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Lula and I got collared up, and we tramped across the lawn to Jesus.
“Are you Jesus Sanchez?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he said. “And this is my dog, Frank.” He shaded his eyes with his hand and looked up at Lula. “For a minute there I thought you were wearing a flea collar around your neck.”
“This here’s the latest in fashion accessories,” Lula said. “I’m starting a business in bedazzling them.”
“Are they expensive? My sister might like one. Do you need your lawn cut? I have a lawn mower.”
“Neither of us has a lawn,” Lula said. “And anyway we came to give you a ride.”
I introduced myself and fed him the line about rescheduling his court date.
“I guess that would be okay,” he said.
He stood, and when I tried to cuff him, he yelled “Run!” to Frank, and the two of them took off.
Lula and I ran after him, across the lawn. Lula lost steam and quit before she got to the loop road on the other side of the green space. I stuck with Jesus and Frank, but I was tiring and they weren’t. I chased them for a block and gave up. They were too fast, and the bond was too small. If I was determined to catch him I could stake out the sister’s house, but at this point I couldn’t care less about catching him.
I was bent at the waist, sucking air, and I saw a rusted-out, dented white van roll past. It turned at the corner and disappeared. I was pretty sure I saw Pooka behind the wheel. I walked to the corner and looked up and down the street. No van. I retraced my steps and I was halfway across the street on my way back to Lula when the van burst out of a driveway behind me. I jumped away, but the right front quarter panel clipped me, and I was punted about fifteen feet. I was caught totally off guard, feeling more shock than pain. I rolled onto my back, and I saw Pooka looking down at me.
“Look what fell onto the road,” he said, holding my stun gun.
He pressed the prongs against my arm, and twenty-eight million volts sizzled through my brain.
A stun gun doesn’t necessarily knock you out. It scrambles your neurons so you have no muscle control and there’s a lot of confusion. When the confusion cleared I was in the back of Pooka’s van, cuffed with what I assumed were my cuffs. I’d put the cuffs and the stun gun in my back pockets when I set out for Jesus Sanchez.
It was hard to tell what sort of damage had been done when I got hit. I had some stinging pain in my left knee and my jeans were soaked in blood. I wiggled my toes and moved my legs and nothing seemed broken. No bones sticking out anywhere. My elbow was killing me but it was behind my back, and I couldn’t see it. No headache. No double vision. I didn’t land on my head. One bright spot in my day.
It was a panel van. No seats in the back. Just me rolling around every time he made a turn. Plus some cartons of firecrackers, a box of blasting powder, and a couple empty aquariums. At least they looked empty. I suppose there could have been a few carsick fleas hunkered down in the bottom of the cages. I had to wonder what he did with the fleas that used to be in the aquariums. Not a good thought. Also hard to have good thoughts about my immediate future.
The van stopped and I heard a garage door roll open. The van eased into the garage and the door rolled back down. I was trying not to panic. I was taking deep breaths, telling myself to stay calm and alert. I had to wait for my opportunity. It would come. And people would be looking for me. Ranger and Morelli. I trusted them to find me. They were smart. They had resources.
Pooka left the driver’s seat, came around, and opened the back door.
“Fate,” he said. “Amazing, isn’t it? I’m driving down the street, and there you are. I was going to come get you, but you came to me.”
He grabbed my ponytail and pulled me out the door. I fell off the bed of the van onto the garage floor, and he dragged me up by my armpits. My knee hurt, my arm was on fire, my elbow hurt, and I was breathing hard, trying to control the pain and not cry. I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to show fear or weakness. He pushed me in front of him, opened a side door, and pushed me into a grungy kitchen. Chipped red Formica countertops. Filthy linoleum floor. Decrepit stove and refrigerator. Stained avocado green porcelain sink filled with trash. Aquariums filled with fleas as far as the eye could see. The stench was sickening.
“Why does it smell so bad in here?” I asked.
“It’s the smell of black death,” Pooka said. “I’ve soaked the mice in contaminated blood and the fleas are feeding on them. Soon they’ll be ready to release. I’ve got thousands of fleas in the bedroom that are infected. I released some of them earlier today. I was returning from the release when I came across you.”
“It’s not black death anymore,” I said to him. “The plague can be cured with antibiotics.”
“My plague is super bad,” Pooka said. “I’m breeding super fleas, and I’ve mutated the plague bacilli. No one will survive. No one. My fleas will march across the Kiltman campus and lay waste to everything in their path.”
“Like a little army.”
“Exactly!”
“Why did you kidnap me?”
“You’re a terrible person. You ruined my moment of beauty and surprise. Everyone’s moment. I’m going to infect you and you will slowly die a horrible death. But before you die you’re going to redeem yourself by feeding my fleas.”
I looked around. The shades were drawn on all the windows.
“Where are we?”
