Hard Eight

Silence.

“And you know that keypad you gave me? It was in the car.”

“Babe.”

VINNIE AND I were still sitting on the curb when Ranger arrived. Ranger was dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt and boots, and he looked almost normal. He glanced at the smoldering car, then he looked at me and shook his head. The head shake was actually more the suggestion of a head shake. I didn’t want to try to guess the thought that prompted the head shake. I didn’t imagine it would be good. He spoke to one of the cops and gave him a card. Then he collected Vinnie and me and brought us back to my apartment building. Vinnie got into his Caddie and took off.

Ranger smiled and gestured to the gun on my hip. “Looking good, babe. Did you shoot anyone today?”

“I tried.”

He gave a soft laugh, crooked his arm around my neck, and kissed me just above my ear. Hector was waiting for us in the hall. Hector looked like he should be wearing an orange jumpsuit and leg irons. But hey, what do I know? Probably Hector is a real nice guy. Probably he doesn’t know that a teardrop under the eye signifies a gang kill. And even if he does know, it’s only one teardrop, so it’s not like he’s a serial killer, right?

Hector gave Ranger a new keypad, and he said something in Spanish. Ranger said something back, they did one of those complicated handshakes, and Hector left. Ranger beeped my door open and went in with me. “Hector’s already been through. He said the apartment is clean.” He put the keypad on the kitchen counter. “The new keypad is programmed exactly like the last.”

“Sorry about the car.”

“It was just a matter of time, babe. I’ll write it off as entertainment.” He glanced at the readout on his pager. “I have to go. Make sure you engage the floor bolt when I leave.”

I kicked the bolt into place, and I paced around in my kitchen. Pacing is supposed to be calming, but the more I paced, the more annoyed I became. I needed a car for tomorrow, and I wasn’t going to take another car from Ranger. I didn’t like being entertainment. Not automotive entertainment. Not sexual entertainment.

Ah hah! a voice inside me said. Now we’re getting somewhere. This pacing you’re doing isn’t about the car. This is about the sex. You’re all bummed out because you got boinked by a man who wanted nothing more than physical sex. Do you know what you are? the voice asked. You’re a hypocrite.

So? I said to the voice. And? What’s your point?

I thrashed through my cupboards and refrigerator looking for a Tastykake. I knew there were none left, but I looked anyway. Another exercise in futility. My specialty. Okay. Fine. I’ll go out and buy some. I grabbed the keypad Ranger left for me, and I stomped out of the apartment. I slammed the door shut, punched in the code, and realized I was standing out there with nothing but a keypad. No car keys. Unnecessary, of course, because I didn’t have a car. Also, I was without money and credit cards. Large sigh. I needed to go back inside and rethink this.

I punched in the code and tried the door. The door wouldn’t open. I put the code in again. Nothing. I didn’t have a key. All I had was the damn stupid keypad. No reason to panic. I had to be doing something wrong. I went through it again. It wasn’t that complicated. Punch in the numbers and the door unlocks. Maybe I was remembering the numbers wrong. I tried a couple other combinations. No luck.

Piece of shit technology. I hate technology. Technology sucks. Okay, take it easy, I told myself. You don’t want a repeat performance of the car window shoot-out. You don’t want to go gonzo over a silly keypad. I took a couple deep breaths, and I fed the numbers into the keypad one more time. I grabbed the doorknob and pulled and twisted, but the door wouldn’t open.

“Goddamn! ” I threw the keypad down on the floor and jumped up and down. “Damn, damn, damn! ” I kicked the keypad all the way to the far end of the hall. I ran down the hall, unholstered my gun, and shot the keypad. BAM! The keypad jumped, and I shot it again.

An Asian woman opened the door across the hall. She looked out at me, gave a gasp, pulled back inside, and closed and locked her door.

“Sorry,” I called out to her, through the door. “I got carried away.”

I retrieved the mangled keypad and skulked back to my half of the hall. My next door neighbor, Mrs. Karwatt, was in her doorway. “Are you having a problem, dear?” she asked.

“I’m locked out of my apartment.” Fortunately, Mrs. Karwatt kept a key. Mrs. Karwatt gave me the spare key, I inserted it in the lock, and the door wouldn’t open. I followed Mrs. Karwatt into her house, and I used her phone to call Ranger.