by Unknown
I flipped Ranger the bird.
Ranger smiled at me. “Cute.”
“That’s what I said about Tank’s cat.”
“He made you look at his cat picture?”
“I thought it would make her happy,” Tank said.
Ranger’s smile widened. “Did it make you happy?” he asked me.
“A little.”
I suspected I was to Ranger what Tank’s cat was to Tank.
“Take good care of her,” Ranger said to Tank.
Ranger left for the second break-in, and Tank and I set off on our exploration. The exploration didn’t take long. I was getting to know what to expect. Start with the door leading from the garage and take the shortest route to the master bedroom. Check out the home office, the den, the kids’ rooms. Proceed to the front door or possibly back door. Locate the keypads.
I felt like the keypads held the answer to the mystery. There were three keypads in this house. One in the master bedroom, one on a wall by the front door, and one by the door to the garage. None of the keypads were visible from a window.
Tank and I had gone through the house and returned to the door leading to the garage. We were standing in a small hallway behind the kitchen. The laundry room and a half bath opened off the hallway.
“I think this guy is getting the code from the keypad,” I said to Tank.
“I’ve been thinking that, too. It’s like when people watch you at the ATM and they get your bank code. It’s like someone’s looking through walls.”
We left Faux Vernon and went to house number two. The second house was only three blocks away in the same neighborhood. It was a huge redbrick box with white columns and a porte cochere.
Ranger met us at the door. “The drill is the same. Cash and jewelry taken from the upstairs master.”
“Are the police making any progress on these robberies?”
“Not that I can tell. Not a lot of talent assigned to this desk.”
“It’s odd that these two houses were hit together.”
“Both clients were at the same dinner party,” Ranger said. “Somehow, our bandit knew the houses would be empty. Originally, I thought he randomly hit houses that were dark. Now I think he plans ahead. We need to go over the original report taken after each break-in to see if there’s a common service provider. Someone who might have talked to the homeowner. And we probably want to go back and reinterview all of the clients who were robbed.”
“That still doesn’t tell us how he got the codes.”
“Trust me, if I catch this guy, he’ll tell me how he got the codes.”
THE FIRST THING I noticed when I woke up was that I wasn’t alone. Ranger was in bed with me. And he was asleep. I reviewed the night, and I couldn’t remember anything amazing happening. Tank had driven me back to Rangeman around two in the morning. Ranger hadn’t come back with us. It was now nine o’clock. I checked around and determined I was wearing all the clothes I was supposed to be wearing. Panties and T-shirt. I slipped out of bed, and Ranger woke up.
“When did you get home?” I asked him.
“A little after five.”
“I’m surprised I’m not naked.”
“You weren’t in the mood,” Ranger said. “You told me you’d shoot me with my own gun if I touched you.”
“What did you do?”
“I got up and locked my gun in the safe. You were asleep when I came back to bed.”
“I was tired.”
“Are you tired now?”
“No, but I’m going to work. I have three skips to catch. I need to check in on Lula. And I want to go over the reports from your break-ins.”
“The reports are on my desk,” Ranger said.
A half hour later, I rolled out of the garage in Ranger’s Cayenne and dialed Lula.
“What’s going on today?” I asked her. “And where are you?”
“I’m getting ready to leave your apartment. Your kitchen is all clean, and they’re putting my new door up this morning. I’m having brunch with Mister Clucky, and then I’m going to your mama’s house to cook with your granny. You could have brunch at Cluck-in-a-Bucket with me if you want.”
“Cluck-in-a-Bucket has brunch?”
“Only on Sunday. You get orange juice and biscuits and a bucket of nuggets.”
“How is that different from every other day?”
“It’s the orange juice. Usually, you get a soda.”
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll meet you at Cluck-in-a-Bucket.”
I’d grabbed a to-go cup of coffee from the fifth-floor kitchen before I left Rangeman, but I hadn’t bothered with breakfast, so biscuits and orange juice sounded good.
