All characters belong to the wonderful J.E. No infrigement intended.
Enjoy!
March has to be the worst month. February is bad enough, but March... it's still cold, although some days it gets warm enough to start to melt the snow into brown slush, which freezes overnight to make walking and driving miserable. If it's not snowing, it's sleeting, and the grey days seem interminable. Everyone seems to have a cold and they are just as ready as I am for winter to be over.
Worse, crime seems to dip, and there are fewer skips to go after, and the ones who do go FTA are usually the really nasty ones. Thus, my bank account had shrunk down to the skinniest it had been in a while. That was bad timing, because the rent on my apartment had gone up in January and I was one payment behind on my Mini. I was back to mooching food off of my mother and doing the low-bond FTAs for Vinnie every chance I got.
I had plenty of time for the skips, though, because my love life was on the skids. I hadn't seen Joe in a few weeks, after a particularly harsh argument. He was suffering from the delusion that I might actually give up my job for him, and while some days I did consider going into the fast-paced world of food services, it certainly wouldn't be because of him. The other man in my life, Ranger, didn't pressure me to conform to his own standards. He was back in town but was busy with his own business and we kept missing each other. Truth be told, I was a little relieved about that and maybe went just a little bit out of my way to avoid him. If it went on much longer, though, I might enter into a long-term relationship with my shower massager.
It was with this bleak attitude that I slunk into the bond office on a Thursday morning, to find the office manager Connie reading a "Cosmo" and Melvin Pickle sorting through a file cabinet.
"Lula's after Vince Macek this morning. Apparently, he lives just down the street from her, and he had a wild party that went all night. Lula thinks she can bust him while he's still hung over," Connie told me. "That is, if he's not still drunk."
"That sounds like a good plan!" Melvin chirped from behind the drawer. "Real strategic!"
It sounded like the kind of plan I would use, I thought. That could be good... or bad.
"Any skips?" I asked.
"Nah - nothing came in overnight -" Connie started.
"Those days are over!" Vinnie cried, striding out from his office, a greasy smile plastered on his ferrety face. "Great news! Salvatore Adecco, from Sal's Bonds, had a heart attack!"
"That's not good news!" I protested.
"What are you, his mother? He'll be fine after he heals from his bypass. The good news is that he's selling his bond agency to me. We get all his skips as of today!"
Sal's Bonds was a small agency, like Vinnie's, but handled far less... savory clientele. While Vinnie mostly got the drunks and the wife beaters, Sal took just about anyone who came in from the street - gangbangers, murderers, rapists, gangbanging murdering rapists. I really wasn't looking forward to taking on Sal's skips.
"Here - you two go over to Sal's and pick up the files," he handed me a key and pointed to Melvin. "I'm going to the hospital to get him to sign some paperwork. Gotta get to him before he kicks the bucket."
Lula came in as Vinnie walked out to his car. "What's got him dancin' in the street?" she asked, handing Connie her body receipt. "Don't think I've ever seen him that happy, except when he's just got some from the petting zoo."
"He bought out Sal's Bonds. Come on, let's got get his files."
Lula, Melvin and I drove the six blocks to Sal's office. It was a decrepit old brick building smack dab between Stark Street and the police station. The painted lettering was peeling off the cracked plate glass window.
"Looks like old Sal don't care too much for his image," Lula huffed.
The inside of Sal's was much like the outside; cracked naugehyde couch and sticky plastic chairs, filthy paneled walls and the musty odor of cigars. Melvin poked around in the file cabinets.
"You got Macek this morning?" I asked Lula.
"Yup. He was so hungover he could barely walk, but I dragged his sorry ass out to my car and took him into the pokey to sleep it off. Honestly, I think he just wanted away from the mess. It was some party."
A part of me - a large part of me, to be honest - was jealous. Lula had gotten a skip on her own, without looking like an idiot, getting puked on or zapped by a stun gun.
"Course," she continued, "I had to flash him my boobs before he would go."
I didn't feel so bad now.
As I didn't have any money for lunch, I drove to my parent's house while Connie and Melvin sorted through the paperwork. Grandma Mazur met me at the door.
