Prime Number 29 (a Stephanie Plum/Wiseguy/The X-Files story)

[carose59]

My name is Stephanie Plum. I'm a bounty hunter, and I live in an area of New Jersey called The Burg. I keep trying to have a normal life, but somehow, things don't work out that way.

I had sworn to myself that I'd never take Grandma Mazur to Atlantic City again, but oaths you make to yourself are made to be broken, especially when your mother calls you all hysterical and demanding that you take her mother off her hands for a day because, "Your father's aunt Geraldine is coming to town! I have to clean the house!"

I tried to tell her that her house was already clean, but she put the phone down and I knew she was getting the bottle out of the cupboard. Great-aunt Geraldine always gave the impression that she was wearing white gloves—even though I'd never seen her in a pair—and was using them to check for traces of dust. So my mother had to clean her already clean house to avoid the disapproval of a woman in imaginary white gloves. It was no wonder that when she came back to the phone, she practically screamed at me, "Stephanie, I don't ask you for much! But if you don't come and take your grandmother out for the day, one of us is going to end up in the hospital!"

So what could I do?

The first thing I did was call the office to tell Connie I wouldn't be working that day. My cousin Vinnie, who owns the bail bonds establishment, must have been listening in, because he picked up the extension and started yelling at me.

"You work for me, you don't just call in and say you're taking the day off. You at least pretend to be sick, and then you make sure you don't go no place where I might see you loafing off."

"I'm not loafing off," I told him. "Great-aunt Geraldine is coming to town and my mother needs me to take Grandma out of the house so she can clean." Then, because I didn't like being yelled at, I added, "Unless you'd like to have Great-aunt Geraldine to stay at your house for a while?"

Vinnie stuttered for a minute, mumbled something about doing renovations on the house, said I better not make a habit of this, and hung up. Nobody wants Great-aunt Geraldine giving their house the imaginary white glove treatment.

After I got out of the shower, I blew dried my hair, then pulled it back in a ponytail. I put on my comfortable jeans and a black cashmere sweater Morelli'd given me for my birthday. I liked it because it was soft and cozy and made me look classy even when I wore it with jeans and sneakers.

I tried to get Lula to come with me, but she remembered the last time we spent the day with Grandma, and she just laughed. I moved on to my next-least likely companion, and he turned me down too, but at least Morelli didn't laugh when I asked. Of course, unlike Lula, Morelli was hoping I'd be sharing his bed in the near future, so laughing at me wasn't in his best interests.

My third choice was Ranger, who just said, "Babe," almost chuckled, and hung up.

That left just me and Grandma. And without anyone to back me up in out-voting her, I knew that meant Atlantic City, so I didn't even bother to argue about it. I just showed up in my new silver Jeep, told Grandma I had to go to Atlantic City to track down a skip, and asked if she wanted to come along.

"Do I?" she said excitedly, climbing into the Jeep. "Today's Senior Citizen's day at the Royal Diamond." And we were on our way.

I didn't know what Senior Citizen's day meant, but I really hoped it didn't have anything to do with free drinks.

"So, who are we chasing?" Grandma asked. "Is he a dangerous fugitive?"

Of course Grandma wanted to know all the details. I mentally kicked myself for not coming up with more of a story to tell her.

"He's wanted for—for murder," I said, feeling kind of skeeved out until I reminded myself that he was a made up person. I could say he was a kitten-kicking cannibal and it wouldn't make any difference.

"Who did he off?" Grandma wanted to know. "Does this have anything to do with terrorism?"

I almost said yes, then decided that might be going a bit far. "No, he killed his wife."

Grandma clicked her tongue in disapproval. "Was she cheating on him?"

"I don't think so. He just didn't want to have to split the estate with her in a divorce. And he had a big life insurance policy out on her."

"Are there any kids?" Grandma asked. "It's always hardest on the kids when one parent offs the other one."

That, I thought, was the understatement of the year. "No, no kids."

"Good. So what's this bozo's name? How're we going to find him?"

I realized that I had to give Grandma a description of a man wild enough that she wouldn't go around accosting strangers, but believable enough that she'd, well, believe me. Probably it was the word fugitive that made me say it. "He only has one arm."

