I didn't feel totally sexually attractive with my sauce-stained shirt and cheese-ball hair, so I went home to change before seeing Morelli. I parked the Buick next to Mr. Weinstein's Cadillac, locked up, and took a step toward the building before I realized Ranger was leaning against the car in front of me.
“You need to be more careful, babe,” he said. “You should look around before you get out of your car.”
“I was distracted.”
“A bullet in the head would distract you permanently.”
I made a face and stuck my tongue out.
Ranger smiled. “Trying to get me excited?” He picked a glob of food out of my hair. “Egg roll?”
“It's been a long night.”
“Did you learn anything from Ramos?”
“He said they had a problem in Trenton, which I'm supposing is Junior Macaroni. But then he said he'd fixed it so the problem would go on a boat next week. And with any luck the boat would sink. Then the two goons came in to retrieve him, and they said they couldn't find the cargo. Do you know what any of this means?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want to tell me?”
“No.”
Christ. “You're a real prick. I'm not working for you anymore.”
“Too late. I already fired you.”
“I mean ever!”
“Where's Bob?”
“With Morelli.”
“So all I have to worry about is keeping you safe,” Ranger said.
“The sentiment is sweet, but not necessary.”
“What, are you kidding me? I told you to drop out and be careful and two hours later you've got Ramos back in your car.”
“I was looking for you, and he jumped in the Buick.”
“You ever hear about door locks?”
I tipped my nose up, trying to pull off looking indignant. “I'm going inside. And just to make you happy I'll lock my door.”
“Wrong. You're going with me, and I'm going to lock you up.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“No. I'm flat-out telling you.”
“Listen, mister,” I said, “this is the twenty-first century. Women aren't property. You just don't go around locking us up. If I want to do something incredibly stupid and put myself in danger, I have the right to do it.”
Ranger clapped a bracelet on me. “I don't think so.”
“Hey!”
“It'll only be for a couple days.”
“I can't believe this! You're actually going to lock me up?” He reached for my other wrist, and I yanked the cuff out of his hand and jumped away.
“Come here,” he said.
I put a car between us. I had his bracelet dangling from my wrist, and in a weird way, which I didn't want to think about, it was sort of erotic. And then in another way, it really pissed me off. I reached into my shoulder bag and came up with my pepper spray. “Come get me,” I told him.
He put his hands on the car. “This isn't going well, is it?”
“How did you expect it to go?”
“You're right. I should have known. Nothing is ever simple with you. Men blow themselves up. Cars get flattened by garbage trucks. I've been in full-scale invasions that have been less harrowing than meeting you for coffee.” He held the key up for me to see. “Would you like me to take the cuff off?”
“Throw the key over here.”
“Uh-unh. You have to come to me.”
“No way.”
“That pepper spray only works if you get it in my face. Do you think you're good enough to get it in my face?”
“Absolutely.”
A junker of a car pulled into the lot. Ranger and I gave it our full attention. Ranger had a gun in his hand, his hand at his side.
The car came to a stop and Mooner and Dougie got out. “Hey, dude,” Mooner called to me. “Lucky break finding you here. Me and Dougie need some of your sage advice.”
“I have to talk to these guys,” I said to Ranger. “Lula and I sort of trashed their house.”
“Let me guess, they were serving egg rolls and something yellow.”
“Cheese balls. And it wasn't my fault. The Romulan started it.”
The corners of his mouth tipped into a small, controlled smile. “I should have guessed it was the Romulan.” He holstered his gun. “Go talk to your friends. We'll finish this later.”
“The key?”
He smiled and shook his head.
“This is war,” I said.
The smile turned grim. “Be careful.”
I backed away and moved to the building's back door, Dougie and Mooner following me. I couldn't imagine what they wanted. Restitution for damages? A report on Elwood's future as a drug lord? My opinion of the egg rolls?
I hurried through the lobby and took the stairs. “We can talk in my apartment,” I said. “I need to change my shirt.”
“Sorry about your shirt, dude. Those Trekkies turned ugly. I'm telling you, they were a mob,” Mooner said. “That Federation is in trouble. They're never gonna make a go of it with members like that. They had no regard for Dougie's personal residence.”
I opened my apartment door. “Was there much damage?”
Mooner flopped onto the couch. “In the beginning, we thought it was just going to be cheese-ball damage. But then we had trouble with the VCR and had to cut the film portion of the evening short.”
“The VCR crapped out right in the middle of 'The Trouble with Tribbles,' and we were lucky to escape with our lives,” Dougie said.
“We're, like, afraid to go back there, dude. We were wondering if we could crash here tonight with you and your granny.”
“Grandma Mazur moved back to my parents'.”
“Too bad. She was happening.”
I gave them pillows and blankets.
