Eleven on Top

  Stephanie Plum 11 - Eleven On Top

  NINE

  “I HAVE AN office position open,” Ranger said. “Are you interested in working for Rangeman?”

  “Oh great. A pity position.”

  “If I gave you a pity position it wouldn't be in the office.”

  This got a burst of laughter out of me because I knew he was taking a zing at my sex life with Morelli. For the most part, Ranger had a consistent personality.

  He wasn't a guy who wasted a lot of unnecessary energy and effort. He moved and he spoke with an efficient ease that was more animal than human. And he didn't telegraph his emotions. Unless Ranger had his tongue in my mouth it was usually impossible to tell what he was thinking. But every now and then, Ranger would step out of the box, and like a little treat that was doled out on special occasions, Ranger would make an entirely outrageous sexual statement.

  At least it would be outrageous coming from an ordinary guy . . . from Ranger it seemed on the mark.

  “I didn't think you hired women,” I said to him. “The only woman you have working for you is your housekeeper.”

  "I hire people who have the skills I need. Right now I could use someone in the building who can do phone work and paperwork. You'd be an easy hire. You already know the drill. Nine to five, five days a week. You can discuss salary with my business manager. You should consider it. The garage is secure.

  You wouldn't have to worry about getting blown up when you leave at the end of the day."

  Ranger owns a small seven-story office building in downtown Trenton. The building is unspectacular on the outside. Well maintained but not architecturally interesting. The interior of the building is high tech and slick, equipped with a state-of-the-art control center, offices, a gym, studio apartments for some of Ranger's crew, plus an apartment for Ranger on the top floor. I'd stayed in Ranger's apartment for a short time on a nonconjugal basis not long ago. It had been equal parts pleasure and terror. Terror because it was Ranger's apartment and Ranger could sometimes be a scary guy. Pleasure because he lives well. The job offer was tempting. My car would be safe. I'd be safe. I'd be able to pay my rent. And the chances of rolling in garbage were slim.

  “Okay,” I said. “I'll take the job.”

  “Use the intercom at the gate when you come in tomorrow. Dress in black. You'll be working on the fifth floor.”

  “Any leads on Benny Gorman?”

  “No. That's one of the things I want you to do. I want you to see what you can turn up.”

  Ranger's pager buzzed, and he checked the readout. “Elroy Dish is back at Blue Fish. Do you want to ride along?”

  “No thanks. Been there, done that.”

  “Be careful.”

  And he was gone.

  I looked at my watch. Almost five. Perfect. Stiva would be between afternoon and evening viewings. I drove the short distance up Hamilton and parked on the street. I found Stiva in his office just off the large entrance foyer. I rapped on the doorjamb, and he looked up from his computer.

  “Stephanie,” he said. “Always nice to see you.”

  I appreciated the greeting, but I knew it was a big fat lie. Stiva was the consummate undertaker. He was an island of professional calm in an ocean of chaos. And he never alienated a future customer. The ugly truth is, Stiva would rather shove a sharp stick in his eye than see Grandma or me alive on his doorstep. Dead would be something else.

  “I hope this visit isn't due to bad news,” Stiva said.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Spiro. Have you seen him since the fire?” No.

  “Spoken to him?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “He was driving the car that ran over Morelli.”

  Stiva went as still as stone, and his pale vanilla custard cheeks flushed pink. “Are you serious?”

  “Unfortunately, yes. I'm sorry. I saw him clearly.”

  “How does he look?” Stiva asked.

  I felt my heart constrict at his response. He was a concerned parent, anxious to hear word of his missing son. What on earth could I say to Stiva?

  “I only saw him briefly,” I said. “He seemed healthy. Maybe some scars on his face from the fire.”

  “He must have been driving by and lost control of his car,” Stiva said. “At least I know he's alive. Thank you for coming in to tell me.”

  “I thought you'd want to know.”

  No point to saying more. Stiva didn't have information to share, and I didn't want to tell him the whole story. I left the funeral home and returned to the SUV. I drove two blocks to Pino's and got two meatball subs, a tub of coleslaw, and a tub of potato salad. Morelli was going to be in a bad mood after spending the afternoon with Lula. I figured I'd try to mellow him out with the sub before I dropped the news about my new job. Morelli wasn't going to be happy to hear I was working for Ranger.

  I went out of my way on the trip home to drive by Anthony Barroni's house. I had no real basis for believing he was involved with Spiro and the missing men. Just a gut feeling. Maybe it was desperation. I wanted to think I had a grip on the problem. The grip loosened when I got to Barroni's house. No lights shining. Curtains drawn. Garage door closed. No car in driveway.

  I turned at the corner and wound my way through the Burg to Chambers Street.

  I crossed Chambers and two blocks later I pulled the SUV into Morelli's garage.

  Big Blue and Lula's Firebird were still at the curb. I made sure the garage door was locked, and I carted the bags in through the back door.

