land. Indistinguishable from every other house on the street. Christmas lights still up,
outlining the front door. Not lit. I circled the block and parked one house down. Lula and I got
out and walked up to Stewart Hansen s house.
“This house is closed up tight,” Lula said. "It got blackout drapes on all the windows.
Either they're trying to conserve energy, or else they're running around naked in there.“ I had new cuffs and a stun gun from Connie. ”Easier to stun-gun someone when he's
naked."
“Yeah, you got a lot to choose from. You ready to do this?”
I gave her a thumbs-up, and she hauled out her gun and jogged around the house to secure
the back door. I felt comfortable she wouldn't have to shoot anyone because Lula, holding her
big Glock, dressed in her Sasquatch boots, poison-green tights, and matching spandex mini
skirt, topped off with a shocking-pink rabbit fur jacket, was enough to make a strong man
faint.
I had my cell phone on speaker, clipped to my jacket, the line open. “Are you in place?” I
asked Lula.
“Yep,” Lula said from the back of the house.
I rapped on the front door with my two-pound Maglite. No one answered, so I rapped
again, and yelled, “Bond enforcement!”
“Shit,” Lula said on speakerphone. "Turn your head when you do that. You just about
busted my eardrum."
“I'm going in,” I told her.
“Don't exert yourself breaking the door down. The back is open.”
I heard a gunshot and had a moment of panic.
“Oops,” Lula said. “Ignore that.”
The front was locked, so I waited for Lula to open the door for me. She was smiling wide
when she let me in.
“You're not gonna believe this,” she said. "We hit the jackpot on this one. We must have
died and gone to heaven, and no one told us."
I stepped into a small foyer constructed of raw wall-board. A door opened off the foyer,
and beyond the door was cannabis. The house was a pot farm. Grow lights, silver reflective walls, fans and vents, and racks and more racks of shelves filled with plants in various stages
of growth.
'Wait until you see the dining room,“ Lula said. ”They got primo shit growing in the dining
room."
I gave her a raised eyebrow.
“Not that I would know,” Lula said.
“There's weed sticking out of the pockets of your jacket.”
“I gathered some evidence on my way through the house.”
“I assume you didn't see any Hansens?”
"No, but there's a car back there. And the back door to the house was open. I wouldn't be
surprised there's someone hiding in here."
“Do we have to worry about them getting away in the car?”
“No. Someone shot a hole in the right front tire.”
I locked and bolted the front door, and Lula and I began working our way through the
house.
“You go first and open the doors, and I'll be behind you with my gun,” Lula said. "I'd go
first, but it's hard to hold a gun and open a door. I want to be able to concentrate on the gun.
It's not like I'm afraid or anything."
“Just don't shoot me in the back.”
“Have I ever shot you? Honest to goodness, you'd think I didn't know what I was doing.” We searched the living room, dining room, and kitchen.
“At least these boys are neat,” Lula said. "They got their empty beer bottles all lined up.
Guess that's so they have room in here for planting the little seedlings and weighing and
bagging. And they got a nice digital scale here. You could see they put some thought to this.“ I poked around in the collection of pots and pans and bottles and jars by the stove. ”Looks
like they have a science experiment going on. Alcohol, coffee filters, ether.“ ”These guys are nuts,“ Lula said. ”They're making hash oil. You could turn yourself into a
barbecue making that stuff."
We moved down the hall to the bedrooms. No need to search under beds because there
weren't any. Two sleeping bags were thrown against a wall in one of the bedrooms. A
television sat on the floor. The closet was filled with clothes. The rest of the room was
cannabis.
“This is kind of cozy,” Lula said. “I bet it's like sleeping in the jungle.”
We checked out the bathroom and the second bedroom. Lots of weed drying out in the
second bedroom, but no Hansens.
“We're missing something,” I said to Lula, going back to the kitchen.
“We opened every door,” Lula said. "We looked around all the racks. We looked behind the
shower curtain, and we moved the clothes all around in the closet. There's no cellar and no
garage and no attic."
"There's a cup of coffee sitting on the counter, and the coffee is still warm. Someone was in
here, and I don't think they had time to leave. You were at the back door, and I was at the
front door. We checked the windows. No one went out through a window."