“Rad bracelet,” Mooner said.
I looked at the cuff still locked onto my right wrist. I'd forgotten it was there. I wondered if Ranger was still in the lot. And I wondered if I should have gone with him. I slid the bolt on the door, and then I locked myself in my bedroom, crawled into bed with the cheese gunk still in my hair, and immediately fell asleep.
When I woke up the next morning I realized I'd forgotten about Joe.
Shit.
There was no answer at his house, and I was about to try his pager when the phone rang.
“What the hell's going on?” Joe said. “I just got in to work and heard you got attacked by a Romulan.”
“I'm fine. I made an apprehension at a Star Trek event, and it sort of got weird.”
“Unfortunately, I have some weird news of my own. Your friend Carol Zabo is back on the bridge. It seems she and a whole pack of her friends kidnapped Joyce Barnhardt and left her naked and tied to a tree by the pet cemetery in Hamilton Township.”
“Are you kidding me? Carol got arrested for kidnapping Joyce Barnhardt?”
“No. Joyce didn't press charges. It was a real event, though. Half the force went out to turn her loose. Carol got arrested for being too happy in a public place. I think she and the girls were celebrating with wacky tobaccy. She's only looking at a misdemeanor, but nobody can convince her she's not going to jail. We were wondering if you could go out and talk her off the bridge. She's making a mess out of rush hour.”
“I'll be right there.” This was all my fault. Boy, when things started to go wrong the whole world turned into a toilet.
I'd gone to bed in my clothes, so I didn't have to bother getting dressed. On my way through the living room, I yelled to Mooner and Dougie that I'd be back. By the time I got to the back door of the building I had my pepper spray in hand, just in case Ranger jumped out at me from behind a bush.
There was no Ranger. And there was no Habib or Mitchell either, so I took off for the bridge. Cops were lucky—they had those big red lights when they needed to get somewhere fast. I didn't have any lights, so I just drove on the sidewalk when the traffic clogged up.
There was a steady rain falling. Tempera
tures were in the forties, and the entire state's population was on the phone checking airfares to Florida. Except, of course, for the people who were on the bridge, gawking at Carol.
I parked behind a blue-and-white and made my way on foot to the middle of the bridge, where Carol was perched on the railing, holding an umbrella.
“Thanks for taking care of Joyce,” I said. “What are you doing on the bridge?”
“I got arrested again.”
“You're charged with a misdemeanor. You won't go to jail for it.”
Carol climbed off the railing. “I just wanted to make sure.” She squinted at me. “What's in your hair? And what's with the handcuff? You've been with Morelli, right?”
“Not in a while,” I said, wistfully.
We went back to our cars. Carol went home. And I went to the office.
“Oh boy,” Lula said when she saw me. “Think we got a good story walking in the door, here. What's with the handcuff?”
“I thought it would look good with the cheese balls in my hair. You know, dress up the outfit.”
“I hope it was Morelli,” Connie said. “I wouldn't mind being cuffed by Morelli.”
“Close,” I said. “It was Ranger.”
“Uh-oh,” Lula said. “Think I just wet my pants.”
“It wasn't anything sexual,” I said. “It was . . . an accident. And then we lost the key.”
Connie fanned herself with a manila folder. “I'm having a hot flash.”
I gave Connie the body receipt for Elwood Steiger. All things considered, it had been easy money. No one shot at me or set me on fire.
The front door crashed open and Joyce Barnhardt burst in. “You're gonna pay for that,” she said to me. “You're gonna be sorry you messed with me!”
Lula and Connie swiveled their heads to me and gave me the “What?” look.
“Carol Zabo and some friends helped me out by leaving Joyce tied to a tree . . . naked.”
“I don't want any shooting in here,” Connie said to Joyce.
“Shooting's too easy,” Joyce said. “I want something better. I want Ranger.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “I know you're cozy with him. Well, you better use that as leverage and deliver him to me. Because if you don't deliver him to me in twenty-four hours I'm pressing kidnapping charges against Carol Zabo.” Joyce wheeled around on her highheeled boots and swished out the door.
“Sheee-it,” Lula said. “There's that sulfur smell again.”
Connie handed me my check for Elwood. “This is a dilemma.”
I took the check and dropped it into my bag. “I have so many dilemmas I can't even remember them all.”
OLD MRS. BESTLER was in the elevator, playing elevator operator. “Going up,” she said. “Ladies' handbags, lingerie . . .” She leaned on her walker and looked at me. “Oh dear,” she said, “the beauty salon's on the second floor.”
“Good,” I told her. “That's just where I'm going.”
My apartment was quiet when I let myself in. The extra blankets were neatly stacked on the couch. A note had been placed on one of the pillows. Only one word had been written on the paper. “Later.”
