediately thought of those two instead of himself.
"Come on, Granddaughter! Let's get moving!" Edna Mazur was hanging half out the front passenger window, thumping the outside of the door with one hand.
It took a couple of tries, but Stephanie got into the back seat. As the engine cranked over, Morelli walked over to the driver's side of the squad car where Picky was standing.
"Excuse me, officer!" Mrs. Gluck's voice, polite and tremulous with age, drifted over. She had stuck her head out of her window and was looking back at them.
Officer Gaspick answered, sounding for all the world like a peevish three year old, sulking about bedtime. "What is it now?"
"You are a very rude young man!" She gave him one arthritic finger and said "Eat my dust, copper!"
Pulling her head and arm back into the vehicle, Mrs. Gluck then put on the blinker. She checked that the road was clear, and eased onto the empty street at a glacial three miles an hour before sedately accelerating to what looked to be five miles under the speed limit. At least she was consistent. All the while, the group was shouting wildly like a pack of rambunctious college kids on Spring Break.
That was Stephanie shouting out "Woohoo! Floor it!" while Edna contributed "Gun it, Gluck!" and "Let 'er rip!". Mrs. Gluck herself yelled out "Life in the fast lane, baby!" As Big Blue slowly disappeared into the dark of the night, there was one last faint, yet feisty, "Yeeeeehaaaaaw!" though Morelli wasn't certain if that was from Edna or Mrs. Gluck.
At least Picky had finally stopped trying to argue with Morelli, though he had resorted to pouting instead. Whatever. He was quiet and that was all that mattered. As they returned to their vehicles, a large black SUV rolled by, slowing as it passed them. Morelli was fairly certain that it was a Rangeman vehicle and had a feeling they were looking for Stephanie.
As he drove home, he saw another Rangeman SUV pass through an intersection ahead of him, heading south as he headed west. As he pulled up to his house he caught a glimpse of tail lights moving away and smiled. He knew it was petty, but he felt a sense of satisfaction that the oh so superior goons of Rangeman were still looking while he had already found and released her.
Morelli let Bob out for a leisurely poop then headed upstairs for some real sleep in his bed, none of this couch-crashing shit. Standing by the bed, he kicked his shoes off and pulled back the covers. Putting his hand in his pocket, he grabbed his cell phone just as it rang. It was Colson with another 'sitchy-ation', this time at a convenience store. According to the clerk who called it in, the ladies were causing a disturbance and a patrol car had been dispatched. Cursing inwardly, he thanked Colson and headed out.
Morelli arrived hot on the heels of the patrol cop, a guy named Richardson, and found himself in the middle of a standoff. Richardson had walked up to the door just as Stephanie and her gray-haired gang were on their way out. The cop had a hand on his weapon and was firmly commanding the women to stand still and put their hands on their heads. Unfortunately, not only did the women have their hands full with heavy plastic bags, but the door was shut making it difficult for the two parties to hear each other.
Closest to the door, Edna was telling the officer to get out of the way. Mrs. Gluck put one hand, which had a plastic bag full of what looked like snack food dangling from it, to her ear and was shouting at the officer to speak up. Stephanie, behind both of them, was thinking ahead even while drunk, yelling "Do not grope the cop!" to her grandmother.
Morelli waded into the middle of the fracas, telling Richardson to stand down and getting the women to pause long enough for one of the clerks, a woman in her late twenties, to say that it was a false alarm.
"I'm so sorry to bother you, but the new guy, Jerry –" she pointed to a pale skinny fellow who looked barely old enough to drive "– panicked and called you." She turned to frown at Jerry. "Just for that, you're stuck on inventory for the rest of the night. Go in the back and count something."
As Jerry slunk away, Steph took the opportunity to berate Morelli for interfering with her night out, or sneaking up on her, or something. He was paying more attention to the wild gesticulations and arm waving, trying not to get clipped by accident. If Richardson was amused by Morelli getting chewed out, he was smart enough to hide it.
