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“I'm real handy,” Kloughn said. “I'm good at all kinds of things like that.”
I jumped the curb in front of Bender's apartment, drove across the mud yard, and parked with my rear bumper pressed to Bender's front stoop. I leaped out of the car, ran to Bender's door, and barged into his living room.
Bender was in his chair, watching television. He saw me enter and went bug-eyed and slack-jawed. “You!” he said. “What the fuck?” A second later he was out of his chair, bolting for the back door.
“Grab him,” I yelled to Kloughn. “Gas him. Trip him. Do something!”
Kloughn took a flying leap and caught Bender by the pants leg. Both men went down to the floor. I threw myself on Bender and cuffed him. I rolled off, elated.
Bender scrambled to his feet and ran for the door, dragging the chain behind him.
Kloughn and I did a high five.
“Boy, you're smart,” Kloughn said. “I would never have thought of hooking him up to the bumper. I gotta hand it to you. You're good. You're really good.”
“Make sure the back door is locked,” I said to Kloughn. “I don't want the apartment burgled.” I clicked the television off, and Kloughn and I walked to the door just in time to see Bender drive off in my CR-V.
Shit.
“Hey,” Kloughn yelled to Bender, “you've got my handcuffs!”
Bender had his arm out the window, holding the door on the driver's side closed. The chain snaked from the door to the back bumper, a loop of chain dragging on the ground, sending up sparks. Bender raised his arm and gave us the finger just before turning the corner and disappearing from view.
“I bet you left the key in the ignition,” Kloughn said. “I think that might be illegal. I bet you didn't lock your door, either. You should always take the key and lock the door.”
I gave Kloughn my bitch look.
“Of course, these were special circumstances,” he added.
KLOUGHN HUDDLED UNDER the small overhang that protected the front stoop to Bender's apartment. I was at curbside, in the rain, sopping wet, waiting for the blue-and-white. You reach a point with rain where it just doesn't matter anymore.
I'd hoped to get Costanza or my pal Eddie Gazarra when I'd put the call in for a stolen vehicle. The car that responded wasn't either.
“So you're the famous Stephanie Plum?” the cop said.
“I almost never shoot people,” I said, sliding onto the backseat of the cruiser. “And the fire in the funeral parlor wasn't my fault.” I leaned forward and water dripped from the tip of my nose onto the floor of the car. “Usually Costanza answers my calls,” I said.
“He didn't win the pool.”
“There's a pool?”
“Yeah. Participation really dropped after that thing with the snakes.”
Fifteen minutes later the blue-and-white left, and Morelli showed up.
“Listening to your radio again?” I asked.
“I don't have to listen to my radio anymore. As soon as your name pops up somewhere in the system, I get forty-five phone calls.”
I did a small grimace, which I hoped was endearing. “Sorry.”
“Let me get this straight,” Morelli said. “Bender drove away chained to the car.”
“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”
“And your handbag was in the car?”
“Yep.”