"Really?" Grandma's excitement level grew. "Does he go around with one sleeve tucked in, or does he have one of those bionic arms? I always thought I'd like to have a bionic something, but I could never decide which part I'd want to replace."

"I'm not really sure," I said. "He probably has a prosthetic arm."

Grandma nodded. "You'd want it to be prosthetic, so you wouldn't have to worry about catching any of those new sex diseases going around."

I finally figured out she was thinking of prophylactic, but by that time she'd moved on. "What's his name?"

"Harrison," I answered, realized my mistake, but couldn't go back and correct it.

"Like Harrison Ford?" Grandma asked, starting to sound just a little suspicious. "He was in that move, The Fugitive."

"No, not Harrison Ford. His name's—George. George Harrison." What in the world was I thinking?

"Like the Beatle? It isn't him, is it? How could he play the guitar with just one arm? It would have to be a bionic arm. How come they never told anybody he only had one arm?" Do any of the other Beatles only have one arm? That Paul McCartney's still cute as a bug."

"No, Grandma, it's not the same George Harrison." I didn't mention that that George Harrison was dead, because I knew if I did, the conversation would segue into great funerals she had attended, followed by the ones she'd seen on TV. She was still complaining about how long it took for them to get Ronald Reagan buried.

"What else do we know about him?" Grandma asked. "I want to be ready for the take-down!"

So I started making up details. I said he had blond hair and blue eyes, and that he was about Morelli's height and weight. That covered the basics, so I started throwing in things like he chewed Juicy Fruit gum, wore running shoes, and he liked to play the slots. Then I added that he went to bed really early. I put that last one in so I'd be able to convince Grandma there was no reason to stay in AC all night looking for him.


The Royal Diamond was Grandma's favorite casino, in part because they had more Senior Citizens' perks, and in part because all the nuns came here. Sister Dominic, who Grandma had gone to school with, had told her all about how nice they were at the Royal Diamond. I didn't get the rest of the story; I was still trying to wrap my brain around nuns gambling.

"Isn't this spiffy?" Grandma said as we walked into the casino.

"It sure is," I agreed, though to me it looked more eighties elegant.

"I'm going to get me a drink," Grandma said, heading for the bar.

I trailed after her. "Are you sure about this? It's only ten-thirty in the morning, Grandma. That's a little early to start drinking."

"I know! I'll have a breakfast drink, something with grapefruit juice in it."

My phone rang just as we got to the bar, and I fished it out of my purse. "Hello?"

"How's it going?" It was Morelli."

"Grandma's ordering a drink."

"Isn't it a little early to be drinking?" Morelli asked.

"No, she's getting a breakfast drink. Something with grapefruit juice in it."

"Is that Joe?" Grandma asked. "Tell him I'm having a Fuzzy Pussy."

Morelli made a noise that sounded like a laugh trying to be an expression of sympathy.

"You're going to tell all the guys at the station about this, aren't you?" I accused.

"Of course not!" he lied. "I wouldn't do that!"

I hung up on him before the laughter he was stifling ruptured something.

Now that Grandma had her drink, she was ready to gamble. She had her bingo winnings with her, plus twenty dollars my mother gave her. I had the forty-seven dollars I was saving for a new pair of black sling-backs, plus fifty dollars I'd gotten out of the bank machine to play the roulette wheel for Lula. "Twenty-nine black," she said, "Because that's my age and and that's my color." I didn't say anything, but I heard Connie laughing.

I parked Grandma in front of the nickle slots and said I was going to scope the place out, see if George Harrison was anywhere around. I made a circuit of the ground floor, saw no one who looked like my imaginary wife-killer, then went over to the roulette wheel, where I turned Lula's fifty dollars into a hundred. I pocketed the winnings, then put the original fifty on Lula's real age (which wasn't black) and won another fifty. After that I cashed out. Lula would be upset that I hadn't ridden her streak, but she'd be even more upset if I came back with no money for her. I just wasn't cut out for gambling, except on men.

I was making another circuit of the casino, trying to look like I was discreetly looking for a dangerous murderer—not as easy as it sounds, since all I was really doing was wandering aimlessly around—when Grandma ran up to me. "I found him!" she announced.

"What?" I asked stupidly.

"George Harrison! I found him!"

