Smokin Seventeen

“I guess this is wider than I originally thought. No problem, I’ll just make a course correction.”

She turned right off Hamilton, jumped the curb, and took out a mailbox.

“Um, federal property,” I said.

“People don’t use mail no more anyway. It’s all electronic. When was the last time you put a stamp on something? Remember when you had to lick them stamps? That was disgustin’.”

I looked behind us for police. “We sort of left the scene of a lot of crimes.”

“Yeah, but they weren’t big crimes. They didn’t hardly count. We could mail in those crimes, except we don’t mail anymore. But if we did mail shit that’s the way we’d take care of it.”

Lula rolled down Perry Street and spotted Vinnie in front of the courthouse. “What the heck is that next to Vinnie? I thought he said he had a package. That’s no package. That’s a big hairy guy on a leash. Probably I’m seeing things, but I swear he looks like a bear.”

It looked like a bear to me, too. It was big and brown, and it was wearing a red collar with a bow tie on it.

Vinnie led the bear to the bus and opened the door.

“ ’S’cuse me,” Lula said, “but that looks like a bear.”

“It’s Bruce the dancing bear,” Vinnie said. “I bonded out his owner, and this was all the guy could come up with to secure the bond.”

“And what are you expectin’ to do with that bear? Because you better not be wanting to take that bear on my bus. I don’t allow no bears on my bus.”

“First of all, it’s not your bus.”

“It is when I’m drivin’ it. Who do you see sitting in the driver’s seat?”

“I see an unemployed file clerk,” Vinnie said. “Get your ass out of that seat. I’m driving the bus.”

“You fire me and Connie’ll be all over you. And be my guest drivin’ the bus. I was tired of drivin’ the bus anyways. It don’t steer right.”

Lula and I squeezed out the door, past the bear, and Vinnie and the bear got into the bus.

Lula peeked back into the bus. “I need a ride.”

Someone growled. I think it was Vinnie.

“Get in,” Vinnie said to Lula, “but don’t crowd the bear.” Vinnie looked out at me. “What about you? Do you need a ride?”

“Nope. I’m good.”

I wasn’t comfortable sharing a bus with a bear, bow tie or not. I watched the door close, and I waved to Lula as the bus drove off.

TWELVE

I STOOD THERE stranded in front of the courthouse and considered my options. I could call my dad. I could call Morelli. I could call a cab. I had my phone in my hand when a black Porsche 911 Turbo eased to a stop beside me. The tinted window slid down, and Ranger looked at me from behind dark glasses.

“Babe.”

Babe was an entire conversation for Ranger. Depending on the voice inflection it could mean many things. At this moment in time I took it to mean nice surprise running into you like this.

I slipped onto the passenger seat, and Ranger leaned over and kissed me just below my ear. It was a hello kiss. Nothing serious. If I wanted it to get serious all I had to do was smile.

When I first met Ranger he had been working as a bounty hunter and his address was a vacant lot. He had his hair pulled back in a ponytail, and his dress varied between Army camies and black Tshirts and cargo pants. He’s a successful businessman now as part owner of an exclusive security firm. The ponytail and the Army camies have been retired, and Ranger has moved into a small but luxurious apartment on the top floor of the Rangeman office building. Usually he’s dressed in the Rangeman uniform of black T-shirt, cargo pants, and Rangeman windbreaker, but his closet also contains perfectly tailored black suits and dress shirts. He was in uniform today.

“Are you here fighting crime?” I asked.

“I needed to get a police report on a burglary. And you?”

“Vinnie had court business, and then he couldn’t fit the dancing bear in his car, so Lula and I picked him up in Mooner’s bus.”

The expression didn’t change on Ranger’s face. Possibly there was a minuscule upward twitch at the corner of his mouth indicating amusement.

“And you didn’t want to take the return trip on the bus?”

“It was a really big bear. Do you have time to drive me back to my car?” I asked him.

“Yes, but it’ll cost you.”

I raised my eyebrows a half inch. “Are we talking about sex?”

Ranger lowered his shades and looked at me. “I don’t have to bargain for that, babe.”

“Well then?”

“I’d like you to look over the security system on a new account. I know how to design a system for maximum safety, but you’re better at recognizing elements women find uncomfortable.”

“Sure. I’d be happy to check it out.”

“I’m tied up for the rest of the day. Maybe tomorrow after four.”

• • •

Mooner’s bus was parked in its usual spot on Hamilton Avenue. A squad car, the medical examiner’s truck, Morelli’s SUV, plus the CSI van minus its bumper were all parked in front of the bus.

Ranger pulled the Porsche in behind the bus and left it at idle. “This lot is getting more traffic than the landfill.”

“Do you have any theories on Lou Dugan?”

“He was an interesting guy. Active in community affairs, had his finger in a number of unsavory businesses, had a wife who turned herself into a zombie, and his son is in his final year of residency at Johns Hopkins.”

“You did some investigating.”

“There isn’t a building here, but I still provide security services. I wasn’t able to turn up anything to indicate a connection between Dugan and anyone associated with the bonds office. That isn’t to say there’s no connection between the killer and the bonds office.”

I looked at the bus, which was rocking back and forth. Probably the bear was dancing. “Do you want to see the dancing bear?” I asked Ranger.

“Tempting, but I’ll pass.”

I got out of the car, waved Ranger away, crossed over the crime scene tape, and joined Morelli. He was standing a few feet from a small red flag stuck into the ground. The M.E., the CSI guys, and Morelli were watching two men move dirt with picks and shovels. Peeking out of the pit was a patch of what might be gray suit material smudged with dirt and stuff I didn’t want to think about.

“This doesn’t look good,” I said to Morelli.

“There’s another body down there. Obviously buried after the fire because the building would have been over the grave site.”

“Any idea who it is?”

“Terry told me that Bobby Lucarelli, Dugan’s lawyer, disappeared at about the same time as Dugan. He’d be on my short list.”

I made an effort not to use my crazy jealous voice. “Terry?”

“Terry Gilman. Lou Dugan was her uncle, and she worked for him a couple years ago. Mostly doing bookkeeping.”

“I bet.”

“Yeah, it’s hard to tell what Terry works at. Not that I care right now. She’s cooperating with the