"And quit following me, Joe." Steph looked as cranky as she sounded.
"I know!" Edna piped up. "I bet it's me he's following. Hate to tell you, hot stuff, but I'm more woman than you can handle. Better bring a friend – make sure he's a stud muffin. Anything less and I might break him."
His stomach churned at the thought of it.
She made a big production of winking at him which was when he noticed she was in a tank top with silver sequins on the front that spelled out 'foxy'. Over that was a sheer short-sleeved shirt. A mini-skirt and wedge shoes completed her ensemble. Everything was in shades of neon pink and yellow with bits of white here and there. It made him think of an Easter egg on LSD.
Mrs. Gluck tsk'ed and said, "Edna, don't tease the boy."
At least she was wearing a knee-length floral A-line dress with support hose and orthopedic shoes. Somehow, Morelli found her outfit soothing, maybe because that was the expected outfit in the Burg for women her age.
Ignoring all the comments, Morelli cut straight to the point. "It's late and you ladies should all be home. You've already gotten into trouble twice tonight. Let's not go for the hat trick. Go. Home."
They trouped out the door, Steph giving him serious side-eye as she passed. By the time he'd worked out who would file the paperwork on this call – it was Richardson, as if there'd been any doubt – and followed them, Mrs. Gluck had already backed out of the parking space and was moving out.
"Go straight home," he shouted. He was tempted to follow them but knowing Steph and the mood she was in, she'd take it as a personal affront and instead of going home, she'd try to lose him – well, get Mrs. Gluck to lose him – which would make things worse.
Edna yelled back, "Don't worry, Officer Hottie! It's not like we're planning anything!"
And then she cackled. His hand to God, Edna Mazur full-on cackled.
It was weird and foreboding and downright creepy. Thanks to his Grandma Bella, Morelli was well-acquainted with weird creepy old ladies, though Edna Mazur wasn't usually in that category, having cornered the market on 'sex-crazed old biddy' instead. In this case, Edna's cackle was like drawing a big red metaphorical circle around Big Blue and its occupants that said "trouble."
Under his watchful eye, Big Blue once again demonstrated the smooth moves that had earned cars of that era the nickname of Land Yacht, gliding through a right hand turn out of the parking lot. Craning his head for a better view, he moved toward the street and saw them turn left at the light.
Shit. He was getting a bad feeling. Maybe he should have taken a look at what they'd bought or asked them more questions.
But it wasn't his problem anymore, was it? A few months ago, he would have done more than intervene at the traffic stop. He'd have dragged them all home, especially Steph, even if he'd had to handcuff her. She wouldn't have liked it but it would have been for her own good, so of course he'd have done it. Since she had chosen Manoso, Morelli didn't feel like he could make that kind of decision anymore. If it had happened while Manoso was in town, Morelli would have passed that first text along to him. Maybe he should have sent it to Tank, Ranger's second in command, but that didn't feel right either.
As much as Morelli hated to admit it, if he couldn't be first to take care of her, he wanted to be second on the list.
The patrol car left and Morelli stepped back into the store. They might not be his problem but he couldn't help worrying. He spent a few minutes trying to get more information out of the clerk but got nothing more from her than a few shoulder shrugs and a series of "I dunnos".
As he failed to interrogate her, he watched a big black SUV pull up. That gang banger, Hector Aguila, hopped out of the driver's seat, dressed in the typical uniform of Rangeman black. Lester Santos came out of the passenger side. He was in brown boots, jeans, and a short sleeved green shirt.
Morelli cursed under his breath, pissed that thanks to Stephanie, all he could think about was Santos' legendary … underwear. Yeah, his underwear. NOT his … whatever. That was NOT an image he needed in his head. Even worse, he had to fight the urge to check out the man's crotch. It was like being told not to think of camels. Once someone told you not to, that was all you could think of.
Focus on what matters, Morelli told himself. You're up 2 and 0 against Rangeman in the current game of Find Stephanie.
