Explosive Eighteen

Lula looked down at him. “He don’t look reasonable.”

Buggy struggled to free his hands. “GRRRRR!” He came off one knee and then the other. He shook his head as if to clear it, stood, and swayed a little getting his balance.

“You know that movie where they bring the Frankenstein monster back to life?” Lula said. “This is like that movie. You know what happened when Frankenstein first woke up? He wasn’t happy.”

“We need to go downtown and get you rebonded,” I said to Buggy. “It won’t take long.”

Buggy lunged at me. His hands were bound behind his back, and his gait was awkward. He lunged at me a second time, but I jumped away. He stumbled, went down to the ground, and rolled onto his back. That’s where he stayed, kicking his feet, unable to right himself.

“He’s like a big giant turtle,” Lula said. “What are we gonna do with him?”

I didn’t know. We couldn’t lift him. I wasn’t even sure we could drag him. When we got near, he kicked out at us. His face was red and sweating, and veins were popped out in his forehead and corded on his neck.

“You need to calm yourself,” Lula said to Buggy. “You’re gonna give yourself a stroke. And you’re not a real attractive man to begin with, so you don’t want to make it worse with the whole bulging vein thing. It’s not a good look for you.”

He was rocking side to side and grunting. “Unh, unh, UNH!” And on the last UNH, he broke out of the Flexi-Cuffs, rolled to hands and knees, then stood beady-eyed, arms out, mouth open. Killer grizzly.

“YOW!” Lula said. “Every man for himself.”

She ran for the Buick, and I ran for the RAV4. I jumped in, pulled the door closed, and took off with Lula following.

I drove to my parents’ house, parked at the curb, and sat for a couple beats, getting it together. Lula rapped on the driver’s side window, and I got out.

“You see, that’s what I’m talking about,” Lula said. “You got a juju issue. That wasn’t a wonderful experience. You ever see anyone break out of those plastic handcuffs before? I don’t think so.”

ELEVEN

GRANDMA WAS AT the front door, waving at us. “You’re just in time for lunch,” she said.

Lula’s face brightened. “Lunch! That’s what I need after my traumatic experience.”

Grandma led the way to the kitchen. “What happened?”

“We almost got torn limb from limb by a idiot,” Lula said. “Only we avoided it and came here.”

My mother was putting food on the kitchen table, trying not to rant over the thought of me getting my limbs torn off.

“Ham, olive loaf, Swiss cheese, some macaroni salad,” she said. “Help yourself.”

I sat down and Grandma gave me a small glass bottle.

“Annie dropped this off for you this morning. She said you should drink it next time you see your true love, and it’ll take care of your indigestion.”

Lula looked across at me. “Does this mean you decided on your true love? Not that I especially care, but I was wondering for the sake of conversation if it has something to do with the ring that used to be on your finger.”

My mother and grandmother stopped eating and leaned forward a little, waiting for my answer.

“Oh, for goodness’ sakes,” I said. “Why is everyone making such a big deal about this stupid tan line? It’s just a tan line!”

“Yeah,” Lula said, “but you’ve been real secret about it, and all this talk about true love and indigestion has me putting it together, and I finally got it figured out. You’re preggers!”

My mother clapped a hand over her mouth, made a strangled sound, and went facedown into the olive loaf. For a brief moment, I thought she’d had a heart attack, and I was responsible.

“She just fainted,” Grandma said. “She used to faint all the time when she was a little girl. A real drama queen.”

We stretched my mom out on the floor, and Grandma got a wet towel. My mom finally opened her eyes and looked up at me. “Who? What?”

“I’m not pregnant,” I said.

“Are you sure?”

I had to think about it for a minute. “Pretty sure.” I’d be more sure in a week.

We sat my mom back in her chair, I got the whiskey from the cupboard, and we all chugged some.

“I can’t take it anymore,” Lula said to me. “I want to know about the ring. I want to know who you married. What the heck happened in Hawaii anyhow?”

“Yeah,” Grandma said. “I want to know, too.”

“Ditto,” my mom said, taking another hit from the whiskey bottle.

I’d been avoiding this. There were parts to my vacation that were spectacular, but there were also parts I’d just as soon forget… like the ending. Not only didn’t I want to talk about it, I had no idea what to say. It was all too awkward. Unfortunately, I owed Lula and my family an explanation. I just wouldn’t tell them all of it.

“It was nothing. It was business. I’ll tell you what happened, but you have to swear not to repeat it.”

Everyone made the sign of the cross, drew zippers across their mouths, and threw the keys away.

“I offered the second free plane ticket to Morelli,” I said, “but he couldn’t get away from work. He never gets away from work. So I went by myself. I got off the plane in Honolulu, and as I was walking through the terminal, I spotted Tootie Ruguzzi.”

“Get the heck out,” Lula said. “The Rug’s wife?”

“Yeah.”

“Those two disappeared off the face of the earth,” Grandma said. “We all thought they got planted.”

Simon Ruguzzi, better known as The Rug, is a local celebrity hit man. He’s part of the Colichio crime family, but he’s also been known to do freelance. Three years ago, he executed seven members of a Hispanic gang that was trying to muscle in on Colichio territory. Two other gang members witnessed the massacre but escaped and fingered The Rug. He was arrested and charged and somehow managed to get released on a ridiculously high bail bond. That was the last anyone ever saw The Rug or Tootie. Vinnie had written the bond, and Ranger and I have been looking for The Rug ever since.

“Was The Rug with her?” Lula asked.

“Not in the terminal. She was alone. I followed her outside and watched her get on a shuttle to a resort. I picked up my rental car and drove to the address on the side of the shuttle. It was one of those really expensive beachfront, view-of-Diamond-Head resorts that cater to special-events packages. I tried to get in, but it was married-couples-only retreat month. High-security, exclusive, strictly enforced privacy.”

“They weren’t even letting bounty hunters in?” Lula asked.

“My name wasn’t on the guest list. End of story.”

“How about if you were a guest?”

“I had to be married.”

“I’m getting a picture,” Lula said.

“It was more complicated than that,” I told her. “Even if I captured The Rug, I don’t have the authority to return him to Jersey. Vinnie and Ranger handle the high stakes bonds and extradition.”

“So you called Ranger,” Lula said.

“Yes. He caught the next flight, and we checked into the resort as Mr. and Mrs. Manoso.”

Lula fanned herself with her napkin. “Lordy, lordy.”

My mother had her hands over her ears. “I’m not listening.”

“I’m listening,” Grandma said. “This is getting good.”

Grandma had no idea how good. And I wasn’t going into details, but Ranger arranged for a beachfront cottage with total privacy for enjoying the spa au naturel and a king-sized bed for apres spa.