Hot Six

you've toasted this week.'

'It wasn't my fault! It wasn't even my car!'

'I heard someone pulled the old bag-full-of-crapola gag on Arturo Stolle's two stooges.'

'No kidding? I don't suppose you know who did it?'

'Funny thing, I was just going to ask if you knew who did it.'

'I asked you first.'

Costanza did a small grimace. 'No. I don't know who did it.'

'Me either,' I said.

'You're a pip,' Constanza said. 'I can't believe you got suckered into taking Simon's dog.'

'I kind of like him.'

'Just don't leave him alone in your car.'

'You mean because it's against the law?'

'No. Because he ate Simon's front seat. Only thing left was some scraps of foam rubber and a few springs.'

'Thanks for sharing that with me.'

Costanza grinned. 'I thought you'd want to know.'

I cruised off, thinking that if Bob ate Big Blue's seat it would probably regenerate. At the risk of sounding like Grandma, I was beginning to wonder about Big Blue. It was as if the darn thing was impervious to damage. It was almost fifty years old and the original paint was in perfect condition. All around it cars got dented and torched and smushed flat as a pancake, but nothing ever happened to Big Blue.

'It's downright creepy,' I said to Bob.

Bob had his nose pressed to the window and didn't look like he cared a whole lot.

I was still on Hamilton when my cell phone rang.

'Hey, babe,' Ranger said. 'What have you got for me?'

'Only basic facts on Lotte. Do you want to know where she lives?'

'Pass.'

'She looks good in gray.'

'That's going to keep me alive.'

'Hmm. Feeling cranky today?'

'Cranky doesn't come close. I have a favor to ask. I need you to take a look at the back of the house in Deal. Everyone else on the team would be suspect, but a woman walking her dog down the beach won't feel threatening to Ramos's security. I want you to catalogue the house. Count off windows and doors.'

THERE WAS A public-access beach about a quarter-mile from the Ramos compound. I parked on the road, and Bob and I crossed a short stretch of low dunes. The sky was overcast and the air was cooler than it had been in Trenton. Bob tipped his nose into the wind and looked all perky, and I buttoned my jacket up to my neck and wished I'd brought something warmer to wear. Most of the big, expensive houses that sat on the dunes were shuttered and unoccupied. Frothy gray waves came whooshing in at us. A few seagulls ran around at the water's edge, but that was it. Just me and Bob and the seagulls.

The big pink house came into view, more exposed on the beach side than to the street. Most of the first floor and all of the second story were clearly visible. A porch ran the length of the main structure. Attached to this main structure were two wings. The north wing consisted of first-floor garages and possibly bedrooms over the garages. The south wing was two stories and seemed to be entirely residential.

I continued to plow through the sand, not wanting to seem overly curious as I counted off the windows and doors. Just a woman walking her dog, freezing her ass off. I had binoculars with me but I was afraid to use them. I didn't want to arouse suspicion. It was impossible to tell if I was being observed from a window. Bob raced around me, oblivious to everything but the joy of being outdoors. I walked several houses farther, drew myself a diagram on a piece of paper, turned, and walked back to the public-access ramp where Blue was parked. Mission accomplished.

Bob and I piled into Blue and rumbled down the street, past the Ramos house, one last time. When I paused at the corner, a man in his sixties jumped off the curb at me. He was wearing a running suit and running shoes. And he was waving his hands.

'Stop,' he said. 'Stop a minute.'

I could have sworn it was Alexander Ramos. No, that was ridiculous.

He trotted to the driver's side and rapped on my window. 'Have you got any cigarettes?' he asked.

'Gee… uh, no.'

He shoved a twenty at me. 'Drive me to the store for some cigarettes. It'll only take a minute.'

Thick accent. Same hawklike features. Same height and build. Really looked like Alexander Ramos.

'Do you live around here?' I asked him.

'Yeah, I live in that piece-of-shit pink monstrosity. What's it to you? Are you gonna drive me to the store, or not?'

My god! It was Ramos. 'I don't usually let strange men in my car.'

'Give me a break. I need some cigarettes. Anyway, you got a big dog in the backseat, and you look like you drive strange men around all the time. What'd ya think, I was born yesterday?'

'Not yesterday.'

He wrenched the passenger door open and got in the car. 'Very funny. I have to flag down a comedian.'

'I don't know my way around here. Where do you go for cigarettes?'

'Turn the corner here. There's a store about a half-mile down.'

'If it's just a half-mile away why don't you walk?'

'I have my reasons.'

'Not supposed to be smoking, huh? Don't want anyone to catch you going to the store?'

'Goddamn doctors. I have to sneak out of my own house just to get a cigarette.' He made a dismissive gesture. 'I can't stand being in that house, anyway. It's like a mausoleum filled with a bunch of stiffs. Goddamn pink piece of shit.'

'If you don't like the house, why do you live in it?'

'Good question. I should sell it. I never liked it, right from the beginning, but I just got married and my wife had to have this house. Everything with her was pink.' He reflected for a minute. 'What was her name? Trixie? Trudie? Christ, I can't even remember.'

'You can't remember your wife's name?'

'I've had a lot of wives. A lot. Four. No, wait a minute… five.'

'Are you married now?'

He shook his head. 'I'm done with marriage. Had a prostate operation last year. Used to be, women married me for my balls and my money. Now they'd just marry me for my money.' He shook his head. 'It's not enough. You've gotta have standards, you know?'

I stopped at the store, and he jumped out of the car. 'Don't go away. I'll be right back.'

Part of me wanted to flee the scene. That was the cowardly part. And part of me wanted to go Yippee! That was the stupid part.

In two minutes he was back in the car, lighting up.

'Hey,' I said, 'no smoking in the car.'

'I'll give you another twenty.'

'I don't want the first twenty. And the answer is no. No smoking in the car.'

'I hate this country. Nobody knows how to live. Everybody drinks fucking skim milk.' He pointed to the cross street. 'Turn up there and take Shoreline Avenue.'

'Where are we going?'

'I know this bar.'

Just what I need, to have Hannibal come out looking for his father and find me buddy-buddy with him in a bar. 'I don't think this is such a good idea.'

'You gonna let me smoke in the car?'