Read Online 20 Takedown Twenty by Janet Evanovich - Free Book Online
Authors: Janet Evanovich
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flippin’ them the bird and you get to be a victim of road rage,” Lula said. “You’re lucky you don’t get shot driving with that finger sticking up like that. I’ll make a deal. We do a real fast drive down Fifteenth Street, I leave Kevin’s lettuce sitting out for him, and then we go snatch Ziggy.”
Twenty minutes later Lula and I turned onto Fifteenth Street. She drove four blocks and tossed the lettuce onto the sidewalk at the corner of Fifteenth and Freeman.
“I got a plan,” Lula said. “The lettuce is bait. I figure if I keep leaving lettuce here Kevin’s gonna hang around the lettuce, and then I can trap him. I haven’t got all the details worked out yet, but I’m thinking I could use a big net.”
“He’s
huge
!”
“Yeah, I’d need to get up real high and drop it over him. Likefrom a helicopter. Or you know what would be really good? Spider-Man. You know how he shoots those webs out from his fingers? He could wrap webs around Kevin.”
“So all you have to do is get in touch with Spider-Man?”
“It’s a shame he don’t live here, right?”
“It’s a shame he doesn’t live
anywhere
.”
“Ranger’s pretty close,” Lula said, “except he can’t do the web throwing thing, and so far as I know he don’t wear spandex.”
Lula cut through downtown and turned onto State Street. The hardware store and Ginty’s Bar were on the outermost perimeter of the Burg. Ginty’s was a dark hole-in-the-wall-type dive that drew regulars from the shantytown row houses that lined Post Street, and ran parallel with State. Ziggy owned one of the row houses, but he lived in Ginty’s.
Lula parked in the small lot the bar shared with the hardware store, and we got out and walked to the bar’s front door.
“How many times have we pulled Ziggy out of here?” Lula asked. “Must be a dozen. I swear I think he just likes to ride in my Firebird.”
We stepped into the bar and took a moment to allow our eyes to adjust to the dark. The air was cold and damp, and the room smelled whiskey-soaked. There were three small round tables near the door, empty at this time of day. The highly polished mahogany bar stretched the length of the back of the room. Ziggy was one of three men at the bar.
“If he smells bad I’m putting him in the trunk,” Lula said. “Last time we took him in I had to have my car detailed.”
Ziggy was a fifty-six-year-old white male who was on a disability pension from the government and was working hard at destroying his liver. There was no Mrs. Ziggy, and no Rover or Kitty Ziggy. Just Ziggy in all his pickled glory.
The bartender waved to us and said something to Ziggy. Ziggy swiveled on his barstool and saluted us with his empty beer glass.
“Ladies,” Ziggy said. “Long time no see.”
“Are you ready to go for a ride?” I asked him.
“Barkeep,” Ziggy said. “One for the road.”
The bartender set a fresh beer in front of Ziggy, Ziggy chugged it, and fell off his barstool.
“You have this strange effect on men,” Lula said to me. “They’re always passing out on you. Guys get stuck with darts, and run into walls, and fall off barstools.”
I hooked my hands under Ziggy’s armpits. “Help me get him outside.”
“I’ll help you get him outside,” Lula said, “but he’s not going in my car. He just wet hisself.”
We carted Ziggy outside, and I called a cab.
“I can’t keep from thinking about Spider-Man,” Lula said. “God made cats and dogs and cows and humans, but he only made superheroes in comic books. What the heck was he thinking?”
“I guess he was counting on us to do the job.”
“You mean us personally? Because I’m a big woman, but I couldn’t stop no speeding train single-handed.”
“I was talking about human beings in general.”
“Probably we’re in a lot of trouble on that one, since most of the men I know can’t even keep their pants up, much less save the world.”
I waved the approaching cab to the curb and
Twenty minutes later Lula and I turned onto Fifteenth Street. She drove four blocks and tossed the lettuce onto the sidewalk at the corner of Fifteenth and Freeman.
“I got a plan,” Lula said. “The lettuce is bait. I figure if I keep leaving lettuce here Kevin’s gonna hang around the lettuce, and then I can trap him. I haven’t got all the details worked out yet, but I’m thinking I could use a big net.”
“He’s
huge
!”
“Yeah, I’d need to get up real high and drop it over him. Likefrom a helicopter. Or you know what would be really good? Spider-Man. You know how he shoots those webs out from his fingers? He could wrap webs around Kevin.”
“So all you have to do is get in touch with Spider-Man?”
“It’s a shame he don’t live here, right?”
“It’s a shame he doesn’t live
anywhere
.”
“Ranger’s pretty close,” Lula said, “except he can’t do the web throwing thing, and so far as I know he don’t wear spandex.”
Lula cut through downtown and turned onto State Street. The hardware store and Ginty’s Bar were on the outermost perimeter of the Burg. Ginty’s was a dark hole-in-the-wall-type dive that drew regulars from the shantytown row houses that lined Post Street, and ran parallel with State. Ziggy owned one of the row houses, but he lived in Ginty’s.
Lula parked in the small lot the bar shared with the hardware store, and we got out and walked to the bar’s front door.
“How many times have we pulled Ziggy out of here?” Lula asked. “Must be a dozen. I swear I think he just likes to ride in my Firebird.”
We stepped into the bar and took a moment to allow our eyes to adjust to the dark. The air was cold and damp, and the room smelled whiskey-soaked. There were three small round tables near the door, empty at this time of day. The highly polished mahogany bar stretched the length of the back of the room. Ziggy was one of three men at the bar.
“If he smells bad I’m putting him in the trunk,” Lula said. “Last time we took him in I had to have my car detailed.”
Ziggy was a fifty-six-year-old white male who was on a disability pension from the government and was working hard at destroying his liver. There was no Mrs. Ziggy, and no Rover or Kitty Ziggy. Just Ziggy in all his pickled glory.
The bartender waved to us and said something to Ziggy. Ziggy swiveled on his barstool and saluted us with his empty beer glass.
“Ladies,” Ziggy said. “Long time no see.”
“Are you ready to go for a ride?” I asked him.
“Barkeep,” Ziggy said. “One for the road.”
The bartender set a fresh beer in front of Ziggy, Ziggy chugged it, and fell off his barstool.
“You have this strange effect on men,” Lula said to me. “They’re always passing out on you. Guys get stuck with darts, and run into walls, and fall off barstools.”
I hooked my hands under Ziggy’s armpits. “Help me get him outside.”
“I’ll help you get him outside,” Lula said, “but he’s not going in my car. He just wet hisself.”
We carted Ziggy outside, and I called a cab.
“I can’t keep from thinking about Spider-Man,” Lula said. “God made cats and dogs and cows and humans, but he only made superheroes in comic books. What the heck was he thinking?”
“I guess he was counting on us to do the job.”
“You mean us personally? Because I’m a big woman, but I couldn’t stop no speeding train single-handed.”
“I was talking about human beings in general.”
“Probably we’re in a lot of trouble on that one, since most of the men I know can’t even keep their pants up, much less save the world.”
I waved the approaching cab to the curb and
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