Morelli and I were snuggled together on the couch, watching television, when Lula called.
“We just got out of the movie,” she said. “He’s getting one last tub of popcorn for the ride home, and then we’re going to start to waddle out to his car.”
“He has a car?”
“It’s his dad’s. I wouldn’t put him in my Firebird on account of he’d ruin my suspension system. Anyway, I thought I’ll get him to take me home, and I’ll get him out of the car with the promise of sex. And if that don’t work, I’ll tell him I got pot roast and gravy upstairs. Soon as I get him out of the car, you can jump out from the bushes in my front yard and snap the cuffs on him.”
“Sounds like a plan,” I said, and disconnected.
“What’s a plan?” Morelli asked.
“Stanley Kulicky is FTA, and Lula just had a date with him. She’s going to hold him over at her house until I can get there.”
“Have you seen him lately? He must weigh three hundred pounds.”
“Yep, he’s a big boy.”
“Bring the extra large flexi-cuffs.”
“Check.”
Lula lives in a low-to-no-income neighborhood that has a lot less crime than Stark Street. There’s some gang and drug activity and a bunch of fourteen-year-old pregnant girls, but Lula is happy with the rent, and the commute to the office is manageable. She lives on the second floor of a small lavender house with elaborate trim that was just recently painted pink. For the most part the house is graffiti free.
I parked the Buick one house down and waited with the engine running, the windows up, and Morelli’s Glock on my lap. The neighborhood didn’t worry me, but Vlatko had my intestines in knots. I’d picked up two Rangeman tails when I left Morelli’s house. One was now parked directly behind me, and another drove past me, made a U-turn, and parked across the street.
A big SUV rolled past me and parked in front of Lula’s house. I grabbed the cuffs from my bag, cut the engine, and got out of the car. I shoved the Glock under the waistband of my jeans at the small of my back and crouched behind the car in front of me. Stanley got out of the SUV and opened the door for Lula. Lula got out and fumbled with her purse.
“Oh my,” Lula said. “I hope I have my house keys.”
I rushed Stanley, cuffed him, and asked Lula about the movie.
“The movie was excellent,” Lula said. “RoboGod saved the world, but not before a lot of awesome shit went down.”
“This sucks,” Stanley said to Lula. “You took advantage of me. I want my money back for the movie ticket.”
“I didn’t have nothing to do with this,” Lula said. “She figured this out on her own. I swear to RoboGod. And anyways, I bought the first two buckets of popcorn, and I let you fondle my knee.”
“I’m not going to jail,” Stanley said. “They make you take your clothes off and they look up your poopoo hole.”
“Dude,” Lula said. “You were sitting naked on your garage roof. Every time you turned around or bent over, everybody looked up your poopoo hole. That ship sailed.”
“I don’t care,” Stanley said, sitting down on the sidewalk. “I’m not going.”
“We need a forklift,” Lula said.
I had something better than a forklift. I had Rangeman guys. I motioned to the SUVs that I needed help, and two big guys emerged from each shiny black Rangeman vehicle.
“I need to deliver Mr. Kulicky to the police station,” I said.
Two of the men lifted Stanley and carried him to the SUV that was parked behind my Buick. He was buckled in, doors were closed, and we were ready to roll.
Lula and I got into the Buick and led the parade.
“I wasn’t going to come with,” Lula said, “but those Rangeman guys are hot. Not as hot as Ranger, but they’re totally acceptable.”
“What about Stanley?”
“Stanley is cuddly. There’s a difference between cuddly and hot. Hot trumps cuddly.”
I wasn’t sure that hot trumped cuddly. I liked cuddly a lot. Lucky for me, Morelli was both. I didn’t know about Ranger. I hadn’t had much cuddle time with Ranger.
We handed Stanley over to the docket lieutenant, I got my body receipt, and Stanley made another movie date with Lula.
We drove back to Lula’s house, Lula got into Mr. Kulicky’s SUV, and the parade took the SUV home. It was almost eleven o’clock, but lights were still on in the Kulicky house. I rang the bell and explained to Mr. Kulicky that Stanley was okay, and we’d bond him out first thing Monday morning. I handed him the keys to his car, took Lula home, and returned to Morelli with my Rangeman escort following close behind.
“How’d it go?” Morelli asked when I flopped onto the couch beside him.
“Smooth as silk.”
“You realize you have a tail, right?”
“It’s all your fault.”
“He would have done it anyway.”
This was true.
“I hope you didn’t exhaust yourself on that capture,” Morelli said. “Because I have plans for the rest of the night and possibly tomorrow morning.”
“I hope the plans for tomorrow morning involve a trip to the bakery.”
“Kinky,” Morelli said, “but I might be able to work it in.”