A blue-haired woman at another slot machine looked over. "George Harrison is here?" She nudged the woman next to her. "Sadie, George Harrison is here!"

In a matter of seconds, old ladies all over the casino were asking and answering each other if George Harrison was really there. "Where is he?" Sadie asked Grandma. "Where's George Harrison?"

I thought of saying that the George Harrison they were thinking of was dead, but by this time there were over thirty women gathered around us, wanting to know where we'd seen George Harrison.

"He was always my favorite," one of the women said in a swoony voice. She looked like she was in her late fifties at best. "Is he going to play here?"

Even Grandma seemed to realize she'd made a tactical error. "It's not the Beatles guy," she said. "This is a different George Harrison, a fugitive from justice."

Some of the women walked away in disappointment, but most of them stayed gathered around us. "I think we should see for ourselves," said one woman in a paisley print dress, a long, graying braid down her back. "Maybe they're just trying to keep George for themselves!"

"We want George!" a woman in pink spandex announced, and that started a chant that took over the casino. One woman started singing Something, while another, who had probably had too much to drink, sang We Shall Overcome.

I took hold of Grandma's arm, hoping to get us out of the casino before full-fledged menopausal Beatlemania took over, but these fans weren't going to let her go until she'd led them to George. "It's not the real George Harrison!" I said desperately. "It's not him, he's dead!"

"That's what they said about Paul," one cynic responded. No one else was listening. Now there were three women singing Something, one singing I Wanna Hold Your Hand, and the very drunk woman, who had moved on from We Shall Overcome to Give Peace a Chance.

That was when Security showed up.

My favorite thing about the Royal Diamond was how good looking the security guys were, but I've had a weakness for Italian men since Morelli and I played train when I was a kid. One of the security guards was actual casino security. The other was Vincent Terranova, part of the owner's personal security force; I recognized him from seeing his picture from the newspapers. He was the one in charge.

"What's going on here?" he demanded, in a voice loud enough to be heard over all the Beatles fans.

"George Harrison is here! Which room is he playing in? Will he be signing autographs?" And then, just like at any good Beatles concert, one of the women fainted.

Terranova turned to the security guard and said, "George, will you—" And half the women shrieked, startling both men. George-the-security-guard looked nothing like George Harrison or any other Beatle. If he looked like anyone, it was Johnny Rotten, with a crew cut. "Stop that!" Terranova roared at the women. George-the-security-guard was gathering up with woman and carrying her away. "Now, one of you, what's going on here?"

I was the only one who knew everything that was going on, but I kept quiet. So did Grandma Mazur. Two of the fans spoke at once, excitedly telling Terranova that "someone had seen George Harrison in the casino."

"George Harrison is dead," Terranova said flatly. "If you're talking about the Beatle, he died in 2001."

There was a long silence. Then the woman in the paisley dress said, "That's right, he did." She looked at Grandma and asked, "Are you sure it wasn't Ringo you saw?"

"I think it's time you ladies all went home," Terranova said. He called over one of the dealers who appeared to be off-duty. "Cindy, give these ladies vouchers for free drinks," he said, and when the women reluctantly followed Cindy, Grandma and I went with them.

"I think we should get out of here," I whispered to Grandma.

"But what about—" I put my hand over Grandma's mouth before she could say anything that might start a riot.

"Let's go out on the boardwalk and get some lunch," I said. "The man we're looking for is a degenerate gambler, I'm sure we'll have no trouble locating him at one of the casinos after we eat."

We got a couple of hot dogs and went to sit on a bench. We were followed by a gang of seagulls who looked like they might try to take our hot dogs away from us, but some tourists with popcorn came by and the seagulls ran after them.

I was in a quandary. Grandma had claimed to see a man I'd made up. Was there really a blond, blue-eyed one-armed man in the Royal Diamond? And if so, what should I do?

My phone rang again, and I answered. It was Lula, wanting to know how I'd done betting her money. I told her I'd won a hundred dollars for her.

"A hundred dollars? Is that all? You're not really trying. Did you follow the system I told you?"

"Of course I did. I just quit while you were ahead."

"Why would you do that? You don't quit while I'm ahead, you ride the wave. You're not riding my wave! I got a wedding to pay for, I need a hope chest, are you trying to deprive me of hope?"