I dragged myself into the bathroom, stripped, and washed my hair, several times. I got dressed in clean clothes, then blasted my hair with the dryer, and pulled it into a ponytail. I called Morelli to see how Bob was doing, and he said Bob was fine and his neighbor was dog-sitting. Then I went down to the basement and got Dillan to hacksaw through the chain on the cuffs, so I didn't have the second bracelet swinging in the breeze.
Then I didn't have anything to do. I didn't have any FTAs to retrieve. I didn't have a dog to walk. I had no one to watch, no houses to break into. I could have gone to a locksmith to have the cuff opened, but I had hopes of getting the key from Ranger. I was going to turn him over to Joyce tonight. Better to deliver Ranger to Joyce than have to talk Carol off the bridge again. Rescuing Carol from a watery grave was getting old. And it'd be easy to deliver Ranger. All I had to do was arrange a meeting. Tell him I wanted the cuff off, and he'd come to me. Then I'd knock him out with the stun gun and pack him off to Joyce. Of course, after I handed him over I'd have to do something sneaky and rescue him. I certainly wasn't going to have Ranger hauled off to jail.
Since it would appear I didn't have anything on the agenda until tonight, I thought I should clean the hamster cage. And after the hamster cage, maybe I'd do the refrigerator. Hell, I might even get totally carried away and scour the bathroom . . . no, that wasn't likely. I dumped Rex out of his soup can and put him in my big spaghetti pot on the kitchen counter. He sat there, blinking in the sudden light, unhappy to have his sleep interrupted.
“Sorry, little guy,” I said. “Gotta clean the ol' hacienda.”
Ten minutes later, Rex was back in his cage, frantic because all his buried treasures were now in a big black plastic garbage bag. I gave him a cracked walnut and a raisin. He took the raisin into his new soup can, and that was the last I saw of him.
I looked out my living room window, down into the wet parking lot. Still no sign of Habib and Mitchell. All the cars belonged to tenants. Good deal. It was safe to get rid of my garbage. I shrugged into my jacket, grabbed the bag of hamster bedding, and hustled down the hall.
Mrs. Bestler was still in the elevator. “Oh, you look much better now, dear,” she said. “Nothing like spending a relaxing hour at the beauty parlor.” The elevator doors opened to the lobby, and I hopped out. “Going up,” Mrs. Bestler sang out. “Menswear, third floor.” And the doors slid shut.
I crossed the lobby to the rear entrance and paused for a moment to pull my hood up. The rain was steady. Water pooled on the glistening blacktop and beaded on the old folks' freshly waxed cars. I stepped outside, put my head down, and hurried across the lot to the Dumpster.
I pitched the bag inside the bin, turned, and found myself face to face with Habib and Mitchell. They were soaking wet, and they didn't look friendly.
“Where'd you come from?” I asked. “I don't see your car.”
“It's parked on the side street,” Mitchell said, showing me his gun, “and that's where you're headed. Start walking.”
“I don't think so,” I said. “If you shoot me, Ranger has no incentive to deal with Stolle.”
“Wrong,” Mitchell said. “If we kill you, Ranger has no incentive.”
Good point.
The Dumpster was on the back edge of the lot. I stumbled across a patch of rain-slicked lawn on wobbly legs, too scared to think clearly. Wondering where Ranger was now, when I needed him. Why wasn't he here, insisting on locking me up in a safe house? Now that my hamster's cage was clean, I'd be happy to oblige.
Mitchell was driving the mom-van again. Guess they weren't having a lot of luck cleaning up the Lincoln. And probably I didn't want to choose that as a topic of conversation.
Habib sat beside me in the backseat. He was wearing a raincoat but it looked soaked through. They must have been crouching in the bushes at the edge of the building. He was hatless, and water dripped from his hair, down the back of his neck, and onto his face. He wiped his face with his hand. No one seemed to mind that they were getting the mom-van wet.
“Well,” I said, trying to make my voice sound normal. “Now what?”
“Now you do not want to know,” Habib said. “You should being quiet now.”
Being quiet was bad, since it gave me time to think. And thinking wasn't pleasant. No good was going to come of this ride. I tried to close my emotions down. Fear and regret weren't going to get me anywhere. Didn't want to let my imagination run wild, either. This could just be another meeting with Arturo. No need to go berserk ahead of time. I concentrated on breathing. Nice and steady. Taking in oxygen. I did a mental chant. Ohhhmm. I saw someone doing that on television, and she looked like she really got off on it.
Mitchell drove west on Hamilton, toward the river. He crossed Broad and wound around in a part of town that was zoned industrial. The lot he pulled into was next to a t
hreestory brick structure that had been a machine-tool factory but was now sitting unused. A “For Sale” sign had been fixed to the front of the building, but it looked like it had been there for a hundred years.