Lula and Connie were already busy at work. Vinnie’s door was closed.
“Is he in?” I asked.
“Haven’t seen him,” Connie said.
“Yeah,” Lula added. “Maybe somebody drove a stake in his heart last night, and he won’t be in at all.”
The phone rang, and Connie handed it over to Lula. “Someone named Shirlene,” Connie said.
I raised my eyebrows to Lula. Shirlene, who was Leroy Watkins’s woman?
“Yes!” Lula said when she got off the phone. “We’re on a roll! We got ourselves another live one. Shirlene says Leroy came home last night. And then they got into a big fight, and Leroy beat up some on Shirlene and kicked her out to the street. So Shirlene says we could have his ugly ass.”
I had my keys in my hand and my coat zipped. “Let’s go.”
“This is gonna be easy,” Lula said when we hit Stark Street. “We’re just gonna sneak up on ol’ Leroy. Probably he think it gonna be Shirlene at the door. I just hope he don’t come to the door too happy, you know what I mean?”
I knew exactly what she meant, and I didn’t want to think about it. I parked in front of Leroy’s building, and we both sat there in silence.
“Well,” Lula finally said. “He probably wouldn’t want to ruin his door a second time. Probably he caught it from the landlord. Doors don’t grow on trees, you know.”
I considered that. “Maybe he isn’t even in there,” I added. “When was the last Shirlene saw him?”
“Last night.”
We did some more sitting.
“We could wait out here for him,” Lula said. “Do a stakeout.”
“Or we could call.”
Lula looked up into the third-story windows. “Calling might be a good idea.”
A few more minutes passed.
I took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s do it.”
“Damn skippy,” Lula said.
We paused in the foyer and took stock of the building. A television blaring somewhere. A baby crying. We walked the first flight of stairs slowly, listening as we crept step by step. We stopped on the second-floor landing and took a few deep breaths.
“You aren’t gonna hyperventilate, are you?” Lula asked. “I’d hate to have you keel over on me from hyperventilating.”
“I’m okay,” I told her.
“Yeah,” she said. “Me too.”
When we got to the third-floor landing neither of us was breathing at all.
We stood there staring at the door that had been patched with cardboard and two slats of stained plywood. I motioned to Lula to stand aside of the door. She jumped to attention and plastered herself against the wall. I did the same on the opposite side.
I rapped on the door. “Pizza delivery,” I yelled.
There was no response.
I rapped harder and the door swung open. Lula and I still weren’t breathing, and I could feel my blood pounding behind my eyeballs. Neither Lula nor I made a move for a full minute. We just pressed into the wall, not making a sound.
I called out again. “Leroy? It’s Lula and Stephanie Plum. Are you there, Leroy?”
After a while Lula said, “I don’t think he’s here.”
“Don’t move,” I said. “I’m going in.”
“Help yourself,” Lula said. “I’d go in first, but I don’t want to be a hog about this searching shit.”
I inched my way into the apartment and looked around. Everything was as I’d remembered. There was no sign of occupancy. I peeked into the bedroom. No one there.
“Well?” Lula asked from the hall.
“Looks empty.”
Lula poked her head around the doorjamb. “Too bad. I was looking to do another takedown. I was ready to kick some butt.”
I approached the closed bathroom door with my pepper spray in hand. I flipped the door open and jumped back. The door crashed against the wall and Lula dove behind the couch.
I looked into the empty bathroom, and then I looked over at Lula.
Lula picked herself up. “Just testing my reflexes,” Lula said. “Trying out new techniques.”
“Uh-huh.”