I drove through the center of the city and reached Cluck-in-a-Bucket just as Lula was pulling into the lot. Mister Clucky was dancing around in front of the building, and the hideous impaled chicken was spinning overhead.
“Yoohoo, Mister Clucky, honey,” Lula called, getting out of her Firebird and waving.
“Boy, you must really like him,” I said.
“He’s an excellent scrubber, and besides, it’s not everybody gets to know Mister Clucky personally. He’s one of them minor celebrities.”
Mister Clucky was surrounded by kids, so we bypassed him and put our order in.
“I’m going to try my luck with Ernie Dell again,” I said to Lula. “Are you in?”
“As long as it don’t take too long. Larry gave me his barbecue recipe, and Granny and me are trying it out this afternoon.”
I got an orange juice and two biscuits. Lula got an orange juice, a bucket of biscuits, and a bucket of nuggets.
“Crickey,” I said, looking at her tray. “I thought you were cutting back on the food.”
“You said only have one pork chop and one burger and one steak. So I only got one bucket of biscuits and one bucket of nuggets. You got a problem with that?”
“You could feed a family of six on that food.”
“Not in my neighborhood. I live in a three-pork-chop neighborhood.”
Mister Clucky came inside dancing and singing his Mister Clucky song, going table by table.
“I know him personally,” Lula said to the woman at the table next to her.
Lula was still wearing the flak vest. She ate half the bucket of nuggets, and she released the Velcro straps to give herself more room.
“Is that a bulletproof vest?” the woman next to Lula asked.
“Yep,” Lula said. “And it’s hard to make a fashion statement in this on account of it don’t come in a lot of colors. I gotta wear it because there’s a couple guys tryin’ to kill me.”
The woman gave a gasp and hustled her two kids out the door.
“Hunh,” Lula said. “She just up and left. She didn’t even finish her Clucky Burger.”
“Next time, say you’re wearing a back brace.”
We finished eating, Lula said good-bye to Mister Clucky, and we saddled up. We left Lula’s Firebird in the lot, and I drove.
“I love this car,” Lula said. “My personality don’t fit a SUV, but this car is still excellent. It got buttons all over the place. What’s this button do?”
“I don’t know.”
Lula pushed the button and my GPS screen went blank. “Oops,” Lula said.
The car phone rang, and I opened the connection.
“This is Hal in the control room,” a voice said on the hands-free phone. “Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“You just dropped off my screen. Did you disable your GPS?”
“It was an accident. How do I fix it?”
“Push the button again.”
“Where’s that voice comin’ from?” Lula wanted to know. “It sounds like the voice of God, floatin’ around in space.”
I disconnected Hal, reconnected the GPS, and turned off Hamilton.
“This time we’ll cover all exits,” I said. “You take the front door, and I’ll take the back door.”
“Sounds like a plan
. Who’s going in first?”
“I’ll go in first. You don’t go in at all unless I yell for you. You keep your eyes open in case he goes out a front window.”
I drove a couple blocks into Ernie’s neighborhood, found the alley that ran past the back of his house, and crept along until I reached his driveway. I pulled in and angle-parked behind the garage, blocking his exit.
“I’ll give you time to walk around the house, and then I’m going in,” I said to Lula. “Just stay put until you hear from me.”
Lula checked the Velcro on her vest to make sure everything was secure. “Gotcha.”
We left the Cayenne and went our separate ways. I counted off two minutes and knocked on the back door. No answer. I knocked again and tried the door. Unlocked. I stepped into the kitchen and listened. No sound. “Bond enforcement!” I yelled. “Ernie, are you in here?” Nothing. I walked through the house, stood at the bottom of the stairs and called out again. I climbed the stairs and went room by room. No Ernie. I returned to the first floor and opened the door to Lula.
“He’s not here,” I said. “I’ll try again later.”
We walked through the house and let ourselves out.
“There’s something wrong here,” Lula said, standing on the back stoop. “I get the feeling something’s not right. What is it?”
A wave of nausea swirled through my stomach. “It’s Ranger’s Cayenne,” I said. “It’s gone.”