"Aguila. Santos." Morelli greeted the men then couldn't resist taunting. "Looking for something?"
Aguila narrowed his eyes and Morelli could feel the menace being sent his way. That guy gave Morelli chills damn near every time he saw him.
In reply, Santos asked, "Have you, by any chance, seen Stephanie? Or her Grandma?" His tone was neutral and polite.
The clerk who wouldn't tell Morelli anything preened the second she saw Santos.
With a flirty smile and a come hither voice she said, "Hi, Lester. Haven't seen you in a while. How's it going?"
Santos smiled at her, "Oh, hey … Chrissie. Good to see you. Been busy as usual. On the clock again now, as it happens. Don't suppose you've seen Stephanie Plum or her Grandma have you?"
Chrissie's smile dimmed. "How come you're looking for her? Are you two …" The sentence trailed off.
Before the silence could get awkward, Santos jumped in. "I'm – we're," he corrected, pointing at Aguila, "keeping an eye on her while my cousin's away. Seems like she's up to mischief and we're trying to keep her out of trouble."
Morelli snorted. Mischief. Right. Drunk off her ass and running around with that crazy Grandmother of hers about to do God knows what to God knows who.
"Well." Chrissie leaned forward against the counter, draping her elbow on the register. "She was here with two little old ladies. I think one of them was her grandma. They were kind of loud and excitable in the store. The new guy overreacted and called the cops. Said it was a disturbance but it wasn't. They didn't make a mess or break anything and they paid for everything.
He," she jerked a thumb at Morelli, "showed up a couple of minutes before they left. They turned right out of here but from inside the store, you can't see if they turned at the light."
"Did they say anything about what they were doing? Or where they were going? Anything you remember might help us find them sooner." Santos aimed soulful green eyes at her "We're concerned about Grandma and her friend being out so late."
The same clerk that had stayed tight lipped for Morelli, spilled the beans for Santos, dammit. Morelli tried to convince himself that the woman's behavior was down to his calling as a policeman. People didn't like cops. Didn't want to say too much, thinking that they'd get the wrong person in trouble or bring trouble on themselves. That had to be it, why the clerk didn't tell Morelli this extra bit of info.
It had nothing at all to do with that Santos charm that had most of the women in Trenton fighting for the privilege of being his next one-night stand. Morelli sighed, wishing he could believe that, but the proof was in front of him. The Santos Charisma was barely turned on yet Chrissie absolutely melted in response. No wonder the man was a Legend.
"Well, they bought a lot of toilet paper and eggs. Said they were going to roll some chick's house that was at a barnyard, or something? I'm not real sure what they were talking about but they really didn't like that chick. Called her Skank Leather Barbie and Balloon Boobies Bitch? They bought a bunch of junk food, too. Said they needed the sugar rush to make sure they did the job right."
"Thanks, Chrissie. That's very helpful." Santos gave her a big smile and put his hand out. "If I may?"
Chrissie offered her hand in return but instead of shaking it he brought it up to his lips and pressed a chaste kiss to the back of it, looking her in the eyes the whole time. Cheeks flushing, Chrissie gasped then giggled, her face lighting up. It was all Morelli could do not to roll his eyes.
As the three men exited the store, Morelli said, "I assume you'll be heading over to Joyce Barnhardt's house now."
Santos nodded. "We've got it from here."
"Good luck with that. Steph was pretty hammered less than an hour ago. Best case scenario, she went home with Edna and is out like a light."
Morelli's phone pinged with a text message. He read it, sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. He needed aspirin.
Santos got a text right after he did. As Santos checked his phone, he put his professional face on, with a quick glance at Morelli. Rangeman control must be monitoring the police chatter because he was certain that Santos had just gotten the same information that he did, even though the source was different.
Cursing inwardly, Morelli said, "I better come with you. That's right next to Joyce's place and a patrol car has already been dispatched."