Melvin Pickle was in a state. He was sitting rigid on the faux leather couch in the bond office with his hands tightly clenched in his lap. His hair was newly cut and combed. His shoes were polished. His badly fitting clothes were clean and pressed. It was Monday, and he was scheduled for court. He was armed with a verification of employment from Connie and a letter of apology to the theater.
I was on hand to drive Melvin to court and make sure he got through the ordeal without jumping off a bridge. I was dressed in my court outfit of black heels, a little black suit, and a white knit tank top. Melvin was first up, and with any luck we'd all be done by noon.
'Joyce got the money for capturing Lonnie Johnson, didn't she?' I asked Connie.
'It just about killed me to have to give it to her,' Connie said.
Lula was on the couch next to Pickle. 'She should have at least split it with you. You were the one who blew Johnson up. She would have never got him if it wasn't for you.'
'And we're keeping her on?' I asked, already knowing the hideous answer.
'Damn right, we're keeping her on,' Vinnie yelled from his office. 'She brought in two big bonds. Count them.
'Life is so unfair,' I said to Connie.
'I'm really nervous,' Pickle said. 'I don't want to go to jail.'
'You won't go to jail,' Lula said. 'And even if you do, it won't be for real long. I mean, how much time can a little chicken-shit pervert like you get? And then when you get out, we're gonna go look for an apartment for you, so you don't have to live with your mother. Now that you got a job here, you can move out.'
'We have to go,' I said to Pickle. 'We don't want to be late.'
Connie handed me two folders. 'New FTAs,' she said. 'Nothing exciting. A wife beater and grand theft auto.'
I shoved the files into my shoulder bag. Maybe I'd look at them tomorrow. Maybe never. Maybe I needed a new job. Problem was, I'd gone that route recently, and it hadn't turn out great. But maybe I'd just lacked direction. Maybe if I had a plan this time. Like opening a business. That could be exciting, right?
'You got that look,' Lula said to me. 'Like you're gonna start driving and not stop until you get to Hawaii.'
I eased the Mini to the curb in front of the bonds office, and I was smiling along with Pickle.
'Ten days of community service,' Pickle said for the hundredth time. 'And I can do it on weekends. And probably it'll be fun. Maybe I can work at an old people's home or an animal shelter. I can't wait to tell Lula and Connie.'
I was genuinely happy for Melvin Pickle. It turns out he's a nice guy. And I mean, who doesn't occasionally whack off in the multiplex? I've never tried it personally, but who am I to judge?
I dropped Pickle at the door, and I drove two blocks to Giorvichinni's Market and got some cut flowers. It was almost noon. Ranger was scheduled to leave the hospital this morning, so he should be home by now, back in his apartment at RangeMan. Morelli had taken Scrog's computer and scrapbook as evidence. I had Ranger's computer and various office machines in my trunk and back seat.
I let myself into the underground RangeMan garage and parked in one of Ranger's private spaces. I left the office equipment in the car, took the flowers and a bakery box, and stepped into the elevator. I waved at the security camera and used my passkey to get to Ranger's private floor. I keyed his apartment door open and stuck my head in and called to him.
'In my office,' he said.
He was at his desk, dressed in grey sweatpants and a sleeveless grey sweatshirt. A large square bandage was taped to his neck, and his right shoulder was wrapped in heavy gauze and held tight to his body in a canvas sling. I could see his chest was wrapped in tape where the bullet had penetrated the Kevlar vest and splintered a rib.
'I'd get up,' he said, 'but the rib is a killer when I move.'
'No need to get up,' I told him. I moved some papers out of the way, sat my ass on his desk so that I was facing him, and gave him the flowers and the gift box. 'I brought get-well presents.'
He looked into the box. 'Birthday cake?'
'I thought your food pyramid might need some cheering up.'
'It says 'Happy Birthday Stanley.''
'It also isn't your birthday, but I don't see why that should stop us from eating cake. Have you had lunch?'
'No. Ella brought a tray, but I wasn't hungry.'
'Are you hungry now?'
He looked down at my bare legs and little skirt. 'I'm getting there.'
I slid off his desk and went to the kitchen. I prowled around and found some sandwiches and brought them in on the tray along with some forks. I set the tray on his desk and pulled a chair over for myself.
'Things are going to be pretty dull around here with only one Ranger,' I said.
Ranger forked an icing rose off the cake and fed it to me. 'One Ranger is all you'll ever need.'