"Oh, good. Your mother is at a Ladies' Auxiliary luncheon today and I hate eating by myself," she said as I took off my winter coat.
"Where's dad?"
"Off with the cab," she answered, tottering into the kitchen. She was wearing a fuchsia track suit with black stiletto boots.
"Nice boots, grandma," I told her.
"Betty and I went to the mall last week when we got our Social Security checks. I thought these were a pip - and they make my butt look good!" The track suit made grandma's butt look saggy in all the wrong places. She looked like a bright-pink shar-pei trying to walk upright on stilts. "You should get a pair! Rev up the old sex drive with Batman!"
"Grandma!" My face flushed.
"Why not?" She handed me a peanut butter, olive and potato chip sandwich - a very balanced lunch.
"Umm... I don't really have the money at the moment. And besides, I haven't seen Ranger in a while."
"And Officer Hottie?"
"Joe and I aren't seeing eye to eye right now."
Grandma chewed thoughtfully for a moment, dentures clacking quietly in the silence. "Sounds like you need a vibrator!" she piped up with a smile. "They're on sale this week at Pleasure Treasures!"
I nearly choked on my sandwich. "I do not need a... look, I'm fine. Once I catch a few new skips, everything will be back to normal."
"Personally, I'm not too fond of 'normal'. I like the life you've got - chasing down dirt bags and bringing them to justice!"
I smiled. Grandma seemed to think I was a superhero.
By the time I got back to the office, there was a stack of twenty files on Connie's desk, all from Sal's.
"Lula's claimed a few of the low-end bonds. Personally, I'd leave most of these whack-jobs to Ranger. Some of them scare the bejeebus outta me, and I've been doing this a while!" Connie told me.
"Hand over what hasn't been claimed and I'll take a look." Connie was right. Double homicide, homicide, grand larceny, deviant behavior - why did the courts even let these people out? "Oh, here's one. James Evangelista, colonel, retired from the Navy. Manslaughter." Sheesh – the skips were so bad, I was happy to get a guy who'd only un-intentionally killed someone!
"Right - he killed a guy in a bar fight with his bare hands. Claims it was an 'accident' and he didn't mean to kill him," Connie said.
It was a pretty big bond, and if I could bring him in, I'd be able to get my life back on track. In his picture, he didn't look too crazy, and there was no record of priors. I could probably bring him in, no sweat. Hell, I could do like Lula and show him my boobs - he'd probably thank me for taking him in.
"Ranger can take the rest, but Evangelista is mine."
I studied Evangelista's file in my car for a minute while it was warming up. During a bar fight, he punched a man in the adams apple, killing him. He had left the Navy just about two years before, but still had the military look to him; short cropped hair, muscular build, square jaw. He was wearing a button down shirt and didn't look at all like the scumbags I normally went after. Sal wasn't very thorough with background checks, I noticed with chagrin. There was a home address and a phone number and that was about it. No family, no job listed.
Well, I thought, might as well start with the obvious. I put the car in gear and started to head toward his home address in south Trenton. It was in a part of the city that I didn't know very well, so after a half hour of driving around in circles, I pulled over and got out my street map. Hampton Court was a tiny alleyway off an industrial road, and number 16, when I finally found it, was an empty lot. I called the phone number on record and wasn't surprised when it was disconnected.
So much for the obvious route.
I rang Connie and asked her to rerun his background. Maybe she could turn something up for me. By this time, it was starting to sleet, so I slogged home to regroup.
My apartment was quiet when I opened the door, except for the squeaking of Rex's wheel. I gave him a hamster nugget, counting seven more in the box.
"Looks like you've got a week to starvation, buddy," I told him. Wisely, he took the nugget and buried it in his soup can.
I wasn't as lucky. I had a can of Chef Boyardee in my cupboard and a few beers leftover from the last time Morelli had come over for pizza and beer. I'd been making the beers last as long as I could, and the can of spaghetti could be stretched into two meals. It was not a fun time in the Plum household.
When the microwave beeped, I took my half-can of pasta to the couch to watch TV and look over the paperwork. Outside, the wind beat against the side of the building and chips of ice bounced off my windows. Maybe if I got lucky, I could come up with something tonight and then follow it up in the morning. I wasn't going back out in this weather.