“Yep,” Lula said. “That’s it, all right. There’s a big empty space where the car used to be.”
I dialed Rangeman and got Hal. “Is Ranger on the floor yet?”
“No,” Hal said. “I haven’t seen him. Would you like me to transfer you?”
“No. I don’t want to bother him. Is the GPS still working on the Cayenne?”
“Yes.”
“Maybe you could send someone after it, since it’s been sort of . . . stolen.”
There was a beat of silence. “Stolen?” Hal said. “Someone stole Ranger’s Cayenne?”
I blew out a sigh. “Yes.”
“Uh-oh,” Lula said, staring off into the distance. “I don’t like the looks of this.”
I followed her line of sight and felt my heart skip a couple beats. Black smoke billowed skyward about a quarter mile away.
“Has the car stopped?” I asked Hal.
“Yes.”
“No rush,” I told him. “It’s going to be there for a while.”
“Now what?” Lula asked when I got off the phone.
I wanted to get on a plane and leave the country. Get a job in St. Bart’s and never come back.
“Hal’s sending a car to pick us up,” I said.
Ten minutes later, a black SUV rolled into the driveway. Ramon was at the wheel.
“I need to get my car at Cluck-in-a-Bucket,” Lula told him. “I gotta go cook up barbecue.”
Ramon glanced over at me. “Ranger would like me to take you back to Rangeman.”
“Sure,” I said. “Drop Lula at the Bucket and take me to the Batcave.”
RANGER WAS IN the shower when I got to the apartment. I flopped onto the couch, pulled a pillow over my head, and hoped when he came out he wouldn’t notice me lying there.
Pretend you’re in a good place, I told myself. You’re on a beach. Hear the waves swooshing in and out. Hear the seagulls.
The pillow got lifted off my face and Ranger looked down at me. “You can run, but you can’t hide,” he said.
“Just shoot me and get it over with.”
“Talk to me.”
“Ernie Dell.”
Ranger yanked me to my feet, pulled me into the hall and out the door. “He needs to find another hobby.”
Ranger is a master of control. He can lower his heart rate at will and walk past a bakery and never be tempted. On the surface, Ranger would appear to have no emotion. It’s anyone’s guess what rages below the surface. What I do know about Ranger is that he’s most dangerous when he’s dead calm. And right now he was pretty calm, except for having his hand clamped around my wrist.
Neither of us said a word in the elevator. Ranger guided the Turbo out of the garage, and I gave him directions to Ernie’s house. He looked relaxed at the wheel. No angry little lines in his forehead. No tense muscles working in his jaw. He also wasn’t talking. He was in his zone.
We drove down the alley behind Ernie’s house and parked in his driveway, Ranger still not saying anything, looking at the wreck of a haunted mansion in front of him. We got out of the Porsche and walked to the building’s back door. Ranger listened for a moment and knocked. No answer. Ranger knocked again.
There was a sound overhead like a window being raised. I looked up to see and Splooosh. I was doused head to foot with red paint.
Ranger was standing inches from me, and he didn’t have a drop on him. He was in black Rangeman tactical gear of T-shirt, cargo pants, and windbreaker, and he was pristine. He looked at me and did a small I can’t believe these things always happen to you gesture with his hands.
“If you so much as crack a smile, that’s the end of our friendship,” I said to him.
The corners of his mouth twitched a little, and I knew he was smiling inside.
“Babe,” he said.
“I’m a mess.”
“Yes, but we’re going to have fun washing this paint off you when we get back to my apartment.” He unholstered his gun and handed it to me. “Stay here and don’t move from this spot. If you see Ernie Dell, shoot him.”
“What if he isn’t armed?”
“He’ll be armed by the time the police get here.”
Ranger disappeared inside the house, leaving the kitchen door open. A minute later, I heard something crash overhead. The crash was accompanied by a loud grunt, as if the air had been knocked out of someone. I’d seen Ranger in action on other manhunts, and I suspected this was Ernie Dell getting thrown against a wall. There was a moment of silence and then more thumping and crashing. I looked inside, past the kitchen, and saw Ernie sprawled on the floor at the foot of the stairs. Ranger hauled him to his feet and wrangled him to the back door.
