Explosive Eighteen: A Stephanie Plum Novel (Stephanie Plum Novels)

edge of the lot, where Brenda couldn’t see me. I took a brush out of my bag and worked at my hair.
    “I can’t get the brush to go through it,” I said to Lula.
    “That’s the way hair’s supposed to be when it got some body. She kicked your hair up a notch. Wham!”
    “You might want to dial back on the
wham
thing,” I told her. “I’m not in the mood.”
    “How could you be Miss Crankypants when you got hair like that?”
    “This is
not
my kind of hair.”
    “Yeah, but it could be. It could be a whole new you.”
    I didn’t want a new me. I still hadn’t figured out the old me.

TWENTY-FOUR
     
    I WAS STILL IDLING in the shopping-center lot, trying to squash my hair, when Morelli called on my cell phone.
    “I finally caught up with Berger,” he said. “They’ve been reviewing security tapes from LAX, and they have Razzle Dazzle on one of them. There were no cameras in the vicinity of the crime scene, but they have Raz leaving your gate area. They checked the plane manifest, and two passengers didn’t reboard at LAX. Crick and a Somali national, Archie Ahmed.”
    “Archie Ahmed? Is that Razzle Dazzle?”
    “Yeah, apparently Raz has something like sixty-four identities. The Somali government uses him as an operative. Everything from running guns to recruitment to wet work. They probably drop a stack of passports off to him once a month.Berger got tapes from Honolulu International and identified Raz going through security. It looks like he was on your plane.”
    “I don’t remember him.”
    “Put a hat on him, and he might look human,” Morelli said.
    “Did Berger say anything about his source? I mean, how did he know about the photograph?”
    “Information from an overseas operative that a courier had passed a photo to you. Berger is going on the assumption that it’s a photo of a hacker the FBI has been looking for.”
    “Wonderful. Anything else?”
    “Be careful.”
    I took Route 1 back to Trenton. I turned off Broad and parked in front of the bonds office. Lancer and Slasher were across the street, sound asleep in the Lincoln. Connie was inside at her desk, wearing a disposable surgical mask.
    “What’s with the mask?” I asked her.
    “This office reeks,” Connie said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with it.”
    Lula tipped her head back and sniffed. “Rat fart,” she said. “They probably got into the deli Dumpster. Smells like they been eating sauerkraut.”
    “You’re an expert on this?” I asked her.
    “I know a rat fart when I smell one. And there’s more than one rat farting up there. You probably got a rat condo over you. Personally, I don’t like rats. They got those beady eyes, and skinny tails, and they give you the plague.”
    Connie was staring at my hair. “Speaking of rats’ nests!”
    “Brenda thought I needed to glam up,” I said to Connie.
    “It looked good before Miss Prim and Proper here tried to comb it,” Lula said. “She ruined the dramatic effect of the line.”
    “I like the color,” Connie said.
    “It’s Brenda’s specialty,” Lula said. “It’s called Route 1 Sunrise.”
    Connie adjusted her mask. “It takes the attention away from the black eye.”
    “I’m leaving,” I said. “The rat farts are getting to me.” I turned to Lula. “I’m going after Magpie tonight. Are you in?”
    “Hell, yeah. And if we get done early enough, we could go to a club and test-drive your hair.”
    Oh boy.
• • •
    It took half a bottle of detangler and two sheets of Downy fabric softener to untease my hair. I showered and dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt, my thinking being to not compete clotheswise with Route 1 Sunrise.
    At seven-thirty, I grabbed my bag and a black hooded sweatshirt and went to the lobby to wait for Lula. Ordinarily, I’d wait outside, but Raz was still at large, and I didn’t want to chance running into him in the dark.
    Lula’s Firebird cruised up to the door, and I jumped in.
    “Where we going?” Lula looked over at me.
    “All Saints Cemetery. It’s behind the big Catholic church on Nottingham.”
    “I know that cemetery. It’s real pretty. It’s got hills and woods and shit.”
    Twenty minutes later, Lula pulled into the church parking lot, cut her lights, and crept to the back of the lot, where a single-lane road led into the cemetery. We got out of the Firebird and stood for a moment, letting our eyes adjust to the darkness.
    “I smell campfire,” Lula said. “Magpie’s out there, heating