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“She’s beating the crap out of him,” Lula said. “Way to go, Mrs. P.”
I pulled my mom off Pooka before she killed him, and Lula sat on him to keep him from running again. Police cars were turning onto the road, lights flashing. They paused behind the burning vehicles and slowly went off-road around them.
Trenton PD was first on the scene. Ranger and Tank were close behind in a Rangeman SUV. Two fire trucks and an ambulance followed. Pooka was bleeding from the nose, his right eye was swelling, his shirt was torn, and his power amulet had gotten ripped off his neck. My mom was a little dusty, and she had a skinned knee, but otherwise she looked okay.
Lula got off Pooka and turned him over to one of the cops.
“What happened to him?” the cop asked.
“He tripped while he was running,” Lula said. “It was these baggy pajamas he’s wearing. They’re good for letting your boys breathe while you’re watching television, but you don’t want to run in them, what with your nuts knocking around in there.”
“This is Stanley Pooka,” I told the cop. “The FBI and Homeland Security people will want to talk to him. And I think he’ll tie into Morelli’s three homicides.”
“That was righteous,” Lula said to my mom. “You kicked his ass.”
“I did!” my mother said. “I was pissed off. He hit Stephanie with his car, and she got all scraped up. He could have killed her.”
The cop walked Pooka past my mom on the way to the patrol car, my mom kicked Pooka in the back of the leg, and Pooka went down to one knee.
“Hey, lady,” the cop said, hoisting Pooka up, “you can’t do that. He’s in custody.”
“Sorry,” my mom said. “Restless leg syndrome.”
Ranger ambled over. “I’m guessing that the smoking, molten black lump in the road back there used to be a Porsche Macan.”
“It wasn’t my fault,” I said.
Ranger cut his eyes to Pooka getting loaded into the cop car. “Looks like you made a good apprehension.”
“It was my mom. She took Stanley Pooka down like a junkyard dog on a piece of rancid meat.”
Ranger grinned at my mom. “Never underestimate maternal rage.”
Another Trenton PD car drove up. Eddie Gazarra was behind the wheel, and Morelli was riding shotgun. Morelli got out and walked over to us.
“I thought you were taking the day off,” I said to him.
“I heard this called in and I didn’t want to get cut out of the bust. Was anyone in that mess back there when it caught fire?”
“Not that I know. Someone could have been in the back of the van, but I didn’t see anyone.”
“From what I’m piecing together, you saw Pooka and followed him here. Somehow both vehicles caught fire. It looks like he got out and ran and you chased him down and beat the crap out of him.”
“He fell when he was running,” I said.
“It wa
s on account of his nuts were loose,” Lula said.
Morelli looked at Lula and then he looked at me. “There’s no way in hell I’m putting that in my report.”
“You have a thing about nuts lately,” I said to Lula.
“I like nuts,” Grandma said. “I like cashews.”
I looked down at Morelli’s feet. “You’re wearing two different shoes.”
“I was in a hurry to get out of the house.”