I woke up the next morning on the sofa, paperwork plastered to my cheek and Chef Boyardee congealing in the bowl next to my head. Shit! I hadn't come up with anything! A quick call to Connie revealed that she had nothing either.
"We had an ice storm last night, knocked out the power. The office is freezing! I'll call you when I get the background on him. Water and Power said we should have it back in an hour. I have a bunch to run; no telling what's going to come back on some of these."
Crap, I thought. I went back to the file and read through the police report and witness statements again. While the bartender's statement said he wasn't a regular of the bar where the death had occurred, it did seem to imply he had been there a few times. A few of the other patrons sounded like they knew of him, if they didn't know him personally. I hated questioning men at dive bars, but I had no other choice.
Since I didn't have any leads to follow up in the daytime, I called Connie back to see if she had any new FTAs.
"Are you kidding? Not even the psychos went out in the ice last night."
"How is Lula doing on her skips?"
"Not bad, for Lula. She brought in one this morning. As she was driving in to work, she spotted him. He spun his car out on some black ice, and she offered him a ride and drove him straight to the pokey."
I hung up and flopped back into bed. Nobody needed me today. I tried to be depressed about that, but after about an hour, got bored so I ate the last of my can of spaghetti. I had an entire afternoon to fill, and nothing to fill it with. I organized my sock drawer, vacuumed under my sofa cushions and rearranged my bedroom. I went online and looked up Feng Shui and then rearranged my bedroom again for better chi flow. The bed was now blocking part of the closet, but if it was better for my chi, why not?
At 5:30, my stomach started to gurgle. I asked it to stop, pled with it to quiet down, and even tried to convince it that we were on a diet and hunger was a good thing. Nothing helped. There was only one thing for it.
"Look at you – you look half frozen!" my mother said as I walked in the front door. "Does your apartment even have heat?"
"It has plenty of heat, it was just cold driving over."
"Well, get inside. We're having meatloaf for supper."
My mother brought out the food and we all sat down at the table. A basketball game was on in the living room and my father had one ear cocked, listening to the score. My mother scowled at him, but didn't say anything.
"So, we haven't seen Joseph in a while," she said to me.
Internally, I screamed. Of course she had to bring up Joe. "We broke up."
"Again? Well, don't worry. I heard he's working all the time, so he probably hasn't found another girlfriend yet. You still have a chance to get him back."
"Maybe I don't want to get him back," I said. Our last fight had been pretty heated and I hadn't heard from him since. "You're driving me to an early grave, Cupcake, if you don't drive yourself there first, or blow up the car on the way," Joe told me for the umpteenth time. I had told him, in no uncertain terms, what he could do with himself. And then I left. It felt almost final, and somewhere deep down, I was okay with that.
My mother sucked in a breath. "Why in God would you not want him back? He might be your only hope for marriage – my only hope for grandchildren!"
"You have grandchildren, Mom. You have three already and another on the way."
"What about Ranger?" Grandma piped up. "Have you been seeing any of that nice package?"
"No, he's been away."
"That's too bad. I'd like to see him show up for dinner sometime! I've always wanted to have dinner with a Latino."
"He's not Latino, he's Cubano."
"Come on!" my father yelled suddenly. He looked up at our startled faces. "Johnson couldn't make a three point shot if he was on a ladder," he said by way of explanation.
My mother rolled her eyes and we all went back to eating.
"So, are you working, Stephanie?" Grandma Mazur asked.
"Yeah, I've got a skip. A colonel from the Navy was in a bar fight and failed to appear."
"A Navy man! He shouldn't be hard to find, what with those white uniforms and all."
I resisted the urge to laugh. "He's not in the Navy anymore, so he's not wearing the uniform."
"I think Edna Frankowsky's son was in the Navy for a while," my mother said. "She said he worked on an aircraft carrier."
"You mean Danny Frankowsky?" Grandma asked.
"Yes, that's his name."
Grandma got excited. "Yeah! I've seen him! He does a routine at the Chippendale's over in Mercerville. He wears a white sailor suit and a hat, and his dingle baggie has an anchor on it!"
My mother sighed. "No wonder Edna stopped talking about him."
