by Unknown
Good point. I opened the door and peeked out into the small lobby. A bunch of tenants were milling around. Red and blue lights from cop cars and fire trucks flashed from the parking lot. A bunch of firemen in boots and gear entered the building and clomped past us, taking the stairs to the second floor. I looked out again and saw that the police were clearing the lobby.
“They’re going to make us leave the building,” I said to Lula.
“No way,” Lula said. “I’m here to stay. There’s crazy-ass Marco the Maniac out there.”
“I’m sure he’s gone by now. The parking lot is crawling with cops.”
“Some of those cops aren’t real smart.”
“Even the dimmest bulb would be suspicious of two guys wearing Zorro masks.”
“How’d they find me here anyway?” Lula wanted to know.
“They’ve probably been following your Firebird.”
“Well, I’m not drivin’ it no more. I’m leaving it here, and I’m calling a cab. And I’m not going home, neither. I’d be sitting there waiting for them to set me on fire.”
“Where are you going?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t figured that out.”
We left the stairwell and inserted ourselves into the middle of a clump of displaced tenants. Lula called for a cab, and I called Morelli.
“Are you out of the bathroom yet?” I asked him.
“Yeah, but it’s probably temporary.”
“How’s Bob doing?”
“He’s looking better.”
“Our two hit men, dumb and dumber, just firebombed my apartment. I think they must have been following Lula and figured out that she was living here.”
“Was anyone hurt?”
“I don’t think so. The firemen are here. And a bunch of cops. Everyone’s out of the building, and I don’t see the EMTs treating anyone. Marco and his partner are so inept, they shot the first firebomb into my neighbor’s window by mistake.”
“Were they captured?”
“No. Lula and I heard the shot and went to the window. We saw them in the lot, and they saw us in the window, and next thing, there was a firebomb in my dining room.”
“How bad is the fire?”
“I think it was confined to the two apartments. I don’t see any more flames coming out the windows, so I’m thinking it’s under control. I won’t know how much damage was done for a while.”
“I’d offer to come rescue you, but I’m not sure I can drag myself to the car.”
“Thanks for the thought, but I’m okay. I’ll fill you in on the details tomorrow.”
I disconnected and Ranger called.
“Babe,” Ranger said.
“You heard?”
“The control room picked the call up on the police scanner.”
“It was my apartment, but I’m not hurt. I think most of the fire is out, but the firemen are still working in the building.”
“Hal is sitting just outside your lot in case you need help.”
“Thanks.”
The parking lot was clogged with emergency vehicles and fire trucks fighting for space around the parked cars. Fire hoses snaked over the pavement and it was difficult to see past the glare of spotlights and strobe lights.
“The cab’s gonna pick me up on the road,” Lula said. “It’ll never get into the lot.”
I walked through the tangle of trucks and gawkers with Lula, keeping alert for the Chipotle killers. Hard to believe they’d still be around, but they were so stupid it was hard to predict what they’d do. We reached the street running parallel to the lot. The Rangeman SUV was parked about twenty feet away. I waved to Hal and he waved back at me. After a couple minutes, the cab arrived.
“I’m gonna have this guy take me to Dunkin’ Donuts,” Lula said. “I need a bag of doughnuts.”
“No! You’re supposed to be off doughnuts.”
“Oh yeah. I forgot. I’ll have him take me to the supermarket, and I’ll get a bag of carrots.”
“Really?”
“No, not really. You think I’m gonna feel better eatin’ a carrot? Get a grip. There’s two idiots out there trying to kill me, and you think I’m gonna waste my last breath on a vegetable?”
Lula climbed into the cab, and I returned to the parking lot. Water dripped down the side of the building and pooled on the blacktop. Some of the tenants were being allowed to return to their apartments. Dillon Ruddick was talking to a couple cops and the fire chief. I walked over to join them.
“I knew it would only be a matter of time before we met again,” the chief said to me, referring to the fact that this wasn’t the first time my apartment had been fire-bombed. Or maybe he was talking about the two cars that just got toasted.