"Of course not," I said. "But you can buy more hope with a hundred dollars than you can with no dollars."

"You just go back and ride my wave!" Lula hung up.

I just wanted to sit in the sun and relax, but Lula wanted me to lose her money, and I knew Grandma wanted to go back to the slots. And there was George Harrison to hunt down. "That was Lula," I said to Grandma. "She wants me to go back and play roulette."

"And maybe George Harrison is still in there!" Grandma said. "I'll look for him while you play roulette."

"All right," I agreed, "but maybe it would be better if we didn't call him by his full name. Why don't we just call him George?"

"That's a great idea!" Grandma said happily.

"And whatever you do, don't confront him. If you find him, just come and get me."

"Sure thing!" Grandma said.


Back at the roulette wheel, I was betting in smaller increments, going back and forth between black and red. I'd never come up with a decent system for playing roulette, and this one wasn't working any better than I thought it would, but mostly I was staying even. It was better than putting it all on twenty-nine black and losing it all.

I was up a hundred and thirty dollars altogether when I heard Grandma yell "Freeze, dirtbag!"

That was followed almost immediately by several people yelling "Gun! Gun!" Half the gamblers—the tourists—hit the carpet. The other half—New Jersey natives—pulled their own guns. That was New Jersey for you.

Since my gun was at home in my cookie jar and it was my grandmother causing the ruckus, I didn't have either option. Grandma was running, chasing after a dark-haired man who was running faster. He looked nothing like my imaginary George Harrison, but Grandma was chasing him, so I joined the chase.

"Grandma! Grandma! Leave that man alone!"

The gamblers were all just staring at us, but several members of Security started chasing us. We had a head start, but they out-numbered us, and several were ahead of us. One of them tackled the man Grandma was chasing, another grabbed Grandma, and a third grabbed hold of me. Once we were stationary, a crowd started to gather.

Terranova pushed his way through the crowd, and quietly told one of the security guards to disperse the crowd. This time there was no way for us to blend in. "Ma'am, please put away the gun," Terranova said to Grandma. Two of the security guards hauled not-George Harrison to his feet.

"This man is a fugitive from justice!" Grandma explained, and poked the poor man in the ribs with her gun.

"Grandma, that's not George Har— That's not him!"

"He's in disguise," Grandma explained. "Dyed hair, contact lenses, put on a little weight. But look, he's got a fake arm!" She pulled on one of the man's arms, and it really was a prosthetic. I winced, afraid it might come off.

"What is going on here?" Terranova demanded.

"He's the one-armed man!" Grandma said triumphantly. "I caught him!"

"Grandma," I said, "this isn't him."

"Make him show you some I.D." Grandma said. Terranova thought she was talking to him and that was fine with me.

"OK, pal, let's see some I.D."

"I don't have to—"

"You don't know anything about casinos, do you?" Terranova asked. "Because if you knew anything about casinos, you'd know I can do pretty much whatever I want. We're like sovereign nations, and if you call in the cops, they back us up. So you're going to show me some I.D. right now." Terranova reached in and took not-George Harrison's wallet out of his jacket pocket. Since I wasn't struggling, the security guard who'd been holding me had loosened his grip and I was able to move close enough to read the man's driver's license: Alex Krycek. He did look kind of familiar, and his name rang a bell, but I couldn't place him.

"And your identification, ma'am?" Terranova said to Grandma, who took out her AARP card and handed it to him. He looked it over as thoroughly as he had Krycek's driver's license before handing it back to her. I could see what was coming, so I had my bond enforcement license ready to hand him. That got his attention. "You here to take somebody in?" he asked.

"If I can find him. This isn't the guy," I said, referring to Krycek.

"And this lady?" he asked.

"My grandmother."

"You bring your gramma when you go after skip?"

There was no way to explain any off this.

"You were the ones who caused the commotion earlier," Terranova said. Krycek quite reasonably denied this.

Thankfully, Grandma was being uncharacteristically silent. "It was all a big misunderstanding," I said.

"I think we need to take this misunderstanding up to my boss's office," Terranova said.

Krycek didn't want to go, but Grandma did, and so did I. "I've never been in a mobster's office!" Grandma said excitedly. Fortunately, Terranova smiled at that.

