Ten Big Ones

  That's not true.'

  'Are you calling me a fibber?'

  'Yeah.'

  'Well, okay, maybe they aren't real safe. But they're safe enough in a car. What could happen to you in a car?'

  Problem was, Lula and I were sort of the Abbott and Costello of law enforcement. Things happened to us all the time. Things that weren't normal.

  'Give me a break,' Lula said. 'I don't want to go back and file. I'd rather ride through hell than file.'

  'Okay,' I said on a sigh. 'We'll do a drive-through.' Abbott and

  Costello weren't all that bright. They were always doing stupid things like this. And more to the point, I felt guilty about Eddie

  Gazarra. I felt like he got shot because I'd acted impulsively. I felt like I owed him. Anyway, Lula was probably right. It was daytime.

  It was probably reasonably safe. I could do a simple ride through the Slayers' neighborhood and maybe I'd get lucky. If I could find the Red Devil, the police might have a chance at getting the guy who shot Eddie.

  I cut through the center of the city and turned up Stark Street.

  Stark Street started out bad and got worse. The gang graffiti increased with each block. By the time we were at Third the buildings were solid slogans and signs. The sidewalks were spray-painted.

  The street signs were spray-painted. First-floor windows were laced with iron security bars, and the bars and pawn shops were behind partially closed security gates.

  I turned right at Third and drove one block to Comstock. Once off Stark there were fewer businesses and the streets narrowed.

  Cars were parked on both sides of Comstock, reducing the road to barely two lanes. We passed a couple guys on a corner. They were young, dressed in baggy jeans and white T-shirts. Their arms and hands were tattooed. Their expressions were sullen and watchful.

  'Not a lot of people out,' Lula said. 'Except for the two sentries we just passed.'

  'It's the middle of the day. People are working.'

  'Not in this neighborhood,' Lula said. 'Most of these people don't got jobs unless you count holding up liquor stores as a profession.'

  I checked my rear-view mirror and saw one of the corner watchers put a cell phone to his ear.

  `I'm getting a bad feeling,' I said.

  That's because you're a minority here.'

  'You mean being white?'

  'No. I mean you're the only one for blocks not packin' a gun.'

  I cruised past Fifth and started looking for a way out. I didn't want to go deeper into the 'hood. I wanted to get back to Stark and head for city center. I turned left onto Sixth and realized the truck in front of me wasn't moving. It was double-parked. No one at the wheel. I put the Buick into reverse and inched back. I was about to pull onto Comstock when a kid appeared from out of nowhere. He was in his late teens, and he looked like a clone of the guys on the corner.

  He approached the car and rapped on the driver-side window.

  'Hey,' he said.

  'You might want to ignore him,' Lula said. 'And it might not be a bad idea to back up a little faster.'

  `I'd like to back up faster, but there are a couple really nasty-looking guys at my bumper. If I back up I'll run over them.'

  'So what's your point?'

  'I know you,' the kid at my window said, his face inches from the glass. 'You're a fucking bounty hunter. You busted my uncle. You were with some Rambo guy. And you're the one fingered Red

  Devil.'

  The car started to rock, and I realized the guys in the back were on the bumper. More faces pressed against the side windows.

  'Step on the freaking gas,' Lula said. 'It don't matter if you run these clowns over. They've been run over lots of times. Look at them. Don't they look like they've been run over?'

  The guy at your window is saying something. What's he saying?'

  'How would I know,' Lula said. 'It's gangsta talk shit. Something about kill the bitches. And now he's licking the glass. You're gonna have to Clorox this car if we ever get outa here.'

  All right, I have three options. I can call Joe and have him send the police. That would be really embarrassing, and they might not get here in time to stop the bitch killing. The second choice is that

  I call Ranger. Equally embarrassing. And there might be bloodshed. Not mine, probably. Or I could run over a couple of these fine, upstanding young men.

  I'm getting real nervous about this,' Lula said. 'I think you might have made a bad decision to come into this neighborhood.'

  I felt my blood pressure edge up a notch. This was your idea.'

  'Well, it was a bad idea. I'm willing to admit that now.'

  The Buick bounced around a little, and I could hear scraping, thumping sounds overhead. The idiots were jumping up and down on the roof.

  'Your grandma's not gonna like it one bit if they scratch her car,'

  Lula said. This here's a classic.'

  'Hey,' I yelled to the guy with his face pressed against my window. 'Back off from the car. It's a classic.'

  'Classic this, bitch,' he said. And he pulled a gun out of his baggy pants and aimed it at me, the barrel about an inch from the window glass.

  'Holy shit,' Lula said, eyes the size of duck eggs. 'Get me the fudge out of here.'

  Option number three, I thought. And I mashed the accelerator down to the floorboard. The car sucked gas and roared back like a freight train. I didn't feel any bumps under the tires indicating that

  I'd run over a body. I took that as a good sign. I wheeled backward onto Comstock and screeched to a stop to change gears. Three guys flew off my roof. Two bounced off the right front fender onto the road. And one smacked onto the hood and grabbed hold of a windshield wiper.