“Not my fault,” I said, thinking that covered all the possibilities.
“What can you tell me about this?” he said to me.
Morelli was the principal on the Chipotle case, and I didn’t know how much he wanted divulged, so I didn’t say much. I described the firebomb and left it at that.
I looked up at my smoke-stained window. “How bad is it?”
“Some damage in the dining room and living room. Mostly rugs and curtains. The couch is gone. Some water damage and smoke damage. You should be able to get in tomorrow to look around, but you’re not going to want to live in it until a cleaning crew goes through.”
“What about the bathroom?”
“It didn’t reach the bathroom.”
I’d been hoping the bathroom was destroyed. I really needed a bathroom remodel.
It was another hour before the fire trucks rumbled out of my lot and I was able to move the Buick. Hal was still at curbside. I rolled my window down and told him he could go back to Rangeman.
“I’m going to spend the night at my parents’ house,” I said.
“Do you want me to follow?”
“No. I’ll be fine on my own.”
I drove down Hamilton, cut into the Burg, and parked in front of my parents’ house. The house was dark. No lights shining anywhere. Everyone had turned in for the night.
There are three small bedrooms and one bath on the second floor. My parents share a room, Grandma has a room, and the third room was mine when I lived at home. It hasn’t changed much over the years. A new bedspread and new curtains that look exactly like the old ones. I quietly crept up the stairs, carefully opened the door to my room, and had a couple beats of utter confusion. Someone was in my bed. Someone huge. Someone snoring! It was like Goldilocks, but reversed. The mountain of quilt-covered flesh turned and faced me. It was Lula!
I was dumbstruck.
When she said she’d find a place to stay, it never occurred to me it would be with my parents, in my bed. I was torn between hauling her out of my room and silently skulking away into the night. I debated it for a moment, took a step back, and closed the door. Let’s face facts, there was no way I could haul Lula anywhere. I tiptoed out of the house, got into the Buick, and drove to Rangeman.
RANGER WAS IN his apartment when I walked in. He was in the kitchen, standing at the counter and eating a sandwich.
“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to barge in on you. I didn’t realize you were here.”
“I wouldn’t have given you a key if I felt I needed privacy,” Ranger said. “You can come and go as you please.”
“Any more sandwiches?”
“In the refrigerator.”
I took a sandwich, unwrapped it, and bit into it. “It’s been a long night.”
“I can see that,” Ranger said. “You look like you’ve been dragged through a swamp fire.”
My sneakers were soaked, my jeans had wicked water up to my knees, and I was head-to-toe soot.
“The Chipotle killers firebombed my apartment. I saw them in the parking lot. I think they were after Lula.”
“Is Morelli making any progress?”
“He’s got a name for one of them.” I went to the fridge and found a beer. “I thought you’d be on patr
ol.”
“My route took me through town, so I decided to take a break and get something to eat.” Ranger finished his sandwich and washed it down with a bottle of water. “I’m going back out.”
I walked him to the door and watched him take a key from the silver server on the breakfront. Ranger always kept three cars for his personal use. The Porsche Turbo, a Mercedes sedan, and a Porsche Cayenne. He used to have a truck that he loved, but it went to truck heaven and was never replaced. The key he chose tonight was for a Cayenne.
“Replaced already?” I asked him.
“It would have been here sooner, but they had to install the lockbox under the seat.”
“I guess you’re all about instant gratification.”
Ranger grabbed me and kissed me. “If I was all about instant gratification, you’d be naked and in bed.”
And he left.
FIFTEEN
I OPENED MY eyes and looked at the bedside clock. Almost six in the morning. I heard keys clink onto the silver server in the hall, and I knew Ranger was home. I vacated the bed and sleepwalked into the dressing room. Not a lot of variety to my clothing choices. Black everything. Life was simple at Rangeman, and this was a good thing at this hour because I wasn’t capable of complicated thoughts, such as red shirt or blue shirt.
