I reached under the driver’s seat and unlatched the gun box. I took out a Glock 19. “Yep,” I said. “I’m armed.”
I wouldn’t ordinarily walk into a situation like this with just Lula and Bob as backup. Unfortunately, Ranger was in Virginia and Morelli had just landed at Newark. And I didn’t feel comfortable relying on 911. I didn’t want a bunch of first responders thundering in with lights flashing.
I texted a message to Morelli. I’m in a situation. Let me know when you roll into Trenton.
I drove around the block, getting a feel for the area. I pulled it up on Google Earth on my cell phone and got a bird’s-eye view. The building was freestanding with a small swath of ground around it. Morgan Plumbing was behind it and there were several other small freestanding buildings on either side of the balloon building. I parked two doors down and ran around to the back of the SUV. This was a Rangeman fleet car equipped with standard cargo. The standard cargo included a first aid kit complete with an AED, ankle shackles, knives, batteries for Maglites and stun guns, flash-bang grenades, and smoke bombs. The only things missing were an Indiana Jones–style whip and a Star Wars lightsaber.
I grabbed a knife and the flash-bangs and smoke bombs and brought them up front. I gave half to Lula, and I shoved the rest in my pockets and messenger bag.
“I’m all about this,” Lula said. “I’m ready to kick ass. I’m in Avenger mode. It’s disgraceful, what they did to Nutsy. You don’t treat a clown like that.”
“When we go in and things get hairy, please try not to shoot me,” I said.
“I know in the past I’ve been off the mark sometimes,” Lula said, “but things are changing for me and I’m just about at sharpshooter level now.”
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.”