We all rode up on the elevator together. Krycek was keeping his head down, as though he was afraid of being recognized, and I kept looking at him, though Terranova was much better looking. The combination of those classic Roman features and the pretty blue eyes was a compelling one. I saw Grandma looking at him a lot, too.

I don't know what I was expecting, but the management offices of the Royal Diamond were disappointing. Terranova parked us in some visitors' chairs, asked if we'd like something to drink, and sent a secretary for coffee. Then he sent another secretary off to tell Sonny Steelgrave we were there.

Before the secretary was back with the coffee, Sonny Steelgrave was out of his office. There was a short, whispered conversation between him and Terranova, which I strained to hear.

"What the fuck's going on?"

"I don't know. The girl's a skip tracer, the old lady's her gramma, and the guy might be the guy they're after."

"You sure they're not after you?" Steelgrave smiled as he said this. "I've bailed you out how many times now? Have you made all your court dates?"

"Yeah, yeah, you're hilarious. From what I can figure out, they're either after the one-armed man or George Harrison." Terranova was trying not to laugh. Steelgrave was looking at him like he was crazy.

"The one-armed man? Is Richard Kimble going to be showing up soon? And George Harrison's dead! Wha'd you bring 'em up here for?"

Terranova shrugged. "I thought you wanted to know what was going on. The two women are the ones that started the commotion earlier. And the guy's acting kind'a shifty."

"George Harrison," Steelgrave was shaking his head. "Shifty like what? Picking pockets? Counting cards?"

"No, just—I dunno."

"Well, get rid of him, tell him to go gamble someplace else. Then you take the doll and I'll talk to her granny."

"Sure, Sonny, whatever you say." I noticed the tone of Terranova's words didn't match their docility.

Steelgrave smiled and introduced himself first to Grandma, then to me, and finally to Krycek. He wasn't very smooth—he was still too close to the streets to be really smooth—but he was pretty charming. "Please, call me Sonny. You've been causing some havoc in my casino," he said to Grandma, but he said it like he found it amusing."

"Stephanie's after a murderer," Grandma explained. "George Harrison, the one-armed man."

"My name is Alex Krycek," Krycek protested. "I have no idea who these women are!"

"And you can go," Terranova said smoothly, escorting Krycek to the elevator. "Sorry for the inconvenience. Maybe next time you should go to Las Vegas for the weekend."

Steelgrave very politely asked Grandma if she'd like to see his office

"You betcha," Grandma said. "I've never seen a real gangster's office before." Steelgrave's smile didn't even falter, and Vince Terranova looked like he was trying not to laugh. In a minute Grandma was walking down the hall with Steelgrave and Vince and I were alone together. Alone except for a lot of office staff.

"You wanna look at the view?" he asked, and I said sure, so we went over and looked out the window at the view. It was a very nice view.

"OK, what's really going on?" Vince asked.

I was tired, and a very cute guy was asking me what was happening and I wanted to talk to Joe, but he was at work and he'd just laugh anyway. So I told him everything. I started with Great-aunt Geraldine and my mother's freak-out and how she guilted me into taking Grandma with me today, but how I couldn't let her know my mother wanted her out of the house, so I invented a fugitive named George Harrison. "I never thought she'd actually find a one-armed man! That was the whole reason I made up that part."

Terranova was trying not to laugh. I couldn't blame him.

"And you can't let your gramma know you made all this up."

I shook my head. I felt better, having confessed everything to this very good-looking stranger. We stood and looked at the view—it was a very nice view—and I wondered if it would be unfaithful of me to let him kiss me, if he tried to? And if so, who would I be being unfaithful to—Morelli or Ranger?

"What do you think they're talking about? My grandma and and your boss?" I asked Vince, who started laughing.

"I don't know. He does this kind of stuff. He always invites Mother Superior up for cognac when the nuns come."

"Grandma told me the nuns came here to gamble, but I didn't know if I should believe her."

"Oh, yeah, every other Tuesday is nun day at the Royal Diamond."

"I'll have to remember that."

"I bet you'd look cute in a habit," Vince said. That was as close as he came to kissing me. I was disappointed, but it wasn't anything I'd have to confess to Morelli.

