Four to Score

I heard the disconnect, but I shouted into the phone anyway. 'What are you freaking nuts?'

*    *    *    *    *

FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER I was dressed in four-inch FMPs (short for 'fuck-me pumps,' because when you walked around in them you looked like Whorehouse Wonder Bitch). I shimmied into a low-cut black knit dress that was bought with the intent of losing five pounds, gunked up my eyes with a lot of black mascara and beefed up my cleavage by stuffing Nerf balls into my bra.

Ranger was parked on Roebling, half a block from the funeral home. He didn't turn when I pulled to the curb, but I saw his eyes on me in the rearview mirror.

He was smiling when I slid in beside him. 'Nice dress you're almost wearing. You ever think about changing professions?'

'Constantly. I'm thinking about it now.'

Ranger handed me a photo. 'Kenny Martin. Age twenty-two. Minor league loser. Charged with armed robbery.' He glanced at the black leather bag I had draped on my shoulder. 'You carrying?'

'Yes.'

'Is it loaded?'

I stuck my hand in the bag and rooted around. 'I'm not sure, but I think I've got a few bullets in here somewhere . . .'

'Cuffs?'

'I definitely have cuffs.'

'Defense spray?'

'Yep. Got defense spray.'

'Go get 'em, tiger.'

I sashayed across the street and up the steps to Leoni's. A small knot of old Italian men stood smoking on the front porch. Conversation stopped when I approached, and the group parted to let me pass. There were more people in the vestibule. None of them was Kenny Martin. I went to room one, where Sammy the Gimp was on display, resting nicely in an ornate mahogany casket. There were lots of flowers and lots of old Italian women. No one seemed to be too upset about Sammy's demise. No heavily sedated widow. No wailing mother. No Kenny.

I said good-bye to Sammy and tottered down the hall in my heels. There was a small foyer at the end of the hall. The foyer opened to the back door, and Kenny Martin was standing in front of the door, sneaking a smoke. Beyond the door was a covered driveway, and somewhere beyond the driveway was Ranger.

I leaned against the wall across from Kenny and smiled. 'Hi.'

His eyes fixed onto my Nerf balls. 'Are you here to see Sammy?'

I shook my head no. 'Mrs. Kowalski in room two.'

'You don't look all broke up.'

I shrugged.

'If you was all broke up I could comfort you. I got lots of ways to comfort a woman.'

I raised an eyebrow. 'Hmm?'

He was 5'10' and a solid 190 pounds. He was dressed in a dark blue suit and white shirt with the top button popped open.

'What's your pleasure, dollie?' he asked.

I looked him up and down and smiled as if I liked what I saw. 'What's your name?'

'Kenny. Kenny 'the Man' Martin.'

Kenny the Man. Unh! Mental head slap. I extended my hand. 'Stephanie.'

In lieu of a handshake he laced his fingers into mine and stepped closer. 'Pretty name.'

'I was going outside for some fresh air. Want to join me?'

'Yeah, sure. Nothing in here but dead people. Even the people who are alive are dead, you know what I mean?'

A little girl ran down the hall to us. 'Kenny, Mama says we have to go now.'

'Tell her I'll be there in a minute.'

'She said I'm supposed to bring you now!'

Kenny did palms-up. A gesture of the futility of arguing. Everyone knows you never win against an Italian mother. 'Maybe I could call you sometime?' Kenny said to me. 'Maybe we could get together later.'

Never underestimate the power of a Nerf ball. 'Sure. Why don't we go outside, and I'll write down my number. I really need some air.'

'Now!' the kid yelled.

Kenny made a lunge at the kid, and she whirled and ran back to Mama, shrieking at the top of her lungs.

'I gotta go,' Kenny said.