The fight in the bar had broken out at 10:30, so by 9, I was in a skirt and low-cut blouse, with slut hair and my eyes gunked up. I figured I might as well look like I belonged. Maybe if the guys were busy looking down my top, they'd slip up and give me some info. I threw my gun, my stun gun, breath mints, extra batteries, lipstick, handcuffs and hairspray into my shoulder bag and was ready to roll.
The "Iron Eagle" was not the sort of bar I expected. It was down in the part of town where Evangelista said he lived, and was full of military and ex-military men. I half wondered if Ranger or any of the Merry Men came here to blow off steam or tell old war wound stories. I couldn't see Danny Frankowsky taking his clothes off here. The few women in the place looked as tarted up as I did, though, so I felt like I didn't stick out too much. I bellied up to the bar and ordered a bottle of light beer.
It didn't seem like quite the normal kind of bar – there was no music playing on a jukebox, no friendly game of darts, just a low hum of voices. The patrons kept to twos and threes and didn't seem to mix. I figured flashing the FTA's photo around wouldn't get me anywhere, so I stayed quiet and just kept my eyes and ears open.
Swiveling around on my barstool, I sipped my beer and looked at the place. The décor was the usual – beer signs, wood paneling, football tournament schedule. On the wall near the end of the bar I was sitting, there was also a small hand-lettered sign for the Jersey Gun Club, with a list of names and figures next to it. At the top of the list was printed "The Colonel."
I asked the bartender what that was about. "Number of perfect targets hit," he said. "The Colonel has been on top every week for as long as I've worked here."
"Wow, that seems like quite an accomplishment," I said. I decided to take a shot that "The Colonel" was my guy. "Is he here? Like to buy him a drink."
"Nah. Not tonight." The bartender walked away to serve some men at the other end of the bar.
Damn.
I nursed my beer for a while, just in case Evangelista should materialize out of nowhere or the man of my dreams happened to walk in the door. Instead, two burly men sat down on the stools to either side of me.
"Hello, cutie pie," the blonde buzz cut on my right said, giving me a hard smile. "Heard you were asking about the Colonel."
Now, the tone of his voice was light and friendly, and only the body heat from the two behemoths touched me, but still, the hairs on the back my neck stood straight up. This is not good, I thought.
"Well, yeah. Saw his name on the leader board."
"No, you didn't see anything," the bald black man on my other side.
These guys outweighed me by about 400 to one. They seemed like the kind of men who wouldn't think twice about hitting a girl. Despite both of those factors, I hate being told what to do and this was the only lead I had. I was getting pissed off. I had bills to pay and Rex's mouth to feed, and this Colonel guy was my ticket to the horn of plenty. Since the bimbo act wasn't working, I decided to go for the truth.
"Fine. I'm looking for James Evangelista. He failed to appear for his court date and I need to take him in to reschedule."
Blondie chuckled. Baldy snickered. Then, they both reached over and each took me by an armpit and carried me out the door.
"You're cute. Make sure you stay that way. Forget about the Colonel," Blondie said. The two abruptly released my arms and my FMPs plopped into the gravel. They turned and the door banged shut behind them. I pin-wheeled my arms, trying to get my balance, lost, and fell on my ass.
A bark of laughter came from the parking lot. I scowled into the darkness as I scrabbled to get up. Hands came out and hauled me to my feet.
"Do I want to know what you're doing at a place like this?" Ranger asked, brushing the gravel off my butt, slightly enthusiastically. I'm pretty sure I didn't have that much stuck to me, but he seemed to do a thorough job of it.
"You're back!" I said. Now, I knew he was back in town. We had been missing each other at the bond office and traded a few voice mails. I had kind of, just a little bit, been avoiding him, since the last time I had seen him he told me he wanted to talk. And "talking" to Ranger could be scary. He was scary enough as it was when he was silent.
"It's nice to see you, too." He leaned forward and kissed me, pulling me flush to his body. When we came up for air, I shuddered. It was a good thing he had his arm around my waist, or I would have been on my ass again.
"How did you know I was here?" I asked when I finally got my breath back.
"Babe."