I grabbed some clothes and hustled into the bathroom. When I came out, Ranger was eating breakfast at the small dining room table.
“It looks like Ella’s been here,” I said to him.
“She brought you coffee and an omelet.”
There was also a breadbasket, plus a fresh fruit platter with raspberries, blackberries, and kiwi. Ranger had a bagel with cream cheese and smoked salmon.
“How was your night?” I asked him.
“Uneventful. And yours?”
“Uneventful once I got here,” I said.
Ranger pushed back from the table and stood.
“What are your plans for today?”
“I want to take another stab at capturing Myron Kaplan. I’m hoping to get into my apartment to at least look around. And we have to sign in for the barbecue cook-off this afternoon. Tomorrow is the big day.”
“I hate to point out the obvious, but so far as I know, you can’t cook.”
“It’s about barbecue sauce,” I said. “You take some ketchup and add pepper, and you’ve got sauce.”
Ranger grinned down at me. “And this is why I love you.” He kissed me on the top of my head. “I need to get some sleep. Take whatever car you want.”
I finished my omelet, had a second cup of coffee, and headed out, grabbing the keys to the new Cayenne. It would be fun to drive the Turbo, but it wasn’t practical for hauling felons back to jail. I stepped into the elevator, pushed the button for garage level, and waved at the little camera in the corner up by the ceiling, knowing someone was manning a monitor, looking at me. And that’s when it hit me. The camera.
I got to the garage and hit the button to go back to the seventh floor. I let myself into Ranger’s apartment and yelled out to him. “I’ve got it!”
“I’m in the bedroom,” Ranger said.
“Are you naked?”
“Do you want me to be?”
“No.” That was a total lie, but I was too chicken to say yes. Even if a woman was sworn off men for life, she’d still want to see Ranger naked. And I was only sworn off men for the time being.
He walked out to see me. “What do you have?”
“Suppose our man gets into the house under some pretext. Like maybe he’s checking phone lines or cable lines. And then he plants a small camera in such a way that it gets a video of the owner punching in the code. And then a couple days later, he comes back and gets the camera. Or maybe the camera sends the video out to an exterior location and then he gets the camera when he commits the robbery. Could he do that?”
“I suppose it could be done, but there’ve been a lot of break-ins, and no one has noticed a camera.”
“Yeah, but these cameras are small. And maybe they get placed alongside other devices like smoke detectors or motion sensors.”
“I like it,” Ranger said. “Run with it.”
“Would you mind if I went to some of your accounts and did a fast check of the areas where touch pads have been installed?”
“Make sure you show them your Rangeman ID and tell them you’re a tech.”
I ROLLED OUT of the garage and realized it was barely seven o’clock. What on earth is a person supposed to do at this hour? I could go to breakfast at the diner, but I’d just eaten. My parents would be getting up around now, and it might be fun to see everyone fighting over the bathroom. But then, maybe not. I drove past the office. No lights on. Connie never came in this early. I cruised past Morelli’s house. No one on the front lawn. His SUV parked at curbside. A single light on upstairs. Morelli was most likely moving a little slow this morning. I avoided my apartment building. It was too soon to get in, and I knew the sight of the fire-blackened windows would make me feel sad.
That left me with Myron Kaplan. I returned to the center of the city and parked across the street from Kaplan’s house. It was Monday morning and some houses showed signs of life, but not Kaplan’s. If I was a television bounty hunter, I’d kick the door down and go in guns drawn to catch Kaplan by surprise. I elected not to do this because it seemed like a mean thing to do to a guy who just wanted to return his teeth, I wasn’t any good at kicking doors down, and I didn’t have a gun. My gun was home in my cookie jar, and it wasn’t loaded, anyway.
So I hung out in Ranger’s brand-new Cayenne, watching Kaplan’s house, telling myself I was doing surveillance. Truth is, I was snoozing. I had the seat reclined and was feeling very comfy inside the big car with the dark tinted windows.
