I drove the Nova out of the lot and went straight to Vinnie. I pulled into a parking space at the corner of Hamilton and Olden, extracted the key from the ignition, and waited for the car to thrash itself off. I said a short prayer not to be spotted by anyone I knew, wrenched the door open, and scuttled the short distance to the storefront office. The blue and white sign over the door read “Vincent Plum Bail Bonding Company.” In smaller letters it advertised twenty-four-hour nationwide service. Conveniently located between Tender Loving Care Dry Cleaners and Fiorello’s Deli, Vincent Plum catered to the family trade—domestic disturbances, disorderlies, auto theft, DWI, and shoplifting. The office was small and generic, consisting of two rooms with cheap walnut paneling on the walls and commercial grade rust-colored carpet on the floor. A Danish modern couch upholstered in brown Naugahyde pressed against one wall of the reception area, and a black and brown metal desk with a multiline phone and a computer terminal occupied a far corner.
Vinnie’s secretary sat behind the desk, her head bent in concentration, picking her way through a stack of files. “Yeah?”
“I’m Stephanie Plum. I’ve come to see my cousin, Vinnie.”
“Stephanie Plum!” Her head came up. “I’m Connie Rosolli. You went to school with my little sister, Tina. Oh jeez, I hope you don’t have to make bail.”
I recognized her now. She was an older version of Tina. Thicker in the waist, heavier in the face. She had lots of teased black hair, flawless olive skin, and a five-o’clock shadow on her upper lip.
“The only thing I have to make is money,” I said to Connie. “I hear Vinnie needs someone to do filing.”
“We just filled that job, and between you and me, you didn’t miss anything. It was a crummy job. Paid minimum wage, and you had to spend all day on your knees singing the alphabet song. My feeling is, if you’re going to spend that much time on your knees, you could find something that pays better. You know what I mean?”
“Last time I was on my knees was two years ago. I was looking for a contact lens.”
“Listen, if you really need a job, why don’t you get Vinnie to let you do skip tracing? There’s good money in it.”
“How much money?”
“Ten percent of the bond.” Connie pulled a file from her top drawer. “We got this one in yesterday. Bail was set at $100,000, and he didn’t show up for a court appearance. If you could find him and bring him in, you’d get $10,000.”
I put a hand to the desk to steady myself. “Ten thousand dollars for finding one guy? What’s the catch?”
“Sometimes they don’t want to be found, and they shoot at you. But that hardly ever happens.” Connie leafed through the file. “The guy who came in yesterday is local. Morty Beyers started tracking him down, so some of the prelim is already done. You’ve got pictures and everything.”
“What happened to Morty Beyers?”
“Busted appendix. Happened at eleven-thirty last night. He’s in St. Francis with a drain in his side and a tube up his nose.”
I didn’t want to wish Morty Beyers any misfortune, but I was starting to get excited about the prospect of stepping into his shoes. The money was tempting, and the job title had a certain cachet. On the other hand, catching fugitives sounded scary, and I was a certifiable coward when it came to risking my body parts.
“My guess is, it wouldn’t be hard to find this guy,” Connie said. “You could go talk to his mother. And if it gets hairy, you could back out. What have you got to lose?”
Only my life. “I don’t know. I don’t like the part about the shooting.”
“Probably, it’s like driving the turnpike,” Connie said. “Probably, you get used to it. The way I see it, living in New Jersey is a challenge, what with the toxic waste and the eighteen-wheelers and the armed schizophrenics. I mean, what’s one more lunatic shooting at you?”
Pretty much my own philosophy. And the $10,000 was damned appealing. I could pay off my creditors and straighten my life out. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll do it.”
“You have to talk to Vinnie first.” Connie swiveled her chair toward Vinnie’s office door. “Hey Vinnie!” she yelled. “You got business out here.”
Vinnie was forty-five, 5‘ 7“ without his lifts, and had the slim, boneless body of a ferret. He wore pointy-toed shoes, liked pointy-breasted women and dark-skinned young men; and he drove a Cadillac Seville.
“Steph here wants to do some skip tracing,” Connie said to Vinnie.
“No way. Too dangerous,” Vinnie said. “Most of my agents used to be in security. And you have to know something about law enforcement.”
“I can learn about law enforcement,” I told him.
“Learn about it first. Then come back.”
“I need the job now.”
“Not my problem.”
I figured it was time to get tough. “I’ll make it your problem, Vinnie. I’ll have a long talk with Lucille.”
Lucille was Vinnie’s wife and the only woman in the burg who didn’t know about Vinnie’s addiction to kinky sex. Lucille had her eyes firmly closed, and it wasn’t my place to pry them open. Of course, if she ever
“You’d blackmail me? Your own cousin?”
“These are desperate times.”
He turned to Connie. “Give her a few civil cases. Stuff that involves telephone work.”
“I want this one,” I said, pointing to the file on Connie’s desk. “I want the $10,000 one.”
