not to know.
Heads turned when we entered the bar. This wasn't a place where women went voluntarily. We took a moment to allow our eyes to adjust to the dark interior. Four men at the bar, one bartender, a lone man sitting at a scarred round wood table. Jamil Rodriguez. He was easy to recognize from his photo. A medium-sized black man in a rhinestone do-rag. Cheesy mustache and goatee. A nasty scar etched into his cheek, looking like an acid burn.
He slouched back in his chair. 'Ladies?'
'You Jamil?' Lula asked.
He nodded his head yes. 'You got business with me?'
Lula looked at me and smiled. 'This fool thinks we're gonna buy some.'
I pulled a chair up next to Rodriguez. 'Here's the thing, Jamil,' I said. 'You forgot to show up for court.' And I slapped a cuff on him.
'You sit around and wait and good things come to you,' Rodriguez said. 'I been looking for a new thumb.' And he pulled a big Buck knife out of his pocket.
The four guys at the bar were paying attention, waiting to see the show. They were young, and they looked hungry for action. I suspected they'd jump in when it was the right time.
Lula pulled a gun out of her tiger-print stretch pants and leveled it at Rodriguez. And from the doorway there was the unmistakable ratchet of a sawed-off shotgun. I didn't recognize the guy in black, filling the doorway, but I knew he'd come from the SUV. Not hard to spot one of Ranger's men. Big muscles, no neck, big gun, not much small talk.
'You want to drop the knife,' I said to Rodriguez.
Rodriguez narrowed his eyes. 'Make me.'
Ranger's man blasted a three-foot hole in the ceiling over Rodriguez and plaster flew everywhere.
'Hey,' Lula said to Ranger's man. 'You want to watch it? I just had my hair done. I don't need no plaster in it. Next time just shoot a hole in this punk-ass loser, will you?'
Ranger's man smiled at her.
Minutes later, we had Rodriguez in the back seat of the Cayenne, cuffed and shackled, and we were on our way to the police station.
'Did you see that hunk of burning love smile at me?' Lula said.
'Was he hot, or what? Did you see the size of his gun? I'm telling you, I'm getting a flash. I could have a piece of that.'
'How about a piece of this?' Rodriguez said.
'You watch your mouth,' Lula said. 'You're close to being roadkill. We could throw you out and run over you, and nobody'd know the difference.'
I took Third to State and headed south on State. I went one block, stopped for a light, and when the light changed, Harold Pancek passed me going in the opposite direction in his blue Honda Civic.
'Holy cow,' Lula said. 'Did you see him? That was Harold Pancek. I'd know him anywhere with his yellow square head.'
I was already in motion, making an illegal U-turn. I did some aggressive driving and got myself directly behind Pancek. Ranger's guys had been caught by surprise and were struggling to catch up, two cars back. We stopped for another light, and Lula jumped out of the Porsche and ran for Pancek. She had her hand on the passenger-side door when he looked around and saw her. The light changed, and Pancek took off. Lula climbed back into the Porsche, and I closed the gap. I was riding close on his bumper, hoping he'd get demoralized and stop. He was checking his rear mirrors, weaving around traffic, taking side streets in an attempt to lose me.
'He don't know where he's going,' Lula said. 'He's just trying to get away from you. I bet he's never been in this neighborhood before.'
That was my guess, too. We were in a poor section of Trenton, heading toward an even worse section of Trenton. Pancek drove like a bat out of hell down four blocks on Sixth Street.
I hit the brakes when Pancek crossed Lime. Comstock was one block away. Comstock was Slayerland. I wasn't following Pancek into Slayerland.
'Do we have a cell phone number for Pancek?' I asked Lula.
'Can we warn him he's in Slayerland?'
'We never got a cell for him,' Lula said. 'And anyway, it's too late. He's turned up Comstock.'
I slowly cruised a couple blocks on Lime, hoping Pancek would pop out of Slayerland. No luck. So I turned around and pointed the Porsche in the direction of North Clinton.
When we got to the station, I left Lula with the Cayenne, and I marched Rodriguez in through the front door. I know it was moronic, but I wanted the guys to see I could capture a man with all his clothes on.
It was close to five and Morelli was gone for the day. Thank God for small favors. I didn't know what to do about Morelli. Thanks to Rangers stupid shower gel, face-to-face meetings with Morelli were now beyond uncomfortable. Okay, lets be honest. It was more than the shower gel. It was Ranger. The man was deadly sexy.
And he was walking around without underwear. I couldn't stop thinking about it. I gave myself a mental face slap. Get a grip, I told myself. You don't really know for sure. Just because you didn't find any underwear, doesn't mean he doesn't own any. Maybe they were all in the laundry. All right, so this was a little improbable. I was going to go with it anyway, because the thought of standing next to Ranger when he was commando had me in a state.
Connie had closed up shop by the time I got back to the bonds office, so I dropped Lula at her car, and I returned to the RangeMan building. The black SUV followed me into the garage and parked in one of the side slots. Two of the four slots reserved for Ranger were occupied. The Mercedes and Turbo were in place. The truck was missing. I parked the Cayenne next to the Turbo, walked over to the SUV, and knocked on the passenger-side window.
Thanks for the help,' I said.
The guy in the passenger seat nodded acknowledgment. Neither said anything. I gave them something between a smile and a grimace, and I scurried off to the elevator.
I let myself into the apartment and dropped the keys in the dish on the sideboard. The sideboard also held a bowl of fresh fruit and a silver tray filled with unopened mail.
I was in the process of selecting a piece of fruit when I heard the lock tumble on the front door. I slipped the bolt back and opened the door to Ranger.
He tossed his keys into the dish and rifled through the mail, not opening any. 'How was your day?' he asked.
'Good. You were right about Rodriguez. He was open for business at the bar on Third and Laramie.' I didn't have to say more. I was sure Ranger had already gotten a full report.
'Who's getting married?'
'Valerie.'
There was a knock at the door, and Ella came in with a food tray. 'Would you like me to set the table?' she asked.
'Not necessary,' Ranger said. 'You can just leave the tray in the kitchen.'
Ella swept past us, deposited the food, and returned to the front foyer.
'Is there anything else?' she asked.
'No,' Ranger said. 'We're good for the night. Thank you.'
I couldn't believe the big bad Special Forces survival nut lived like this. Clothes washed and ironed, bed made, gourmet food delivered daily.
Ranger locked the door after Ella and followed me into the kitchen. 'This is ruining my image, isn't it?' Ranger said.
'All this time, I thought you were so tough. I imagined you sleeping on a dirt floor somewhere.'
He uncovered one of the dishes. 'There were years like that.'
Ella'd brought us roasted vegetables, wild rice, and chicken in a lemon sauce. We filled plates and ate at the counter, sitting on bar stools.
I finished my chicken and looked over at the silver tray. 'No dessert?'
Ranger pushed back from the counter. 'Sorry, I don't eat dessert. Where are you keeping your Slayer?'