I woke up a little after nine and saw movement behind Kaplan’s front window. I got out of the car and rang Kaplan’s bell.
“Oh jeez,” Kaplan said when he saw me. “You again.”
“I’ll make a deal,” I said. “I’ll take you to breakfast if you go to the police station with me when you’re done.”
“I don’t want to go to breakfast. I haven’t got any teeth. I have to gum everything to death. And if I swallow big chunks of stuff, I get indigestion. Can’t eat bacon at all.”
“You got your money back. Why don’t you go to another dentist and get new teeth?”
“I called some other dentists and couldn’t get an appointment. I think they’re all in cahoots. I’m on a blacklist.”
“Dentists don’t have blacklists.”
“How do you know? Are you sure they don’t have blacklists?”
“Pretty sure.”
“Pretty sure doesn’t cut it, chickie.”
“Okay, we’ll go to plan B. Let’s pay a visit to your old dentist.”
“The quack?”
“Yeah. Let’s talk to him about your teeth.”
“Do you have a gun?”
“No.”
“Then it’s a waste of time,” Myron said. “You’ll never get in.”
“Trust me, I’ll get in.”
WILLIAM DUFFY, DDS, had an office suite on the fifth floor of the Kreger Building. The waiting room was standard fare. Durable carpet, leatherette chairs, a couple end tables holding artfully arranged stacks of dog-eared magazines. A receptionist desk presided over one wall and guarded the door that led to Duffy.
“That’s her,” Myron said. “Miss Snippity.”
Miss Snippity was in her forties and looked pleasant enough. Short brown hair, minimal makeup, blue dental office smock with the name Tammy embroidered on it.
“Don’t come any closer,” Tammy said. “I’m calling Security.”
“That’s not necessary,” I told her. “We aren’t armed.” I glanced over at Myron. “We aren’t, right?”
“My daughter took my gun away,” Myron said.
“We’d like to talk to Dr. Duffy,” I said to Tammy.
“Do you have an appointment?”
“No.”
“Dr. Duffy only sees by appointment.”
“Yes,” I said, “but you just opened for the day and there’s no one in the waiting room.”
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to make an appointment.”
“Fine,” I said. “I’d like an appointment for now. Do you have that available?”
“Dr. Duffy doesn’t see patients until 10 A.M.”
“Okay. Give me an appointment at 10 A.M.”
“That’s not available,” she said, thumbing through her appointment book. “The next available appointment would be three weeks from now.”
“Here’s the deal,” I said to her. “Poor Mr. Kaplan has no teeth. He’s getting indigestion, and he can’t eat bacon. Can you imagine a life without bacon, Tammy?”
“I thought Mr. Kaplan was Jewish.”
“There’s all kinds of Jewish,” Mr. Kaplan said. “You sound like my daughter. Maybe you want to tell me to get a colonoscopy, too.”
“Oh my goodness, you haven’t had a colonoscopy?”
“No one’s sticking a camera up my rump,” Mr. Kaplan said. “I never like the way I look in pictures.”
“About Mr. Kaplan’s teeth,” I said to Tammy.
“I have no appointments,” Tammy said. “If I break the rule for Mr. Kaplan, I have to break the rule for everyone.”
Tammy was starting to annoy me.
“Just this once,” I said. “No one will know. I know Dr. Duffy is in. I can hear him talking on the phone. We want five minutes of his time. We just want to talk to him. Five minutes.”
“No.”
“I told you,” Mr. Kaplan said to me. “She’s snippity.”
I put palms down on Tammy’s desk and I leaned in real close to her. Nose to nose. “If you don’t let me in, I’m going to picket this building and let everyone know about the shoddy work Dr. Duffy is doing. And then I’m going to run a personal computer check on you and get the names of all your high school classmates and tell them you have relations with ponies and large dogs.”
“You don’t scare me,” Tammy said.
So that was when I went to plan C and broke into my imitation of Julie Andrews, singing, “The hills are alive, with the sound of music. . . .”
