Hard Eight

Those were the rules. Grandma and I were side by side on the sofa, watching the Weather Channel. Hard to tell which of us was more shell-shocked.

“I guess it’s a good thing I didn’t touch it,” Grandma said. “Although, I gotta admit, I was kind of curious. It wasn’t real pretty, but it was big toward the end there. Have you ever seen one that big?”

The perfect time to invoke the television no-answer privilege.

After a couple minutes of weather I went back to the kitchen and had my second doughnut. I collected my things and I headed out. “I’m going,” I said to Grandma. “All’s well that ends well, right?”

Grandma didn’t answer. Grandma was zoned out to the Weather Channel. There was a high pressure area moving across the Great Lakes.

I went back to my apartment. This time I had my gun in my hand before I got out of the car. I crossed the lot and entered the building. I paused when I got to my door. This was always the tricky part. Once I was in the apartment I felt fairly secure. I had a security chain and a bolt besides the deadlock. Only Ranger could get in unannounced. Either he walked through the door ghost style, or else he vaporized himself like a vampire and slid under the jamb. I guess there might be a mortal possibility, but I didn’t know what it was.

I unlocked my door and searched through my apartment like the movie version of a CIA operative, skulking from room to room, gun drawn, crouched position, ready to fire. I was crashing open doors and jumping around. Good thing no one was there to see me because I knew I looked like an idiot. The good part was, I didn’t find any rabbits with their tools hanging out. Compared to rape by the rabbit, spiders and snakes seemed like small change.

Ranger called ten minutes after I got into my apartment.

“Are you going to be home for a while?” he asked. “I want to send someone over to set up a security system.”

So the man of mystery reads minds, too.

“My man’s name is Hector,” Ranger said. “He’s on his way.”

Hector was slim and Hispanic, dressed in black. He had a gang slogan tattooed onto his neck and a single tear tattooed under his eye. He was in his early twenties, and he only spoke Spanish.

Hector had my door open and was making a final adjustment when Ranger arrived. Ranger gave a barely audible greeting to Hector in Spanish and glanced at the sensor that had just been installed in my doorjamb.

Then Ranger looked at me, giving away nothing of his thoughts. Our eyes held for a few long moments, and Ranger turned back to Hector. My Spanish is limited to burrito and taco, so I couldn’t understand the exchange between Ranger and Hector. Hector was talking and gesturing, and Ranger was listening and questioning. Hector gave Ranger a small gizmo, picked up his tool chest, and left.

Ranger crooked his finger at me, giving me the come here sign. “This is your remote. It’s a keypad, small enough to hook to your car key. You have a four-digit code to open and close your door. If the door has been violated the remote will tell you. You’re not attached to a watchdog. There’s no alarm. This is designed to give you easy access and to tell you if someone’s broken into your apartment, so you have no more surprises. You have a steel fire door, and Hector’s installed a floor bolt. If you lock yourself in, you should be safe. There’s not much I can do about your windows. The fire escape is a problem. It’s less of a problem if you keep your gun on your nightstand.”

I looked down at the remote. “Does this go on the tab?”

“There’s no tab. And there’s no price for what we give each other. Not ever. Not financial. Not emotional. I have to get back to work.”

He stepped away to leave, and I grabbed him by the front of his shirt. “Not so fast. This isn’t television. This is my life. I want to know more about this no-emotional-price thing?”

“It’s the way it has to be.”

“And what’s this job you have to get back to?”

“I’m running a surveillance operation for a government agency. We’re independent contractors. You aren’t going to grill me on details, are you?”

I released his shirt and blew out a sigh. “I can’t do this. This isn’t going to work.”

“I know,” Ranger said. “You need to repair your relationship with Morelli.”

“We needed a time-out.”

“I’m being a good guy right now because it suits my purposes, but I’m an opportunist, and I’m attracted to you. And