Tank is appropriately named. He’s huge and has tough guy written all over him. He was in special ops with Ranger, and he’s the number-two guy at Rangeman. He’s the guy who watches Ranger’s back. They were in Rangeman black fatigues, wearing full gun belts. Sidearms strapped to their legs. If I didn’t know them and was seeing them for the first time, I’d flat-out have a panic attack.
Since I’d slept with one of them and knew what he was capable of doing, the adrenaline surge that would have fueled a panic attack instead produced a rush of sexual desire so strong I almost dropped Lula’s gun.
The bartender spotted them and reached for the phone, just as I thought he would. Standard operating procedure. This was how I got to meet Stan. I pulled myself together and discreetly pointed the Glock at the bartender, suggesting that he take a step back away from the phone. I caught Ranger’s eye and directed his attention to the door behind the bar. By the time Ranger and Tank reached the door, the Mole Hole had emptied out. The floor-show music was still playing, but there was no pole girl.
I gave the gun back to Lula, told her to keep her eye on things, and joined Ranger and Tank. I felt small in comparison but totally empowered, flanked by the two men in black. I knocked, and Stan opened the door.
“Hello again,” I said.
He attempted to close the door, and Ranger stiff-armed it open. Benny the Skootch was in his chair with a napkin tucked into his shirt like a bib. Lou Salgusta was eating his lunch at a card table. Charlie Shine had been at the table with Lou, but he jumped up when I walked in with Ranger and Tank.
“What the fuck?” Charlie said. “What the fuck?”
“You missed your court date,” I said to Charlie. “You need to come with us to reschedule.”
“This is bullshit,” Charlie said. “Benny, get my lawyer on the phone. Tell him to get the fuck down to the courthouse.”
Ranger attempted to cuff Charlie, and Charlie struck out at him. In a nanosecond Ranger face-planted Charlie onto the card table. Charlie was searched and his weapon removed, and his hands were cuffed behind his back. Ranger jerked him to his feet and force-marched him out of the Mole Hole.
“Very sorry to have disrupted your lunch,” I said to Benny and Lou. “It all looks delicious.”
I paid for lunch and met Ranger in the parking lot.
“Would you like us to drop him off, or would you like to have the pleasure?” Ranger asked.
“I’ll take him in,” I said. “Thank you. I really appreciate the help. I didn’t know who was in the room. And I probably couldn’t have cuffed Shine without Lula shooting him first.”
* * *
—
Connie gave us a double thumbs-up when we walked into the office.
“Another job well done,” Lula said. “We took Shine straight to the court and the judge set his bail at twice the original amount. No one will put up that kind of money.”
“For sure not this office,” Connie said. “And we have one less FTA to worry about. Emory Lindal was arrested last night. Drunk and disorderly.”
“That leaves our favorite person,” Lula said. “Carol Joyce, the little wiener.”
As far as I was concerned, he could shoplift for the rest of his life. I had no desire to attempt another takedown of Carol Joyce.
“How many attempts at capture will this make?” I asked Lula.
“I stopped counting,” Lula said. “It’s humiliating. It’s not like he’s the Pink Panther or Jack the Ripper. This idiot lives with his mother and steals T-shirts for a living.”
“We can drive past his house and his office and look for his SUV,” I said. “I guess we could cruise the Quaker Bridge parking lot.”
“That sounds like a lame attempt,” Lula said. “What would Dog the Bounty Hunter do?”
“He’d go to the Joyce house at one in the morning, kick the door in, and drag Carol Joyce out of bed,” I said.
“That would seem extreme in this case,” Lula said, “on account of it would scare the bejeezus out of Mrs. Joyce. She thinks her son is a personal shopper. And there’s the ugly little dog to think about. It already has intestinal issues. I would hate to cause it more anxiety.”
My mother called.
“Your grandmother was caught breaking into Marvina’s house,” my mother said. “Luckily it was Eddie Gazarra who investigated. He’s got her in his patrol car, and he doesn’t know what to do with her.”
