Smokin' Seventeen: A Stephanie Plum Novel (Stephanie Plum Novels)

run.”
    “I guess I could do that,” Lula said, “but I don’t get the whole bear thing.”
    Connie gave Lula a wad of cash. “It was a high bond and apparently the bear’s worth a lot of money. He’s part of some Russian circus act booked into Vegas. I guess the owner got a little drunk and shot a bartender because he wouldn’t serve him. Anyway Vinnie took the bear because the case is scheduled to go to court on Friday. Fast cash turnaround.”
    “So how many buckets of nuggets does the bear want?” Lula asked.
    “Get him four extra big buckets,” Connie said. “No coleslaw, but he might like biscuits.”
    I went with Lula because I didn’t have anything better to do, and I wanted to snitch a biscuit. Lula cruised down Hamilton, pulled into the Cluck-in-a-Bucket lot, and parked.
    “I’m not getting all this at the drive-thru,” Lula said. “They always short you chicken at the drive-thru. And they don’tgive you the fresh, hot biscuits. They give you the nasty ass old ones.”
    I got out of the Firebird, I looked through the big plate-glass window of Cluck-in-a-Bucket, and I saw Merlin Brown standing in line, waiting for his order.
    “Do you see what I see?” Lula asked. “I see Merlin Brown getting two bags of chicken. He’s probably got a gun and wants to get even with me. And even if he doesn’t have a gun, look at him. He’s huge and most likely he don’t have a stiffy no more, and he could run fast and grab me, and rip my toes off. And I just got a pedicure, too.”
    “We need a plan.”
    “Yeah, too bad we don’t have a big net. We could catch him if we had a big net. Except for the big net I don’t have any ideas.”
    Merlin pushed through the door, and I could see his foot was totally wrapped in a massive white bandage, and he was limping.
    “Let’s get him,” I said to Lula.
    “What? How?”
    “We’ll tackle him. We have the element of surprise. We’ll take him down to the ground, and I’ll cuff him.”
    “Seems mean, what with his toe bein’ shot off and all. Maybe we want to wait for him to be feeling better … like April.”
    I gave Lula a shove. “Now!”
    Lula and I ran at Merlin, and Lula was waving her arms and yelling.
“Ga-a-a-a-a-a!”
    Merlin saw us coming and froze. He had a bag of chicken in each hand and a look of total disbelief on his face. Lula went low, hitting him at the knees. I ran at him flat out and put my shoulder into his chest. And Merlin didn’t move. It was like hitting a brick wall.
    Merlin shook us off and opened the door to his car. “Crazy ass bitches,” he said. And he drove away.
    Lula picked herself up off the ground. “That was humiliating.”
    “What was all that arm waving and yelling?”
    “I was trying to scare him. They do that in the movies when the angry horde of marauders is storming the castle.”
    We went inside, bought our chicken and biscuits, and returned to the Firebird. I ate a biscuit, and Lula ate a couple pieces of chicken, and we drove back to Mooner’s bus.
    “You go on in and deliver the chicken,” I said to Lula. “I’ll wait here in the car.”
    “Don’t you want to say hello to Bruce?”
    “No.”
    “As far as bears go, he’s a pretty nice bear.”
    “I’ll take your word for it.”
    Lula took the chicken buckets and bags of biscuits into the bus. There was a loud
growwwwwl
and a shriek, and Lula jumped out of the bus and hustled back behind the wheel of the Firebird.
    “Is everyone okay in there?” I asked her.
    “Bruce was hungry and forgot his manners.”

FIFTEEN
     
    LULA AND CONNIE cleared out of the coffee shop a little before five, and I motored off to my parents’ house. I parked, let myself in, and stood for a moment in the small foyer enjoying the smell of chocolate cake fresh out of the oven.
    I should learn how to make chocolate cake, I thought. I should go out and buy cake pans and a box mix. How hard could it be? And then my apartment would smell wonderful. And it would be fun to make a cake. And maybe I can’t commit to Morelli because I can’t cook. Okay, that was a stretch, but I hadn’t been able to come up with anything better.
    My father was asleep in front of the television. I could hear my grandmother and my mother in the kitchen. And I heard a male voice mixed into their conversation.
    “I like buttercream frosting,” he said.
    I’d been suckered in again. It was Dave Brewer.
    Grandma stuck her head out the kitchen door. “I thought I heard you come