Lula cut her eyes to the cupboard over the counter.
“Maybe he left just before we got here. You know, lucky coincidence for him.” “Yeah,” I said, cuffs in one hand, stun gun in the other, attention focused on the cupboard.
“That could be it.”
Lula stepped back and two-handed the Glock, aiming it at the cupboard. I reached up and
opened one of the doors. And Stewart Hansen tumbled out, crashing onto the counter, sending
the science experiment flying. He flopped off the counter onto the floor and scrambled like a
cat on black ice-legs moving but no intelligent forward motion.
In the excitement of the moment, Lula squeezed off a shot that went wide of Hansen but
knocked out the ether bottle. The liquid splashed onto the gas stove, and we were all
paralyzed for a moment.
“Pilot light,” Hansen said.
We all dove for the back door, and I think I was in the air when the explosion occurred. Or
maybe it was the explosion that threw me out of the house.
“Holy crap,” Hansen said.
He was on the ground next to me, and Lula was on her back, skirt up to her neck, next to
him.
“Who shot that bottle?” Lula said. “It wasn't me, was it?”
I clapped the cuffs on Hansen, and we all took a bunch of steps backward. “Anyone else in the house?” I asked Hansen.
“No. I was alone.”
We watched the fire rush through the house. It was like a brush fire, and almost instantly
the whole house was burning, and clouds of pot smoke were billowing out over the Burg.
Sirens were screaming in the distance, and the three of us leaned against Hansen s car and
sucked it all in while tiny pieces of cannabis ash sifted down around us.
“This is good shit,” Hansen said, taking a deep breath.
“Smells like you had some Hawaii -O,” Lula said. “Not that Fd know.”
I looked down to make sure my toes weren't smoking. "Maybe we should move back a
little."
We all scurried to Hansen s rear boundary.
“This is pretty funny,” Lula said. “We burned down a house.” And Lula started laughing. Hansen was laughing too. “Probably a million dollars' worth of grass in that house,”
Hansen said. “Up in smoke.”
I was laughing so hard I tipped over and found myself on the ground. “Look at me,” I said.
“I can make snow angels.”
“I'm getting wet,” Lula said. “Is it raining?”
Sounds carried from th
e front of the house. The rumble of the fire truck engines and the
crackle and squawk of police band radios.
“I am so fucking hungry,” Lula said. “I need chips. I'd fucking kill for chips.” A black SUV slid to a stop behind Hansen's car. Tank left the car and walked toward us.
“I've got her,” he said into his walkie. “She's in the back with Lula.”
Rangers Cayenne pulled in behind the SUV. Ranger got out, scooped me up off the ground,
and held me close.
“I was afraid you were in the house,” Ranger said. “Are you all right?”
“I got blown out of it,” I told him. “And then it started raining.”
“It s not rain. It's from the fire hoses on the other side of the house.” He pulled back a little
and looked at me. “Babe, you're high as a kite.”
“Yes! And you are so cute”
Ranger put me in the Cayenne and handed Hansen and Lula over to Tank. We drove the
length of the alley and turned onto Chambersburg Street.
“You're always so quiet” I said to Ranger. “What's with that?”
Ranger didn't move, but I suspected he was rolling his eyes.
“Well?” I said.
“I like quiet.”
“Quiet, quiet, quiet,” I said. And I gave Ranger a shot to the arm.
“Don't do that,” Ranger said.
I gave him another shot.
Ranger pulled to the curb and cuffed me to the sissy bar over the passenger side window. “Are you going to have your way with me now that I'm handcuffed?” I asked. 'Would you like that?"
“Absolutely not.”
Ranger smiled, put the Cayenne in gear, and pulled away from the curb. “I saw that smile,” I said.
On the one hand, I was feeling very flirty and clever. On the other hand, in a dark, back
corner of my mind I suspected I was one of those people who gets obnoxious on wacky
tobacky. No matter which was right, I couldn't seem to stop.
“So,” I said, knowing I was pressing the issue. "Don't you want to have your way with
me?"
"More than you could possibly imagine, but right now you're wet, and you smell like pot.
