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“So you think if we gave them bacon, they’d be friendly?”
“Remember when we had to get past that alligator in whatshisname’s apartment? We just kept feeding him chicken wings. Our problem was we didn’t bring enough wings.”
I drove back down Stark, turned onto State Street, and pulled into a fast-food drive-t
hru. They didn’t list bacon on their à la carte menu, so I did the next best thing and got a bagful of bacon cheeseburgers.
“Those cheeseburgers smell pretty good,” Lula said. “I might have to test drive one or two of them. And personally, I think those Chihuahuas would have liked some fries.”
“You can have one burger. The rest are for the dogs.”
Kottel wasn’t a high-end bond, but when added to the Poletti capture money, my recovery fee would keep me going for a while. Problem was, I was having a hard time focusing on Forest Kottel when Ranger was tracking a psychopathic assassin who had me at the top of his hit list. I wanted to get Kottel as quickly as possible so I’d be free to help Ranger or maybe to go underground if necessary.
I returned to the alley off Geneva, parked the car, and set off with my bacon cheeseburgers. We approached the big box next to the dumpster, and two attack Chihuahuas circled the box and growled at us. I tossed a burger at them, and eight more dogs instantly appeared. All ten dogs pounced on the burger, devoured it, and then sat back on their tiny haunches looking at me expectantly.
“You got their attention,” Lula said. “You just better hope they don’t figure out there’s more burgers in the bag or they’ll be on you like white on rice.”
A shaved bald head popped out of a flap on the top of the box, followed by a lanky body dressed in a grungy black bathrobe. It was Forest Kottel.
“Who goes there?” he asked. “Who approaches my private lair and disturbs my minions?”
“This guy’s a whackadoodle,” Lula said. “We should have brought the butterfly net.”
“Stephanie Plum,” I said. “I represent your bail bondsman. You missed a court date, and you need to reschedule.”
“You remind me of someone,” Lula said.
Forest stood ramrod straight. “You may remember me from when I stole the moon. Or from when I saved the world from El Macho.”
“That sounds real familiar,” Lula said. “Like I read it somewhere or saw it on the news.”
“It’s an animated movie,” I said. “He’s Gru from Despicable Me.”
“Lies!” Forest said, wild-eyed. “All lies. El Macho turned my minions into Chihuahuas using a top-secret formula known as Chihuahua Maker Number 42. They might look like Chihuahuas, but underneath they’re one hundred percent minion.”
“That explains it,” Lula said. “You want a burger? We brought some burgers for you and your minions.”
Forest disappeared inside the box, a door scraped open on the other side, and he crawled out. He unfolded a red and white checkered plastic tablecloth, laid it on the ground, and sat cross-legged on it. The dogs trotted over and sat beside him.
“Will you ladies be joining us for dinner?”
“Actually,” I said, “I thought you could feed your minions and then eat your burger while I drive you to the police station to reschedule.”
“I can’t leave Daisy,” Forest said. “Daisy gets anxious when I leave. And Ronald and Scooter will go off and chew the corners off other people’s boxes. And then there’s Mitzy and Brownie and Puddles and Boomer …”
“Boy,” Lula said. “You got a lot of minions.”
“I started with two.”
“You might want to think about minion birth control,” Lula said.
“How do you feed all your minions?” I asked Forest. “How do you feed yourself?”
“There’s a church truck that comes around and gives out sandwiches. If I get in line twice, there’s enough for all of us. The minions don’t eat a lot.”
“Suppose I found good homes for the minions,” I said. “Would that work for you?”
“It would be okay with me, but the minions have minds of their own, and they’re very attached to me.”