Sonny brought Grandma back a few minutes later. "Edna was telling me about how she dated Machine Gun Kelly," Sonny said very seriously. Next to me I heard Vince snort a little, but he didn't laugh. I didn't laugh because I was too surprised.

"You did?" I asked her.

"I had a life before your grandfather," was all she said. I was pretty sure that wasn't true. "Sonny invited us to come back to see a show," Grandma told me.

"We're not inviting any of the Beatles to perform here," Vince said quickly.

"That's all right, I like the newer groups. You should get Sally Sweet to play here, he's a real pip!"

"I'll look into that," Sonny said. I noticed him tilt his head at the elevator, and saw Vince nod. And then we were whooshing back down to the casino.

"That was fun!" Grandma said as we were leaving the casino. "We almost arrested a murderer, and I won forty-seven dollars and I got to see a real gangster's office. Did you know he was friends with George Raft?"


We were walking back to the car, eating ice cream cones, when I saw Alex Krycek again. My first instinct was to hide because I didn't want him to see Grandma and me, but then I realized why he'd seemed familiar. "Stay here," I ordered Grandma, taking my cell phone out of my pocket and handing it to her. "Call 911, tell them it's an emergency!" And I took off after Krycek.

He saw me coming and he started running down the boardwalk, so I started running after him. "I know who you are!" I yelled "I saw your picture in the police station!" Krycek ducked into a casino and I chased after him. That was when I heard Grandma chasing after me. "Grandma! Call 911!" I had to either quit yelling or quit running, and I couldn't quit running until I caught Krycek. He was wanted by the FBI for espionage.

I was running past the roulette wheel, seeing the distance between me and Krycek widen. I told myself I needed to start working out again, my wind used to be better than this. Too much sitting on the sofa, eating pizza with Morelli.

The next thing I knew, I was on the ground underneath a man I didn't know. At least, I thought I didn't know him, but when he got off me and pulled me up—though not before copping a feel—I saw it was Vince Terranova. "We have to go after him, he's getting away—"

Vince shook me. "Why are you chasing him?" he asked.

I felt like kicking him in the shins. "Let go of me, he's getting away!"

Just then two of the security guards brought a struggling Alex Krycek over. Another security guard helped Grandma over. She was panting, but she seemed all right.

"Now what the hell is going on?" Vince asked.

"They're a couple of psychos!" Krycek yelled. "They've been chasing me all day!"

"Not all day," Grandma corrected. "Just since after lunch."

"Stephanie!" Vince barked. "Why are you chasing him now?"

"He's a spy," I said breathlessly. I felt like a detective in an old mystery movie, revealing the killer in the drawing room in the final scene of the film.

Krycek blanched. "I am not!"

It wasn't the most compelling of arguments.

"Did you call 911?" I asked Grandma.

"I sure did," Grandma said. "A nice policeman said he'd send somebody right over."

Krycek struggled harder. I wished I'd brought my cuffs.

"What makes you think he's a spy?" Vince asked.

"I've seen his picture in the police station, he's wanted for espionage."

"You can't hold me like this!" Krycek yelled, still trying to get loose.

"Shut up," Vince said. "You should have gone gambling someplace else, we don't like spies around here."

That was when the uniforms arrived. They seemed a bit skeptical of my story until I showed them my badge and gave them Morelli's number for verification. Then they took a squirming Krycek off with them.

Once they were gone, Vince gave Grandma and me a stern look. I diffused it by asking, "Did you cop that feel on purpose, or was it an accident?" That made him blush, and gave me my answer. "You don't have so say anything, we're going home now."

On the car ride home, I asked Grandma about dating Machine Gun Kelly, but she refused to confirm or deny, then changed the subject by asking, "Are you sure we can go home now? Your mother might still be on her cleaning kick."

"You knew she told me to get you out of the house?" I asked, more than surprised.

"I raised your mother," Grandma said, "you think I don't know her better than that?"

I did a sideways look at her, wondering if she knew I'd lied to her. I decided not to say anything, just in case.

"We have to do this more often," Grandma said. "I haven't had this much fun since Barry Feldman's funeral!"

I almost asked what had happened at Barry Feldman's funeral, but I didn't think I wanted to know.