You're lucky I let you in my car."
'Where are we going?"
“I'm taking you home, so you can take a hot shower and get dressed in dry clothes.” “And then?”
“We'll see.”
Oh boy.
Ranger was in the kitchen making a sandwich when I straggled in. I'd steamed myself in
the shower until the water ran cold, and then I'd slipped into jeans and a T-shirt, letting my
hair dry on its own.
He looked over at me. “How are you feeling?”
“Hungry and tired.”
“You had a full morning. You burned a house down to the ground.”
I took two slices of bread, slathered them with mustard, and added ham and cheese. "Technically, Lula started the fire. It was an accident. She winged a bottle of ether, and it
spilled onto the gas stove."
“We're holding the kid in the cuffs. What do you want to do with him?” “He's FTA. I need to turn him in.”
"If you turn him in, you're going to be implicated in the fire. It's going to get you more
publicity."
“I need the money.”
Ranger got a bottle of water from the fridge. “I can give you a job if you need money.” “What would I do?”
"Fill my minority quota, for one thing. I only employ one woman, and she's my
housekeeper."
“Besides that?”
“Odd jobs,” Ranger said. “You can work part-time on an as needed basis.” “Do you need me now?”
Ranger smiled.
“You missed your chance,” I told him.
"I'll get another one. You got a phone call while you were in the shower, and he left a
message. You should listen to it."
The message was from Peter Smullen. He wanted to speak to me. Would I please call him
back.
Ranger was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, watching me.
“Hard to believe my day could get any worse,” I said to him.
“You underestimate yourself.”
I dialed Smullen's number and waded through layers of secretaries. Finally, Smullen came
on. “I appreciate the callback,” he said. "I imagine your days are complicated since Dickie's
disappearance."
“Its been interesting.”
“I was hoping we could get together for a chat.”
“What do you want to chat about?” I asked him.
“Things.”
“That narrows it down.”
"I prefer not to discuss sensitive issues on the phone. I have a full schedule this afternoon,
but I was hoping we might meet for a drink after hours. Perhaps the bar at the Marriott at
eight?"
“Sure. See you at eight.”
“I have a date,” I said to Ranger. "It turns out I'm very in demand. Everyone wants to talk to
me. The police, Joyce, Peter Smullen."
“Did Smullen say why he wanted to meet with you?”
“He said he wanted to talk about things. Like, maybe the fact that I planted a bug on him. ”And Joyce?"
“She was here this morning, demanding to know where I stashed Dickie.” "As in chopped-up body parts you fed to your neighbor's cat? Or alive and living in your
closet?"
“I don't know.”
“You should find out. Maybe she knows something we don't.”
“Maybe you should talk to her,” I said to Ranger. “She likes you.”
“You'd throw me into the shark tank?”
That got me smiling. “Is big, bad Ranger afraid of Joyce Barnhardt?”
“I'd rather face the python.”
“Joyce doesn't have a long attention span. “I’m surprised she's still involved in this.” Ranger's phone buzzed, and he answered it on speaker mode.
“You have a meeting on the calendar for one o'clock,” Tank said. “Do you need a ride?” “Yes.”
“I'm in the lot.”
“I'll be right down.”
Ranger took the Cayenne keys from his pocket and placed them on the counter. He counted
out four hundred dollars and placed that on the counter as well. "Caesar is designing a system
for a new client tomorrow morning, and a female point of view would be helpful. He'll pick
you up at nine. I'll send a uniform with him. The money is an advance on salary for services
you'll provide."
He backed me against the wall, leaned into me, and kissed me. His tongue touched mine,
and I felt my fingers involuntarily curl into his shirt as heat rushed through my stomach and
headed south. He broke from the kiss and looked down at me with a suggestion of a smile.
Just a slight curve to the corners of his mouth.
“That's an advance on services I provide,” he said.
He grabbed his jacket and left.
SEVEN
Since I was no longer desperate for money, I decided to spend the afternoon on activities designed to keep me out of jail. I heard what Morelli was saying… that Dickie was just a missing person and I shouldn't worry. But people had been sent to jail for less. I knew this for a fact. I helped put them there.
Lean Mean Thirteen Page 9
