There was the sound of gravel crunching in the driveway between houses, and Margie and Mrs. Nowicki exchanged glances.
“That's Maxine, isn't it?” I asked.
“You're going to ruin everything for us,” Mrs. Nowicki said. “We had this all planned out, and now you're screwing it up.”
“I'm screwing it up? Look at you two. You've been scalped and had your finger chopped off. Back in Trenton there's a dead store clerk. And you're still playing this stupid treasure hunt game.”
“It isn't that simple,” Margie said. “We can't leave yet. They have to pay the price.”
A car door slammed and Mrs. Nowicki gave a start. “Maxie!” she yelled.
Lula gave Mrs. Nowicki a bump with her hip. Mrs. Nowicki lost her balance and flopped onto the couch, and Lula sat on her. “I know I'll get hollered at if I shoot you,” Lula said. “So I'll just sit on you until you be quiet.”
“I can't breathe,” Mrs. Nowicki said. “You ever think about cutting back on the helpings?”
Margie had a trapped animal look, like she couldn't decide whether to shout a warning or bolt for the door herself.
“Sit,” I told her, pulling an industrial-?size can of pepper spray out of my bag, shaking the can to make sure it was active. “Don't go running around confusing things.”
I was hidden by the door when Maxine came in, but Lula was in full view, sitting on Mrs. Nowicki.
“Lo,” Lula said to Maxine.
“Shit,” Maxine said. Then she did an about-?face and lunged for the door.
I kicked the door closed and aimed the spray at her. “Stop! Don't make me use this.”
Maxine took a step back and raised her hands.
“Now get off me, you big load of blubber,” Mrs. Nowicki said to Lula.
I had a pair of cuffs stuck into the waistband of my shorts. I handed the cuffs to Lula and told her to secure Maxine.
“Sorry to have to do this,” I said to Maxine. “The charges against you are minimal. If you cooperate you might not even get jail time.”
“It's not jail time I'm worried about,” Maxine said. “It's dead time.”
Lula reached out to snap the cuffs, and without warning the front and back doors crashed open. Joyce Barnhardt, dressed in swat black with “bounty hunter” emblazoned on her T-?shirt, charged into the room with guns drawn. There were three other women with her, all dressed like Joyce, all armed like Rambo on rampage, all yelling “Freeze” at the top of their lungs and doing those squatting cop stances you see in the movies.
Margie's new lamp got knocked over and crashed on the floor, and Margie and Mrs. Nowicki and Maxine started yelling and running around, trying to protect their stuff. They were yelling “Oh no!” and “Help!” and “Don't shoot!” Lula dove behind the couch and made herself as small as anyone weighing two hundred pounds could make herself. And I was yelling at everyone to stop yelling.
There was a lot of confusion and a lot of people in that one small room, and it suddenly occurred to me that Maxine wasn't one of them. I heard gravel fly against the house and looked out the window to see Maxine gun the car out of the driveway and take off down the road.
I didn't have a car, so there wasn't much point in my rushing out. And I sure as hell wasn't going to help Joyce catch Maxine, so I didn't say anything. I just backed off and sat down in a big, overstuffed chair and waited for things to calm down. What I really wanted to do was to wade in and beat Joyce to a bloody pulp, but I didn't want to set a bad example for Lula.
Joyce had recruited her cousin Karen Ruzinski and Marlene Cwik to help with the takedown. I didn't know the third woman. Karen had two little kids, and I guess she was happy to get out of the house and do something different.
“Hey Karen,” I said, “where are the kids? Day care?”
“They're with my mother. She's got a pool in her yard. One of those big ones with the deck around it.” Karen set her gun down on the coffee table and pulled her wallet out of one of the pockets in her swat pants. “Look here,” she said. “This is Susan Elizabeth. She starts school this year.”
Mrs. Nowicki picked up Karen's gun, squeezed a shot off, and a chunk of plaster fell out of the ceiling onto the television set. Everyone stopped dead in their tracks and stared at Mrs. Nowicki.
Mrs. Nowicki leveled the gun at Joyce. “Party's over.”
“You're in big trouble,” Joyce said. “You're harboring a fugitive.”
A humorless smile slashed Mrs. Nowicki's face. “Honey, I'm not harboring anything. Look around. You see a fugitive?”