'Yeah, and you told me you were a bookie.'
He glanced up. 'You don't know for sure that I'm not.'
The phone rang, and I snatched it up before the machine could take over.
'Hey, Cupcake,' Morelli said. 'What do you want on your pizza tonight?'
'I want nothing. There is no pizza. There is no you, no me, no us, no pizza. And don't ever call me again, you scummy, slimy fungus-ridden dog turd, piece of fly crud.' And I slammed the phone down.
Bunchy was laughing. 'Let me guess,' he said. 'That was Morelli.'
'And you!' I yelled, pointing my finger, teeth clenched. 'You are
'I gotta go,' Bunchy said, still doing his Mr. Chuckles impersonation.
'So, have you always had a problem with men?' Briggs asked. 'Or is this something recent?'
* * * * *
I WAS IN the lobby, waiting for Ranger at six o'clock. I was all showered and perfumed and hair freshly done up to look sexily unkempt. Mike's Place is a sports bar frequented by businessmen. At six o'clock it would be filled with suits catching ESPN and having a drink to unwind before going home, so I chose to look suity, too. I was wearing my Wonderbra, which worked wonders, a white silk shirt unbuttoned clear to the front clasp on the magical bra, and a black silk suit with the skirt rolled at the waist to show a lot of leg. I covered the mess at the waist with a wide fake leopard skin belt, and I stuffed my stocking-clad feet into four-inch fuck-me pumps.
Mr. Morganthal shuffled out of the elevator and winked at me. 'Hey, hootchie-mamma,' he said. 'Want a hot date?' He was ninety-two and lived on the third floor, next to Mrs. Delgado.
'You're too late,' I told him. 'I've already made plans.'
'That's just as well. You'd probably kill me,' Mr. Morganthal said.
Ranger pulled up in the Mercedes, and idled at the door. I gave Mr. Morganthal a tweak on the cheek and sashayed out, swinging my hips, wetting my lips. I poured myself into the Mercedes and crossed my legs.
Ranger looked at me and smiled. 'I told you to get his attention . . . not start a riot. Maybe you should button one more button.'
I batted my eyelashes at him, in fake-flirt, which actually wasn't totally fake. 'You don't like it?' I said. Hah! Take that, Morelli. Who needs you!
Ranger reached over and flipped the next two buttons open, exposing me to mid-belly. 'That's the way
Mr. Morganthal came out and shook his finger at us.
'I think I just sullied your reputation,' Ranger said, putting the car in gear.
'Probably more like you helped me live up to expectations.'
We cruised across town and parked half a block from the bar on the opposite side of the street.
Ranger took a photo from behind the sun visor. 'This is Ryan Perin. He's a regular here. Comes every day after work. Has two drinks. Goes home. Never parks his car more than half a block away on the street. He knows the dealer's trying to get it back, and he's nervous. Comes out to check on it every few minutes. Your job is to make sure he keeps his eyes on you—not the car. Keep him in the building.'
'Why are you taking it here?'
'When he's home the car's in a locked garage, and the regular repo people can't get at it. When he's at work he parks it in a garage with an attendant who takes his Christmas bonus seriously.' Ranger made a gun sign with his hand, finger and thumb extended. 'For that matter, Perin carries too and isn't slow on the draw. That's why we need to finesse the car. Nobody wants bloodshed.'
'What does this guy do for a living?'
'Lawyer. Sending all his money up his nose these days.'
A dark green Jaguar rolled past us. There were no spaces open on the street. Just as he got to the end of the block a car pulled out, and the jag slid in place.
'Wow,' I said, 'that was lucky.'
'No,' Ranger said. 'That was Tank. We have cars parked all along this street, so Perin has to park down there.'
Perin angled out of the car, beeped the alarm on, and headed for Mike's.
I looked at Ranger. 'Will the alarm be a problem?'
'None at all.'
Perin disappeared into the building.
'Okay,' Ranger said. 'Go get 'em, Slick. I'll give you a five-minute lead, and then I'll call the truck in.' He gave me a buzzer. 'If something goes wrong, hit the panic button. I'll come get you when the car's cleared the street.'
Perin was dressed in a blue pinstripe. He was in his early forties, with thinning sandy blond hair and an athletic build gone soft. I stepped just to the side of the door and waited while my eyes adjusted to the change in light. There were mostly men in the room, but there were a few women, too. The women were in clusters. The men tended to be alone, eyes turned to the TV. Perin was easy to spot. He was at the far end of the polished mahogany bar. The bartender set a drink in front of him. Something clear on the rocks.
