'Well?' he asked.
'I'm thinking.'
'Christ,' Ranger said, 'get in the damn truck.'
I climbed into the truck and Ranger drove two blocks down Hamilton and turned into the Burg. He wound through the Burg and parked on Roebling in front of Marsilio's restaurant.
'I thought you wanted to drive,' I said.
'That was the original plan, but you smell like rotisserie chicken and it's making me hungry.'
'It's from Lula. She's on this diet where she eats meat all day.'
Bobby V. met us at the door and gave us a table in the back room. The Burg is famous for its restaurants. They're stuck all over the place in the neighborhood, between houses, next to Betty's bridal shop and Rosalie's beauty parlor. Most are small. All are family affairs. And the food is always great. I'm not sure where Bobby V. fits in the scheme of things at Marsilio's, but he's always on hand to direct traffic and shmooze. He's a snappy dresser, he's got a handful of rings and a full head of wavy silver hair, and he looks like he wouldn't have much trouble breaking someone's nose. If you're in bad with Bobby V. don't even bother showing up, because you won't get a table.
Ranger sat back in his chair, took a moment to scan the menu, and ordered. I didn't need the menu. I always got the fettuccini Alfredo with sausage. And then because I didn't want to die, I got some red wine to help unclog my arteries.
'Okay,' Ranger said when we were alone. 'Talk to me.'
I filled him in on the shooting, the dart, the email. 'And what really has me freaked is that Joe's grandma saw me dead in one of her visions,' I said, an involuntary shiver ripping through me.
Ranger was motionless. Face impassive.
'Every lead I get ends up in the toilet,' I told him.
'Well, you must be doing something right. Someone wants to kill you. That's always a good sign.'
I guess that was one way of looking at it. 'Problem is, I'm not ready to die.'
Ranger looked at the food in front of me. Noodles and sausage in cheese and cream sauce. 'Babe,' he said.
Ranger's plate held a chicken breast and grilled vegetables. He was hot, but he didn't know much about eating.
'Where are you now?' Ranger wanted to know. 'Do you have any more leads to follow?'
'No leads. I'm out of ideas.'
'Any gut instincts?'
'I don't think Singh's dead. I think he's hiding. And I think the freak who's stalking me is directly or indirectly associated with TriBro.'
'If you had to take a guess, could you pull a name out of a hat?'
'Bart Cone is the obvious.'
Ranger made a phone call and asked for the file on Bart Cone. In my mind I imagined the call going into the nerve center of the Bat Cave. No one knows the source of Rangers cars, clients, or cash. He operates a number of businesses which are security related. And he employs a bunch of men who have skills not normally found outside a prison population. His right-hand man is named Tank and the name says it all.
Tank walked into the restaurant twenty minutes later with a manila envelope. He smiled and nodded a hello to me. He helped himself to a slice of Italian bread. And he left.
Ranger and I read through the material, finding few surprises. Bart was divorced and living alone in a townhouse north of the city. He had no recorded debts. He paid his credit cards and his mortgage on time. He drove a two-year-old black BMW sedan. The packet included several newspaper clippings on the murder trial and a profile on the murdered woman.
Lillian Paressi was twenty-six years old at the time of her death. She had brown hair and blue eyes and from the photo in the paper she looked to be of average build. She was pretty in a girl-next-door way, with curly shoulder-length hair and a nice smile. She was unmarried, living alone in an apartment on Market just two blocks from the Blue Bird luncheonette, where she'd worked as a waitress.
In a very general sort of way I suppose she resembled me. Not a good thought to have when investigating an unsolved murder that had serial killer potential. But then half the women in the Burg fit that same description, so probably there was no reason for me to be alarmed.
Ranger reached over and tucked a brown curl behind my ear. 'She looks a little like you, babe,' Ranger said. 'You want to be careful.'
Super.
Ranger looked at my pasta dish. I'd eaten everything but one noodle. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth.
'I don't want to get fat,' I told him.
'And that noodle would do it?'
I narrowed my eyes. 'What's your point?'
'Do you have room for dessert?'
I sighed. I always had room for dessert.