“Where are they now?”
“He’s in the All-Day Diner parking lot just past the hospital.”
“I’m on my way.” I grabbed my bag and headed for the door. “Family problem,” I said. “Not life-threatening.”
I pulled into the diner parking lot three minutes later and parked next to the patrol car. I grew up with Eddie Gazarra, and he was now married to my cousin Shirley the Whiner. I got out of the Porsche and looked in at Grandma. She was in the back seat, eating a cup of soft-serve ice cream. She smiled when she saw me and pointed to the cookie tin in her lap.
“What’s up?” I said to Eddie.
Eddie got out of the patrol car, stepped away, and turned his body mic off. “She bumped the lock on Marvina’s back door and let herself in. Tootie saw her do it and phoned it in. Luckily, dispatch sent me out, or Grandma would be sitting in the holding tank right now.”
“Did she explain any of this to you?”
“No. She won’t talk. She said she had a righteous mission to perform, and she has no regrets.”
“So, you bought her ice cream and called my mother?”
“Yes.”
Gazarra was great. It was a shame he married Shirley. He could have done much better. I gave him the long version of the regifting of potentially poisonous cookies. The more he heard, the larger the smile got until he was full-on cracked up.
“Let me get this straight,” he said. “Barbara gave the cookies to Grandma. Grandma gave the cookies to the sisters. The sisters gave the cookies to Marvina. And Grandma broke in so she could get the cookies out of the house before Marvina came home and maybe ate another one.”
“Yep.”
“I love it,” Gazarra said. “I might have to confiscate that cookie tin. You never know when you want to give someone poison cookies. Good to have on hand.”
“I’m going to bury it,” I said.
“I’ll transfer Grandma over to your custody and write this up as mistaken identity.”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
“Really? I could use a babysitter next Saturday.”
“Last time I babysat for your kids they set the kitchen on fire. I’d rather let you keep Grandma, and you could lock her up with the hookers.”
“I don’t want her,” Gazarra said. “I’d be laughed out of the building. I’d be known as ‘Granny Cop,’ and my mother would be mad at me.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I TOOK GRANDMA back to my parents’ house. We emptied the cookies into a plastic bag, smashed them with a rolling pin, and put them in the garbage. If a pack of rats ate them at the landfill that was their problem.
“We’ll never know if they were poisoned,” Grandma said.
I nodded. “Another one of life’s mysteries.”
It was early afternoon when I drove away. I reached the cross street and stopped because I had a dilemma. If I went back to the office, Lula would want to go after Carol Joyce. Not only did I see riding up and down lanes in a shopping center parking lot as a waste of time . . . I also didn’t give a fig about capturing Carol Joyce. I honestly didn’t care about any part of the bail bonds business. I know this is a terrible attitude, but there it was.
Although, I had to admit I enjoyed taking down Charlie Shine with Ranger and Tank. It was nice to be part of a professional team. Nice to get the job done without a screwup and a skinned knee. And I was able to get Charlie Shine behind bars, where he wa
sn’t a threat to Grandma.
I was still wearing the baggy boyfriend jeans because there was nothing else in my closet. I had to do laundry, and I should go shopping. I was short on work clothes. Thanks to Steven Cross I had some money.
Thirty minutes later, I was in Macy’s. Buying jeans is a no-brainer. I always wear the same thing. Nothing fancy. After jeans it’s more of a struggle. I was looking at a red dress with a short swirly skirt when Carol Joyce walked up to me.
“You don’t want that dress,” he said. “It’s all wrong for you, and it’s not well made. Not worth the money.”
I gave up a moment of stunned silence before my brain kicked in.
“Carol Joyce?”
“Yes. And I’m going to save you the trouble of trying this disaster on. Trust me. I’m good at this. It’s one of the reasons I’m so successful. I only steal quality merchandise.”
“You’re serious? You risked getting cuffed to tell me this?”