  “Is that Stephanie Plum coming through the back door?” Lula yelled. “ 'Cause if it's some maniac pervert I'm gonna kick his ass.”

  “It's me,” I yelled back. “Sorry you don't get to do any ass kicking.”

  I put the bags on the counter and went into the living room to see Lula and Morelli. Morelli was still on the couch. Bob was still on the floor. And Lula was packing up.

  “This wasn't so bad,” Lula said. “We played poker and I won three dollars and fifty-seven cents. I would have won more, but your boyfriend fell asleep.”

  “It's the drugs,” Morelli said. “You're a sucky poker player. I would have won if I wasn't all drugged up. You took advantage.”

  “I won fair and square,” Lula said. “Anytime you want to get even you let me know. I can always use extra cash.”

  “Any other fun things happen that I should know about?”

  “Yeah,” Lula said. “His mother and grandmother came over. And they're nuts. The old lady said she was putting the eye on me. I told her she better not pull any of that voodoo shit with me or I'll beat her like a pinata.”

  “I bet that went over big.”

  “They left after that. They brought a casserole, and I put it in the refrigerator. I didn't think it looked all that good.”

  “No cake?”

  “Oh yeah, the cake. I ate the cake.”

  “All of it?”

  “Bob had some. I would have given some to Morelli, but he was sleeping.” She had her bag over her shoulder and her car keys in her hand. “I walked Bob about an hour ago, and he pooped twelve times, so he should be good for the night. I didn't feed him, but he ate one of Morelli's sneakers around three o'clock. You might want to go light on the dog crunchies until he hocks the sneaker up.”

  Morelli waited until he heard Lula's car drive off before speaking. "Another

  fifteen minutes and I would have shot her. I would have gone to jail for the rest of my life, and it would have been worth it."

  I brought out the subs and the cole slaw and the potato salad. “Don't you want to know how my day went?”

  He unwrapped his sub. “How did your day go?”

  “I didn't get blown up.”

  “Speaking of getting blown up, the lab took a look at your Buick. The bomb was very similar to the bomb that killed Mama Mac. The difference being that this bomb was detonated when you turned the key in the ignition, and it was much smaller. It wasn't intended to kill.”


  “Spiro is still playing with me.”

  “You're sure it's Spiro?”

  “Yes. I stopped in to see Stiva. He had no idea Spiro was back. Said he hasn't heard from him since the fire.”

  “You believed him?”

  “Yeah.”

  "I talked to Ryan Laski today. He's been working the Barroni case with me. I told him about Spiro, and I asked him to keep an eye on Anthony Barroni. And

  I asked my mother about Spiro. So far as I can tell, you're the only one who's seen him. There's no gossip on Spiro circulating in the Burg."

  At ten o'clock Morelli and I were still on the couch. We'd watched the news while we ate our subs. And then we watched some sitcom reruns. And then we watched a ball game. And now Morelli was getting that look.

  “You have a cast on your leg, and you're full of painkillers,” I said to him. “One would think it would slow you down.”

  “What can I say . . . I'm Italian. And that part of me isn't broken.”

  “There are some logistical things involved here. Can you get up to the bedroom?”

  “I might need motivation to get through the pain . . . like, seeing you naked and gyrating at the top of the stairs.”

  “And what about a shower?”

  “Can't take a shower,” Morelli said. “I'm going to have to lie on the bed and let you wash me . . . everywhere.”

  “I can see you've given this some thought.”

  “Yeah. That's why it's not just my cast that's hard.”

  Okay, so this might not be so bad. I thought I could probably get into the naked gyrating and the washing. And it seemed to me I'd pick up some perks from the injury. Morelli wasn't going to be especially mobile with that heavy cast. Once I got him on his back he was going to stay there, and I'd have the top all to myself.

  I'd set the alarm for 7:00 A.M. I didn't have to be at work until 9:00, but I had to shower and do the hair and makeup thing, walk and feed Bob, get Morelli set for the day, and make a fast trip back to my apartment in search of black clothes. And I needed to get Rex. He didn't require a lot of care, but I didn't like to leave him alone for more than a couple days.

  Morelli threw an arm over me when the alarm went off. “Did you set it for sex?” he asked.

  “No, I set it for get up.”

  “We don't have to get up early this morning.”

  I slipped out from under the arm and rolled out of bed. “You don't have to get up early. I have lots of things to do.”

  “Again? You're not going to bring Lula back, are you?”

  “No. Based on your performance last night, I'd say you're not in the least impaired.”

  I didn't want to give details on the day's activities, so I hurried off to the bathroom. I showered, did the blow-dry thing, slathered on some makeup, and bumped into Morelli when I opened the bathroom door.

  “Sorry,” I said. “Are you waiting to use the bathroom?”

  “No, I'm waiting to talk to you.”