  'Don't stop now,' Lula yelled. 'And don't worry about the hood ornament. You'll lose him on the next turn.'

  I rammed the car into drive and took off. I could hear a lot of noise behind me. A lunatic mix of yelling and gunfire and laughter.

  The guy on the hood stared in at me, the pupils of his eyes dilated to the size of nickels.

  'Think he got a pharmaceutical problem going,' Lula said.

  I leaned on the horn, but the hood rider didn't blink.

  'This here's like having an insect stuck on your windshield,' Lula said. 'A big ugly drugged-out praying mantis.'

  I hauled the Buick around into a looping left turn onto Seventh, and the insect silently sailed off into space and crashed into a rusted-out van that was parked at the curb. I resumed breathing when I got to Stark.

  'See, that worked out okay,' Lula said. 'Too bad we didn't find the devil guy, though.'

  I gave her a sideways glance. 'Maybe you want to go back tomorrow and try again?'

  'Maybe not tomorrow.'

  I called Connie and told her we were on our way back to the office and asked her to run a search for me.

  'If I give you some street boundaries can you check our files for guys in that neighborhood?' I asked her.

  'I can search by zip code, and I can search by street. As long as the area isn't too big, I can do the by street search.'

  I felt a responsibility to Eddie, and I thought chances were decent that the devil guy had a record. I'd declined to go through mug shots at police headquarters. I'd done that drill for other crimes and found it to be spectacularly unhelpful. After looking at a hundred head shots, I tended to forget the face of the perp. A search by neighborhood would produce a much smaller pool of potentials.

  Connie was pulling files when Lula and I swung through the front door. 'I got seventeen hits for the boundaries you gave me,' she said. 'None are outstanding. It's not really our neighborhood.'

  Lula looked through the pile of files on Connie's desk. 'Hey, this is the guy who was stuck to the hood of your car,' Lula said, holding a photo for me to see.

  Connie grabbed a file and closed the drawer with her foot.

  'That's Eugene Brown. He's been arrested so many times we have a personal relationship. Never been convicted of an
ything but possession.'

  'Looks like we bonded him out for armed robbery and vehicular manslaughter,' Lula said.

  'Eyewitnesses have a way of disappearing when Eugene's involved,' Connie said. 'And there's a lot of sworn testimony recanting. What was he doing on the hood of your car?'

  'We were sort of cruising up Comstock Street..." Lula said.

  Connie's eyes got wide. 'Where on Comstock?'

  Third.'

  'Do you have a death wish? That's Slayerland.'

  'We were just riding through,' Lula said.

  The two of you? In what car? The Buick? The powder blue-and-white

  Buick? You can't go past Third on Comstock in a powder blue car! That's Cut's colors. You don't go into gang territory with another gang color.'

  'Well, yeah, but I didn't think it counted for cars. I just thought it counted for clothes. For, like, do-rags and shirts and shit,' Lula said. 'And it's hard to believe anybody'd take Cut serious with a color like powder blue. Powder blue is a sissy color.'

  I took the files from Lula and shuffled through them. No devil guy. Connie handed me the remaining four files. No devil guy there either. This left me with three possibilities. The devil guy didn't have a record. Or the devil guy used a different bond agent.

  Les Sebring, maybe. Or the devil guy gave an address outside of

  Slayerland.

  I saw Connie and Lula go still and fix their eyes on the door behind me. Either someone walked in with a gun in his hand or else Ranger was here. Since no one ducked for cover, I was betting it was Ranger.

  A warm hand settled at the base of my neck, and I felt Ranger lean into me. 'Babe,' he said, softly, his right arm snaking around me to take the file from my hand. 'Eugene Brown,' he read. 'You might not want to spend a lot of time with Eugene. He's not a fun guy'

  'I sort of bounced him off the hood of the Buick today,' I told

  Ranger. 'But it wasn't my fault.'

  Ranger tightened his hold on my neck. 'You want to be careful with Eugene. He hasn't got much of a sense of humor, Babe.'

  'I don't suppose you know the identity of the devil guy who's robbing all the deli-marts?'

  'Don't suppose I do,' Ranger said. 'But it's not Eugene. There'd be more bodies on the floor if it was Eugene.'

  Vinnie's inner office door opened, and Vinnie stuck his head out.

  'What's up?'

  'I'm going out of town for a couple weeks,' Ranger said. 'Tank will be on the job, if you need him.' Ranger dropped the Brown file on Connie's desk and turned to me. 'I want to talk to you... outside.'

  It was late afternoon and the sky was overcast, but the autumn air was still warm in spite of the gloom. Ranger's customized black

  Ford F-150 FX4 was parked curbside. A black SUV with tinted windows was parked behind the truck. The SUV had its motor running.

  I followed Ranger out of the office, glancing first at the SUV and then at the heavy traffic on Hamilton. Rush hour in Trenton.