“I don’t feel it’s much of a risk. I can easily outrun you. And to be honest, the game is getting boring. I’m thinking of turning myself in and getting the whole court thing over and done. It’s my first offense, and there weren’t any high-end items involved. I expect I’ll get a slap on the wrist.”
“Why do you shoplift?” I asked him. “Why don’t you get a real job?”
“This is a real job. I average a yearly salary of mid-six figures.”
“But why shoplifting?”
“I’m good at it. I started doing it in high school as a stunt and discovered I had a real talent for it.”
“Wouldn’t you like to do something else? Move up the ladder?”
“No.”
“You have no dreams? No aspirations?”
“No. I like what I’m doing.”
“It’s illegal.”
“Yes. That’s unfortunate.”
“What about if you get married and have kids? What will you tell them?”
“I don’t know. I suppose that could be a game changer.”
We had a couple beats of silence while we thought about that.
“So, why don’t you like this red dress?” I asked him.
“It’s too short. It’s going to hit your leg in an odd spot and be unflattering. The color isn’t wonderful for your complexion. You would look best in a blue red. This is an orange red. And finally, I don’t like the cut of the neckline. I would like to see you in a scoop neck.”
“Wow. That’s amazing. I looked at it and all I saw was that it was cute. Your mother thinks you’re a personal shopper. Maybe that’s your true calling.”
“I have a couple clients, but I do it more as a personal favor than a profession. It’s just not as satisfying as shoplifting.”
I put the red dress back on the rack. “What dress would you suggest?”
He pulled out a deep blue silk shirtwaist. “It doesn’t have a scoop neck, but it’s very classy and at the same time it’s sexy because of the way the silk drapes and moves. It’s a little expensive but I can put it in my bag for you.”
“No! I wouldn’t want you to do that.” I took the dress from him. “It’s nice, but I’m not sure about the style.”
“Try it,” he said. “I think you’ll be surprised.”
I tried the dress on, and it was perfect. It felt elegant and sexy, and it was comfortable. I put my baggy jeans back on, left the dressing room, and Carol was gone. Vanished. Crap. Truth is, I wasn’t that surprised. And I didn’t much care, although it would have been fun to do more shopping with him. I bought the dress and was pulling out of the shopping center parking lot when my mother called.
“Usually we see you and Joseph for dinner on Fridays,” she said. “Last week was a wash because . . . you know. So, I’m just checking before we set the table.”
“Sure, we’ll be there for dinner,” I said. “I’m almost positive.”
“Six o’clock,” she said. “We’re having pot roast.”
I hung up and called Morelli. “Dinner at six o’clock at my parents’ house?”
“Sounds good. Gazarra told me about Grandma. He made me promise not to tell anyone.”
“He’s the best. I also brought Charlie Shine in. I was hoping for no bail, but the judge chose to set a super high amount instead.”
“I heard. Shine’s lawyer is looking for money. I’m told he’s liquidating some of Shine’s assets so Shine can post his own bond.”
“That would be a real bummer. That would defeat my purpose for apprehending him.”
* * *
—
I hauled my laundry basket into my parents’ house just before six o’clock. I was wearing new jeans and a new long-sleeved, scoop neck, silky-feeling sweater that Carol had dropped into my jeans bag without me noticing. The price tag was still on the sweater. $175.00. I was now aiding and abetting a shoplifter. Screw it. I didn’t care. It was a great sweater, and I had bigger fish to fry.
“Don’t you look pretty,” Grandma said when I walked into the kitchen. “Is that a new sweater?”
“Yes. And new jeans.”
“You must be doing good at work.”
I smiled at the irony of that. Just when I decide that I hate my job, I have the best week ever.
My mother was working at the stove, and the kitchen was heavy with the smell of meat and gravy. I looked in the fridge. Pineapple upside-down cake smothered in whipped cream. This meal was a mainstay of my life and almost as good as sex. Okay, who was I kidding? This was as good if not better than sex. And I could enjoy it without reciprocating.