“What was all that crashing?” I asked Ranger.
“He slipped on the stairs.”
Ernie’s hands were cuffed behind his back, and he wasn’t looking happy. I was relieved to have captured Ernie, but it was annoying that it was so easy for Ranger to execute a take down and next to impossible for me.
“You have other talents,” Ranger said, reading my thoughts.
“Such as?”
He tucked my hair behind my ear so it wouldn’t drip paint on my face. “You’re smart. You’re intuitive. You’re resilient.” He thought about it for a beat. “You’re stubborn.”
“Stubborn is a good thing?”
“Not necessarily. I ran out of good things.”
A Rangeman SUV glided into the driveway and parked. Tank and Ramon got out and went pale when they saw me.
“It’s paint,” Ranger said to them. “Mr. Dell was feeling playful.”
Tank clapped a hand to his heart.
“Sweet Mother of God,” Ramon said.
Ranger handed Ernie over to Tank. “I’ll get the paperwork for you, and you can turn him in for Stephanie. And I need a thermal blanket from the emergency kit for her.”
Five minutes later, Ernie was shackled to the floor in the backseat of the Rangeman SUV and trundled off to the police station. This left me with two open files, and as far as I was concerned, Joyce was welcome to both of them. I kicked my shoes off at car-side, wrapped myself in the aluminum blanket from the emergency kit, and eased myself into the Turbo, next to Ranger.
“I’m trying not to drip,” I said to him.
“I saw the can in the upstairs bedroom. It’s water-based. It should wash off.”
“Why don’t you have any paint on you? It’s always me. Why isn’t it ever you?”
“I don’t know,” Ranger said. “But I like it this way.”
Ranger
backed out of the driveway and drove toward Olden. I was soaked through with paint and wrapped in an aluminum foil blanket like a baked potato. I’d left my shoes in the driveway, and my feet were getting cold.
“Take me to my apartment,” I said to Ranger.
“Isn’t Lula there?”
“No. She’s cleared out.”
THIRTEEN
I LET MYSELF into my apartment and went to my kitchen first thing. It was sparkling clean, with only a few pale pink stains in the ceiling paint and a small chunk of the ceiling chipped away from the lid impact. The living room and dining room were nice and neat. No sign of Lula. Yay. Yippee.
The bedroom wasn’t nearly so happy. Lula’s clothes were still there. Okay, don’t panic, I told myself. Maybe she was in a hurry to go to brunch and just hasn’t come back to collect her clothes. I was holding a big plastic garbage bag that I’d taken from the kitchen. I stripped down and put everything, including the disposable aluminum blanket, into the garbage bag. There was a limit to how much paint you could wash out of a shirt, and my clothes were way beyond the limit.
I stepped into the shower and, after a lot of scrubbing and shampooing, finally emerged red-free. I fluffed my hair out with the dryer, swiped some mascara on my lashes, and dressed in a ratty T-shirt, washed-out jeans, and a denim jacket. Not a high-fashion day, since my laundry basket with all my clean clothes was still at my mother’s house.
I’d promised to test-drive more barbecue sauce tonight at my parents’ house. I called Lula for a ride and went down to the parking lot to wait for her.
Mostly seniors on fixed incomes lived in my building. There were a couple Hispanics and a young single mom with two kids, but everyone else had a subscription to AARP The Magazine. It was almost five, and half of my building was out taking advantage of the early bird specials at the diner, and the other half was in front of the television, eating a defrosted entrée.
Lula barreled into the lot and came to a sharp stop in front of me. “Hop in,” she said. “I gotta get back to help your granny. We’re in the middle of saucin’ up some chicken.”
“Is this Mister Clucky’s recipe?”
“Yeah, and I think it’s a good one. His secret ingredient is blackberry jelly. Leave it to a cross-dresser to come up with something real creative like that.”