  'What if I need something?' I asked Ranger, doing a little flirting, feeling brave because I was on a public street. 'Should I call Tank?'

  He ran a fingertip along my hairline and tucked a stray curl behind my ear. 'It depends what you need. Did you have anything special in mind?'

  Our eyes held, and I felt the first licks of panic. I should know better than to play with Ranger. He never got rattled, and he never backed down. I, on the other hand, frequently got rattled with

  Ranger and almost always backed down.

  'How about if I need a car?' I asked, searching for something legitimate to change the tone. There'd been times past when I'd needed a car, and Ranger had provided one.

  Ranger pulled a set of keys from his pocket and dropped them into my hand. 'You can take my truck. I can get a ride back with

  Tank.'

  A narrow alley separated Vinnie's office from the neighboring business. Ranger nudged me into the shadow of the alley, pressed me against the brick wall, and kissed me. When his tongue touched mine my fingers curled into his shirt, and I think I might have momentarily lost consciousness.

  'Hey,' I said, when consciousness returned. 'You're poaching.'

  'And?'

  'Stop it.'

  'You don't mean that,' Ranger said, smiling.

  He was right. A woman would have to be dead not to want to kiss Ranger. And I wasn't even close to dead.

  I gave the keys back to him. 'Nice gesture but I can't take the truck.'

  'Call Tank if you change your mind. And be careful. Don't try to play with Eugene.'

  And he was gone.

  Lula and Connie were shuffling papers, trying to look busy, when I returned to the office.

  'Is he gone?' Lula wanted to know.

  'Yeah.'

  'Lord, he makes me nervous. He is so hot. I got flashes. Look at me. I'm having a flash. I'm not even in menopause, and I'm hot flashing.'

  Connie rolled back in her chair. 'Did he tell you where he was going? How long he'd be away?'

  `No'

  Connie had a problem. When Ranger was gone she was left with me and a couple part-time BEAs. If a high-stakes bond went south, she'd be in a bind. The case would have to go to me. At least temporarily. I was okay at my job, but I wasn't Ranger. Ranger had skills that went way beyond the normal parameters of human ability.

  'I hate when he does this,' Connie said.

  'I been noticing the last two times he took off there was a coup in Central America,' Lula said. `I'm going home, and I'm watching CNN'

  I left the office and headed home to Joe's house. Somehow I'd managed to keep busy all day, but it didn't feel like I'd accomplished much. I stopped at Giovichinni's deli on Hamilton and picked up some lunch meat, sliced provolone, a medium container of potato salad, and a loaf of bread. I added a couple tomatoes and a small tub of chocolate ice cream.

  It was a bad time to stop at Giovichinni's, but it was my only option if I wanted to eat. St Francis Hospital was a block away, and half the hospital emptied out into Giovichinni's at this hour.

  Mrs Wexler came up to me while I was standing in line. 'My goodness,' she said, 'I haven't seen you in an age. I understand your sister is getting married. Isn't that nice for her, but it must be a very stressful time for you. Is that a cold sore on your lip, dear?'

  My hand immediately flew to my lip. I didn't have anything on my lip when I left the house this morning, but yes, there was definitely something erupting on my mouth, I dug in my purse for a mirror. I've never had a cold sore,' I told Mrs Wexler. 'I swear to

  God.'

  'Well, it does look like a cold sore,' Mrs Wexler said.

  I squinted into my mirror. Yikes! There it was... big and red and angry looking. How did this happen? And then it hit me. Marty

  Sklar and his cooties! I studied my lip. No. Wait a minute, it wasn't a cold sore. It was a booboo.

  I'd gnawed a hole into my lip on the way across town, worrying about Eugene Brown and God knows what else. Okay, and the fact that I was attracted to two men didn't help. Probably I loved both of them. How sick is that?

  'It's a cut,' I said to Mrs Wexler. 'I got it this afternoon.'

  'Of course,' Mrs Wexler said. 'I can see that now.'

  My mother called on my cell phone. 'Mrs Rogers just called,' my mother said. 'She said you're in Giovichinni's, and you have a cold sore.'

  'It's not a cold sore. It's a cut.'

  'Well, that's a relief. Could you pick up a couple things for me while you're there at Giovichinni's? I need a pound of olive loaf, an

  Entenmanns raspberry swirl coffee cake, and a quarter pound of

  Swiss. Make sure they don't slice the Swiss too thin. It all sticks together if it's too thin.'

  I scurried off to the deli counter, got my mother's stuff, and got back into line.

  Leslie Giovichinni was working the register. 'Gosh,' she said, when I stepped in front of her. 'You poor thing. You've got a big herpes!'

  'It's not a herpes,' I said. 'Its a cut.
I got it this afternoon.'

  'You should put ice on it,' she said. 'It looks real painful.'

  I paid Leslie and slunk out of the store. I hunched behind the wheel of the Buick and turned into the Burg. I had to park in the driveway when I got to my parents' house because there was a big yellow school bus at the curb.