Morelli walked in, and my mom and grandmother got all smiles. They liked Morelli. They would like me to marry him and make a bunch of little Morellis. Grandma also liked Ranger, but not to marry.
“This is my favorite meal,” Morelli said to my mom. “I could smell the gravy when I parked my car.”
“You’re just in time,” she said.
She poured the gravy into the gravy boat and handed it over to me. Grandma took the bowl of mashed potatoes. My father was already at the table. My mother set the pot roast platter in front of him. He had the carving knife and fork in hand. We were Catholic and my mother and grandmother went to Mass almost daily, but we didn’t say grace. We assumed God knew our thoughts when it came to food. We were thankful, we wanted world peace, yadda yadda yadda.
Morelli always sat next to me. Grandma was across from me. My mom and dad were at either end of the table. This was a good arrangement because Grandma was a reach for my dad if she went off on aliens doing anal probes on humans and he decided he had to stab her with the meat fork.
“What are you working on now?” Grandma asked Morelli. “Did you ever find out about the guy who tried to kidnap me? The dead one with the red shoes.”
“We’re running down some leads,” Morelli said.
“So, in other words,” Grandma said. “You got nothing.”
Morelli took a slab of pot roast and passed the platter to me. “Yep. That’s about it.”
“I hear his body got shipped back to Newark for burial. Not even having a viewing here. That’s a shame,” Grandma said. “A lot of people would like to take a look at him. He would have drawn a good crowd.”
My father had his head down, concentrating on his meat. My mother had emptied her iced tea glass and was gnawing on her lip, wondering if anyone would notice if she got more. Grandma had the bottle of red wine in front of her and poured out a glass.
“Who wants wine?” she asked.
Morelli and I raised our hands.
By the time the pineapple upside-down cake came out, I’d had three glasses of wine and my lips were numb.
“Did you see I’m wearing a special medallion necklace?” Grandma said to Morelli. “If you press it, like this, people know where you are.”
Morelli whipped his phon
e out and called Ranger’s control room. “That was a test drive,” he said. “No reason to respond.”
He stayed on the line for a couple beats and then said, “Hunh, for real?” He looked over at Grandma. “Press it again.” Another thirty seconds of silence. Morelli turned to me. “Press your medallion.”
I pressed it and waited.
“So, nothing?” Morelli said to the guy in the control room.
Morelli hung up and slid a glance at me. “They aren’t working.”
“Probably made in China,” Grandma said.
My mother cut the cake and passed pieces around.
“All that technology is a bunch of crap,” my father said. “You can’t beat a baseball bat.”
“Or an iron,” Grandma said.
Just because I’d had three glasses of wine didn’t mean that I was stupid. I didn’t like that the medallions weren’t working.
“What did Ranger say about the medallions?” I asked Morelli.
“I didn’t talk to Ranger.”
I was on my second piece of cake when Ranger came in. He sat in the chair next to Grandma and unhooked her necklace. He pressed it and spoke to his control room through an earbud. He dropped the necklace into his shirt pocket.
“It’s not working,” he said.
“Would you like a piece of cake?” my mother asked. “Coffee? Wine?”
“No. I need to get back to work. I’m going to leave a Rangeman car with you for tonight.” He stood and looked at me. “I’d like to talk to you for a moment, outside.”
I followed him out to the porch and punched him in the arm. “You wanted that piece of cake, didn’t you?”
He grinned at me. “How much wine have you had tonight?”
“Thwee.”
I attempted to lean against the porch railing, misjudged the distance, and went over the railing into a hydrangea bush. Ranger picked me out of the bush and set me on my feet.
“We can talk tomorrow,” he said.
I smiled at him. “Okeydokey. Do you want to kiss me?”
“Not here,” he said. “I don’t want to risk a shootout with Morelli.”
Twisted Twenty-Six Page 19
