“I’ll go get her,” I said. “She’s just excited. Miss Gloria told her this was going to be her big break.”
“Is that a real gun?” the receptionist asked Tank. “You can’t bring a gun in here.”
“Bean counters don’t carry real guns,” I said. “They shoot blanks.”
“Do you want to see a picture of my cats?” Tank asked the receptionist. “I’m pretty sure Applepuff is pregnant.”
Lula got to the end of the hall and waved at me to follow. I ran after Lula, and Tank stayed behind to show the receptionist his cats. Lula and I pushed through the door marked no admittance and found the two uniformed men winching a huge machine onto the flatbed.
“Is that a transmitter?” I asked them.
“No hablo ingles,” the one man said.
The flatbed engine cranked over, and the truck idled while the two men strapped the machine down and secured clamps.
“They’re taking off with the transmitter,” I said to Lula. “We need to get Tank. We need to follow them.”
Lula and I ran down the hall, snagged Tank, and we all ran across the street and jumped into the Rangeman SUV. The flatbed swung around in the lot and rolled to the gate. The gate opened, and the truck made a wide turn onto the street. The driver of the truck looked directly at me when he made the turn. His eyes went wide, and red spots instantly appeared on his cheeks. It was Munch.
“That’s Munch!” I said. “That’s my man.”
Munch put his foot to the floor and the flatbed took off down the street. Tank was close behind. Lula was in the backseat with her head out the window and her Glock in her hand.
“Pull alongside him!” Lula yelled. “I’ll shoot out his tires. I’ll bust a cap up his ass.”
“Got it,” Tank said, easing up beside the truck on a two-?lane city street.
“Drop back!” I told him. “You’ll get us killed.”
Munch swerved away from the SUV and took out three parked cars and a light post. The flatbed surged ahead, jumped the curb, and cut a corner, sending two people screaming into a Starbucks.
“The little guy at the wheel can’t drive,” Tank said. “He’s all over the road.”
“You’re scaring him,” I said. “Back off.”
“Don’t listen to her,” Lula said. “I got this bad boy in my sights.”
Lula squeezed off two rounds and shattered the rear window of a parked car. The flatbed ran a light, and cars swerved to avoid it, horns blaring. Tank slowed and crept through the intersection. Six people gave him the finger.
“He’s heading for Broad,” I said to Tank. “He’s going to the Pine Barrens.”
Tank turned onto Broad with the flatbed in sight. Several cars were between us and the truck. The flatbed took the orange light at Hamilton, and everyone behind him stopped for the red.
“Don’t you have no flashy lights or anything?” Lula asked Tank. “Aren’t we an emergency vehicle?”
“Ranger doesn’t let us use them,” Tank said.
“Ranger this and Ranger that,” Lula said. “Don’t none of you people think for yourself? I bet you can’t wipe yourself without Ranger telling you.”
Tank looked at her in the rearview mirror. “I’m telling him you said that.”
“I might have misspoke,” Lula said.
We couldn’t see the truck anymore, but we could mea sure its progress by the destruction on the side of the road. Four more trashed cars, a flattened mailbox, two demolished street signs.
We reached Bordentown and approached the Turnpike entrance.
“I haven’t seen any wrecked cars for over a mile now,” Lula said. “Do you think he took another road?”