This is like a ghost town,' I said. 'Not a single house has a light on.'

'Better for us,' Lula said. 'But it feels spooky, don't it? It's like we're in some horror movie. Nightmare in Point Pleasant.'

I got to the last house on the right and darned if it wasn't painted salmon with turquoise trim. It was a small two-story bungalow that faced the ocean. No garage, but there was a driveway separating Vinnie's house and an almost identical bungalow next to him. At this time of year a car parked in the driveway would be reasonably well hidden.

I pulled the truck into the driveway, and I cut the lights. Lula and I squinted through the rain to the bungalow's back door. Above the door was a hand-painted sign that said SEA BREEZE.

'Bet Vinnie had to think a long time to come up with that name,' Lula said.

I put my hood up, and Lula and I sprinted through the rain and huddled together on the small back stoop while I fumbled with the key. I finally got the door open, we both jumped inside, and I slammed the door shut behind us.

Lula shook her corn-rowed head, sending water flying. 'Could we possibly have picked a crappier day to do this?'

'Maybe we should wait a couple days until the weather is better.'

The heartfelt, cold-feet statement of the year.

'I don't want to be no alarmist or nothing, but you wait a couple days and you might not be around to beat on this guy.'

Twelve

The back door to Vinnies beach bungalow opened to the kitchen. The floor was yellow-and-white linoleum that looked relatively new. The counters were red Formica. The cabinets were painted white. The appliances were also white. GE. Midgrade. A small white wood table, covered with a blue-and-white checked plastic tablecloth, sat to one side. There were four chairs at the table.

Beyond the kitchen was a combination living room and dining room. The carpet was gold and showing wear. The dining-room table was white and gold, French provincial. Probably confiscated from a bad bond. The living-room furniture was overstuffed brown velour. Tasteful in an upper-end whorehouse sort of way. End tables were dark fruitwood, Mediterranean style. Handstitched pillows with messages were everywhere. KISS ME I'M ITALIAN. HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS. SUMMER STARTS HERE.

There was a downstairs bathroom and a small downstairs bedroom. Both rooms looked out at the driveway.

'Here's where we'll beat Anton,' Lula said, standing in the bathroom. 'Just in case there's blood, it'll be easy to clean up with all this tile.'

Blood? My stomach went sick and little black dots floated in front of my eyes.

Lula kept going. 'And there's only that one little frosted window over the tub. So nobody can see us. Yep, this is gonna be good. Nice and private. No neighbors around. That's important on account of he's probably gonna be screaming in pain, and we don't want no one to hear.'

I sat down on the toilet and put my head between my legs.

'You okay?' Lula asked.

'I've been dieting. I think I must be weak from hunger.'

'I remember when I was dieting, and I felt like that,' Lula said.

'And then I discovered that protein diet, and I was eating all those pork roasts. I felt real good on the protein diet. Except sometimes I'd overdo it. Like when I found that sale on boiled lobsters. And I was eating all those lobsters and melted butter. I'm telling you that butter went through me like goose grease.'

I didn't want to hear about goose grease right now. I stayed on the toilet, taking deep breaths, and Lula went exploring upstairs. 'There's two bedrooms and a bathroom up there. Nothing special. Looks like it's for lads and guests,' Lula said, returning to the bathroom. 'Maybe we should get you food.'

I didn't need food. I needed someone to intervene and stop me from kidnapping a guy and beating him bloody. I left the bathroom and walked through the living room to the front door. I opened the door and stepped out onto the covered front porch. There was a minuscule front yard, just big enough for an aluminum and nylon webbed chaise and a small table.

A boardwalk ran the length of the beach for as far as the eye could see. Beyond the boardwalk, the wet sand was the color and texture of fresh concrete. The ocean was loud and scary. Big gray rollers crashed onto the beach, conjuring visions of tsunamis barreling in, gobbling up Point Pleasant.

The wind had picked up, driving the rain across the porch in sheets. I retreated into the house and locked the door. We pulled every shade and closed every curtain and then we left.

I called Connie when we hit White Horse. 'What's up?' I asked.

'It's all set,' Connie said. 'Ward and his brother bought the whole enchilada. Ward's being held at the prison on Cass Street. I have to get there before four o'clock to bond him out.'

I picked Connie up at three thirty and dropped her at the prison.

We decided Ward might not be happy to see Lula and me, so we waited in the truck. In a half hour, Connie emerged with Ward cuffed behind his back. Ranger's truck was a four-door supercrew cab with a full backseat and steel rings conveniently bolted into the floor, just right for securing leg shackles. Connie got in back with Ward, and I swung the truck out into traffic. Ward didn't say anything. And I didn't say anything. And Lula didn't say anything. All of us being careful not to rock the boat.

Ward thinking he was going home. And Lula and Connie and me thinking we were going to beat the crap out of him. I parked curbside when I reached the office. We took our time off-loading Ward, making a show of it as best we could in the rain.

We wanted people to witness the fact that we'd brought him this far. The whole time I was having heart palpitations, and I couldn't get the phrase 'harebrained scheme' out of my head. We finally brought him inside and sat him in the chair in front of Connie's desk. The plan was to give him a shot at talking to us. If he refused to cooperate we'd hit him with the stun gun, blindfold him, and trundle him out to the Firebird.

'I want to know about Junkman,' I said.

He was slouched in the chair. Hard to do when your hands are cuffed behind your back, but he managed. He cut his eyes to me under half-lowered lids. Sullen. Insolent. He didn't say anything.

'Do you know Junkman?' I asked.

Nothing.

'You better answer her,' Lula said. 'Otherwise we might get upset, and then I'd have to sit on you again.'

Ward spit on the floor.

That's disgusting,' Lula said. 'We don't put up with that. You don't watch your step, I'll give you enough volts to make you pee your pants.' And she showed him her stun gun.

'What the hell is this?' Ward said, sitting up straighter. 'I thought

I was supposed to get hooked up to a monitor. What's with this stun-gun bullshit?'

'We thought you might want to talk to us first,' Lula said.

'I got rights, and I'm being violated,' Ward said. 'You got no business keeping me cuffed. Either put the fucking monitor on me or turn me loose.'

Lula got into his face and wagged her finger at him. 'Don't you use that language in front of ladies. We don't tolerate that.'

'I don't see no ladies,' Ward said. 'I see a big fat black…' And he used the c word. The mother of all swear words. Even better than the word.

Lula lunged at him with the stun gun, and Ward jumped out of his chair.

Connie was on her feet, too, trying to contain the disaster. 'Don't let him get to the door!' she yelled.

I sprang into action, blocking his way. He turned and ran for the back door. Connie and Lula both had stun guns in hand.

'I got him. I got him,' Lula shouted.

Ward lowered his head, and gave Lula a head butt to the stomach that knocked her on her ass. Connie rounded on him in a crouch, and they sized each other up. Ward sidestepped and bolted around her. He wasn't smart, but he was nimble.