High Five

'Yeah. Whoever.'

I raised an eyebrow. 'I figured you two were working together.'

'What's Bunchy look like?'

'A fireplug with eyebrows. About my height. Brown hair. Needs a cut. Receding hairline. Looks like a street person. Walks and talks like a cop. Drinks Corona.'

'I know him, but I'd be hard-pressed to say I was working with him. He doesn't work with anybody.'

'I don't suppose you want to share what you know with me?'

'Can't.'

Wrong answer. 'Okay, let me get this straight,' I said. 'Some Fed has been following me around for days, camping out on my doorstep, breaking into my apartment, and you think that's okay?'

'No, I don't think it's okay. I think it's grounds for beating the shit out of him. I didn't know he was doing it, and I intend to make sure it stops. I just can't tell you what it's all about right now. What I can tell you is that you should back off and let us take it from here. Obviously we're both going down the same road.'

'Why should I be the one to back off ?'

'Because you're the one who's getting bombed. You notice my car exploding?'

'The day isn't over.'

Morelli's pager went off. Morelli looked at the read-out and sighed. 'I have to go. You want a ride home?'

'Thanks, but I need to stay. I have a call in to Ranger. I'm not sure what he wants to do with the Porsche.'

'Some time soon we need to talk about Ranger,' Morelli said.

Oh boy. I'll look forward to that conversation.

Morelli skirted the crane and got into the dusty maroon Fairlane that was his company car. He cranked the engine over and pulled out of the lot.

My attention swung back to the crane operator. He was maneuvering the boom over the truck. A cable was attached, and the truck was slowly hauled upright, exposing what was left of the Porsche.

I caught a flash of black beyond the crane. It was Ranger's Mercedes.

'Just in time,' I said when he strolled over.

He looked down at the flattened, charred piece of scrap metal pressed into the macadam.

'That's the Porsche,' I said. 'It exploded and caught fire and then the garbage truck fell over on it.'

'I especially like the part about the garbage truck.'

'I was afraid you might be mad.'

'Cars are easy to come by, Babe. People are harder to replace. Are you okay?'

'Yeah. I was lucky. I was just waiting to see what you wanted to do with the Porsche.'

'Not much anybody's going to do with that dead soldier,' Ranger said. 'Think we'll walk away from this one.'

'It was a great car.'

Ranger took one last look at it. 'You might be more the Humvee type,' he said, steering me toward the Mercedes.

Streetlights were on when we crossed Broad and the twilight was deepening. Ranger rolled down Roebling and stopped in front of Rossini's. 'I have to meet a guy here in a few minutes. Come in and have a drink, and we can have an early dinner when I'm done. This shouldn't take long.'

'Is this bounty hunter business?'

'Real estate,' Ranger said. 'I'm meeting my lawyer. He has papers for me to sign.'

'You're buying a house?'

He opened the door for me. 'Office building in Boston.'

Rossini's is an excellent Burg restaurant. A pleasant mix of cozy but elegant with linen tablecloths and napkins and gourmet food. Several men in suits stood at the small oak bar at the far end of the room. A few of the tables were already occupied, and in a half-hour the room would be filled.

Ranger guided me to the bar and introduced me to his lawyer.

'Stephanie Plum,' the lawyer said. 'You look familiar.'

'I didn't intend to burn down the funeral home,' I said. 'It was an accident.'

He shook his head. 'No, that's not it.' He smiled. 'I've got it. You were married to Dickie Orr. He was briefly with our firm.'

'Everything Dickie did was brief,' I said. Especially our marriage. The pig.

Twenty minutes later, Ranger had his business concluded, his lawyer finished his drink and left, and we moved to a table. Ranger was black today. Black T-shirt, black cargo pants, black boots, and black Gortex squall jacket. He left his jacket on, and everyone in the room knew why. Ranger wasn't the sort to leave his gun in the glove