  “Jeez, I'm in kind of a hurry. Maybe we can talk after I walk Bob.”

  Morelli pinned me to the wall. “Let's talk now. Where are you going today?”

  “I need to go back to my apartment for clothes.”

  “And?”

  “And I have a job.”

  “I hate to ask. Your jobs have been getting progressively worse. I can't imagine who would hire you after the Cluckin-a-Bucket fiasco. Is it the personal products plant?”

  “It's Ranger.”

  “That makes sense,” Morelli said. “I should have guessed. I can hardly wait to hear your job description.”

  “It's a good job. I'm doing phone work from the office. Nothing in the field. And I get to park in the Rangeman garage, so my car will be secure. Is this where you start yelling?”

  Morelli released me. “Hard to believe, but I'm actually relieved. I was afraid you were going to be out there trying to find Spiro today.”

  Go figure this. “You love me,” I said to Morelli.

  “Yeah. I love you.” He looked at me expectantly. “And?”

  “I ... 1-1-like you, too.” Shit.

  “Jesus,” Morelli said.

  I did a grimace. “I feel it. I just can't say it.”

  Bob padded out of the bedroom. “Gak,” Bob said, and he barfed out a slimy mess on the hall carpet.

  “Guess that's what's left of my sneaker,” Morelli said.

  I parked Morelli's SUV in my lot and ran upstairs to change my clothes. I unlocked my apartment door, rushed inside, and almost stepped on a small, gift-wrapped box. Same wrapping paper Spiro had used for the clock. Same little ribbon bow.

  I stared down at the box for a full minute without breathing. I didn't have a gun. I didn't have pepper spray. I didn't have a stun gun. My toys had all gone up in smoke at Cluck-in-a-Bucket.

  “Anyone here?” I called out.

  No one answered. I knew I should call Ranger and have him go through the apartment, but that felt wimpy. So I backed out, closed the door to my apartment, and called Lula.

  Ten minutes later, Lula was standing alongside me in front of the door.

  “Okay, open it,” Lula said, gun in hand, taser on her hip, pepper spray stuck into her pocket, bludgeoning flashlight shoved under the waistband of her rhinestone-studded spandex jeans, flak vest stretched to the max over her basketball boobs.

  I opened the door and we both peeked inside.

  “One of us should go through and check for bad guys,” Lula said.

  “You've got the gun.”

  “Yeah, but it's your apartment. I could check, but I don't want to be intrusive. It's not that I'm chicken or anything, I just don't want to deprive you of checking.”

  I rolled my eyes at her.

  “Don't you roll eyes at me,” Lula said. “I'm being considerate. I'm giving you the opportunity to get shot before me.”

  “Gee, thanks. Can I at least have the gun?”

  “Damn skippy. It's loaded and everything.”

  I was 99 percent sure the apartment was empty. Still, why take a chance with the 1 percent, right? I crept through the apartment with Lula three steps behind me. We looked in closets, under the bed, behind the shower curtain.

  No spooky Spiro. We returned to the front door and stared down at the box.

  “I guess you should open it,” Lula said.

  “Suppose it's a bomb?”

  “Then I guess you should open it far away from me.”

  I cut a look to her.

  “Well, if it's a bomb it's a little bitty one,” Lula said. “Anyway, maybe it's not a bomb. Maybe it's a diamond bracelet.”

  “You think Spiro's sending me a diamond bracelet?”

  “It would be a long shot,” Lula said.

  I blew out a sigh and gingerly picked the box up. It wasn't heavy. It wasn't ticking. I shook it. It didn't rattle. I carefully unwrapped the box. I lifted the lid and looked inside.

  Lula looked over my shoulder. “What the hell is that?” Lula asked. “It's got hairs growing out of it. Holy fuck! Is that what I think it is?”

  It was Mama Mac's mole. I dropped the box and ran into the bathroom and threw up. When I came out of the bathroom, Lula was on the couch, flipping through television channels.

  “I scooped the mole up and put it back in the box,” Lula said. “And then I put it in a plastic baggie. It doesn't smell all that great. It's on the counter in the kitchen.”

  “I have to change clothes. I took a job working for Ranger, and I need to wear black.”

  “Does this job involve fancy underwear? Oral sex? Lap dancing?”

  “No. It involves phone investigation.”

  Lula remoted the television off and stood to leave. “I bet it'll work its way around to one of those other things. You'd tell me, right?”

  “You'll be the first to know.”

  I bolted the door after Lula and got dressed in black jeans, black Puma sneakers, and a stretchy black V-neck T-shirt. I took Mama's mole, shrugged into my denim jacke
t, and looked out the window at Morellis SUV. No one lurking around, planting bombs. Hooray. I grabbed Rex's cage and vacated the apartment, locking up after me.

  Lot of good that did. Everybody and their brother broke into my apartment.

  I drove the mole to Morelli's house, handed it over, and took Rex into the kitchen.