This was a huge lie, of course, but I was desperate. I needed the money, and besides, I didn’t like him. Call me crazy, but I don’t like people who shoot at me and hit me with their motorized shopping carts.

“Okay, how about this,” Lula said to Guzzi. “How about I root your crippled ass out of that rent-a-wreck and kick your butt all the way across the parking lot.”

“What’d I ever do to you?” he asked.

“You shot at me,” Lula said.

“You disturbed me when I was in my home.”

“I guess that’s true,” Lula said. “I wasn’t thinking about it like that.”

Another motorized shopper buzzed up to us. “What’s going on?” she wanted to know. “Is this a mugging? We got rights to be in these things. I got a handicap sticker on my car and everything.”

“Oh yeah?” Lula said. “What’s wrong with you?”

“None of your beeswax,” the old lady said.

“I bet you’re fibbing,” Lula said. “I bet you don’t got no sticker. I bet you’re a big liar.”

“Go get the car and bring it around to the door,” I said to Lula. “I don’t want to drag this guy any further than is necessary.”

“You and who else?” he said.

And that was when I juiced him with the stun gun. He sort of slumped in his seat, and Lula took off.

“It’s okay,” I said to the people gathering around. “He’s my brother. This happens all the time. He just needs to take a nap. He’ll be fine.”

I could have said I was a fugitive apprehension agent, but that always freaks people out. The store rent-a-cops muscle in, and the police are called, and then I have to drag out all my paperwork. Better to lie and make a fast getaway.

“He pissed his pants,” an old guy looking on said. “What’s the matter with him?”

“War injury,” I said. “You should stand back. He could get violent when he comes around.”

I grabbed two bags of Halloween candy from a display by the register and gave the checker a ten-dollar bill. I got my change, snagged Guzzi by the front of his jacket, and wrestled him out of the cart. He was sort of floppy and twitchy, but I managed to back my way out of the store entrance with him in tow. Lula skidded to a stop in front of me and jumped out to help me get Guzzi into the backseat. I cuffed him, thanked Lula, and drove my catch to the police station.

I off-loaded Guzzi at the back door to the station and dragged his uncooperative body all the way to the docket lieutenant. I turned him over and my phone rang.

“Where are my pumpkins?” Anthony wanted to know.

“Keep your shirt on. I’ve got them.”

“And the M amp;Ms;?”

Dammit, I forgot about the M amp;Ms.;

“It’s almost lunchtime,” Anthony said. “Maybe you could get me a sub from Pino’s.”

Maybe I could add poison to the sub, shoot you with a real gun, and throw you into the Delaware River, I thought. Okay, Stephanie, take a deep breath. Remember, his butt got nailed, and it’s partly your fault.

“Sure,” I said. “I’ll get you a sub.”

I got my body receipt for Guzzi and ran to my car. I checked my watch. I had a half hour to get the sub and M amp;Ms;, drop everything off at Morelli’s house, and get back to my apartment.

I pulled up to Morelli’s house and my phone rang.

“Mrs. Ardenowski saw you at Shop and Bag, and she said you were abusing a handicapped man,” my mother said.

“He wasn’t handicapped. He shot himself in the foot while he was robbing a store.”

“Mrs. Ardenowski said he was in one of those motorized shopping carts.”

“Yeah, because he shot himself in the foot.”

“They don’t give those carts to just anybody. If he had a cart, he had to be handicapped. And what are you doing arresting people in supermarkets? Florence Molnar’s daughter doesn’t do that. She has a good job at the bank.”

“I’ve gotta go,” I said to my mother. And I disconnected.

I used my key to get into Morelli’s house. I gave Anthony his candy and sub. I took Bob out for a short walk. Bob pooped on Mr. Fratelli’s lawn, and Mr. Fratelli came out and yelled at me to pick the poop up, but I didn’t have any bags with me.

“I’ll send Morelli over for it when he gets off from work,” I told Mr. Fratelli.

I was ten minutes late getting home, which was pretty good, all things considered.

“Hey,” Diesel said.

“Hey to you.”

“Did you get your guy?”

“I did! I took him down at Shop and Bag.”

Diesel grinned. He grabbed me and kissed me on the lips. “Congratulations.”

It was like a mild electric shock running from my lips to my toes. “Jeez,” I said, “my lips are tingling.”

“Yeah, if I’d Frenched you, your sneakers would be smoking.”

He was kidding again, right?

“What’s next?” I asked him.

“Road trip.”

Diesel had a mud-splattered Subaru SUV parked in my lot. A cart had been hitched to the Subaru, and the cart held two ATVs.

“I thought the ATVs would give us a lower profile and more flexibility,” Diesel said.

We took the Turnpike to the Atlantic City Expressway. My phone rang just as we got on the Expressway, and I cringed at the display. It was Anthony.

“Yes?” I said by way of greeting.

“I need ice cream, and it’s all the way in the kitchen.”

“And?”

“I was hoping you could get it for me.”

“I can’t help you right now. I’m in south Jersey.”

“But Joe said-”

“Anthony,” I yelled into the phone. “Walk your broken ass into the kitchen and get your own stupid ice cream.”

And I hung up.

“Sounds like that went well,” Diesel said.

“Morelli comes from a scary gene pool.”

We reached the dirt road leading to Gail Scanlon’s compound and we off-loaded the ATVs.

“Do you have a plan?” I asked Diesel.

“I thought we’d start with Gail Scanlon’s house. I’d like to see it for myself. After that, we’ll play it by ear. Ride around and see what happens. And in case my instincts fail, I have a handheld GPS. Do you feel comfortable with this ATV?”

Sure, aside from the fact I’d never been on one. “It looks pretty straightforward.” Like a big Tonka toy. Four wheels with aggressive tread tires, steering wheel, gas pedal, brake, some buttons.

We had no trouble finding Gail Scanlon’s compound. The booby trap hadn’t been reset, but some of the remains were still on the ground. We turned right at the fork and followed the road to the monkey farm.

We drove into the yard and got off the ATVs. Not a monkey in sight. No other cars in the yard.

“Feels like a ghost town,” Diesel said.

We went into the house and snooped around, finding nothing of interest. After the house, we went to the monkey shed. I’d expected to find cages, but the shed was actually an indoor habitat with heat and electric and running water. Only thing missing was the monkey horde.

I left the shed and stood in the middle of the yard and called Carl, but Carl didn’t appear.

“Boy,” I said, “after all I did for him. And this is the thanks I get.”

“You’re freaking me out,” Diesel said. “You sound like my mother.”

“You have a mother?”

“If you’re going to be mean to me, I’m not going to let you make me any more grilled cheese.”

“You let me make the grilled cheese?”

Diesel smiled wide enough for his dimples to show.

I shook my finger at him. “Don’t you dare use those dimples on me.”

Diesel rocked back on his heels, still smiling wide. “I can’t help it if I have dimples.”

“Yes, you can. I know all about you and those dimples.”

“Most women like them.”

“I’m not most women.”

“No shit,” Diesel said. “Get on the ATV.”

We took the road leading out of the compound until we came to the fork, and then we turned right. After several yards, a rough path cut off into the pines, and I assumed this was the path Munch took when I chased him through the woods. I followed Diesel along the path, and we began working our way through a labyrinth of ATV tracks.