All right, I knew that he had put a GPS tracker in my Mini. A nutcase had kidnapped me and Ranger's daughter last fall, and since then he'd been a bit protective of me. I didn't push him on the tracker, and actually, with the sort of trouble I usually ended up in, it was probably a good idea it was there.
"I was running down a lead on a skip," I told him. "Guy was in a brawl here, so figured I would check it out and see if anyone knew him."
"This a skip from Sal?"
"Yeah. Most of them were a little… out of my league." Like I was a Little League pitcher throwing to a Major League batter.
"So, what have you got so far?" Ranger walked me to my car. "You must have stirred something up to get frog-marched out the front door."
"I don't have much. Nobody seems to want to talk about him."
Ranger's eyebrows went up. "That's a hard-core military crowd in there, Babe. If they don't want to talk about him, he's probably a pretty bad guy."
"Maybe you've heard of him. Colonel James Evangelista?"
He swore in Spanish under his breath. "Yeah, I've heard of him."
Shit. This wasn't good. "He didn't have any priors, so I thought he was the least evil of the pack."
"Babe, 'no priors' just means you weren't caught, or in this case, it's not in civilian records. He's a bad guy. I want you to give the file to Tank."
What did I just say about not liking being told what to do? His tone was dismissive and I like being dismissed even less than ordered around.
My chin came up and I crossed my arms. "Thanks, but I've got this covered."
"Babe…" he growled.
"Look, you're going to be busy with the other files. I've already got some leads on this guy and I'm going after him. End of story."
On the exterior, Ranger looked calm and rational, but I could see tension creeping around his eyes. "No, you're not. This is a bad guy, Stephanie. You don't know what he's involved in. He would kill you without a second thought."
"The hell I'm not! I can do this, Ranger! I've done it before and I can take care of myself!" I was yelling now. I don't do calm and rational when I'm angry; I do pissy and loud.
While I got loud when I was mad, Ranger got deadly quiet. His eyes were narrow and hard. "Fine, but I'm not going to help you on this. You call me, I won't come running."
A stab of fear went through my heart, but my stubbornness wouldn't back off. "Fine." I climbed in my car and tore out of the lot.
I was halfway home before I realized there were tears on my cheeks.
Connie called me the next morning. "I finally got your background for Evangelista," she said, a wary tone in her voice. "Maybe you should let Ranger handle him."
"Just tell me," I ground out.
"He was in the Navy from age 18 until just about two years ago. His military record is spotty to say the least, several citations for fighting and drunk and disorderly. In the end though, he was discharged from service due to an undisclosed incident where several citizens died. And get this," she finished, "he's not really a Colonel. Never got past Private First Class."
Great, I thought. I went from going after a violent guy, to going after a violent, murdering, drunk liar. Just when Ranger wasn't around to help me out.
A stab of unease clenched my stomach when I thought about Ranger. We had never had an argument like that before, and it unsettled me. He usually supported me, either through the use of his cars or his men, and when he disagreed with my decisions, he just silently did his thing, letting me go my own way but covertly protecting me. Even when I didn't want them, I had bodyguards around to keep me from getting truly hurt. For the first time in a very long time, I was flying without a net.
I thought about the bar, and what could have happened if the goons wanted to hurt me, but shook my head. My trip to the Iron Eagle hadn't been a complete waste of time. I had found out that he was a regular at the Jersey Gun Club. I called my cop friend Eddie Gazarra.
"Oh no," he said, when I identified myself. "What have you gotten yourself into now?"
"Nothing! Really!"
"Uh huh." I could hear the eye roll through the phone.
"Just wanted to know if you'd heard of the Jersey Gun Club?"
"Geez, Steph! How do you do it? You always manage to stick your nose into the worst stuff around. The Gun Club is a hangout for biker gangs and mobsters alike. It's not a nice place to go. I had heard something about the feds investigating it for gun running and other illicit behavior." He paused. "If you need to get in there, you might want to ask your friend Ranger to do it."
I stifled the urge to scream. "Thanks for the tip, Eddie. I think I can handle it."
"Steph, we've been friends a long time. Trust me on this; don't go in there without backup."
Ok, I thought after I disconnected. That was three people warning me off, not counting the goons in the bar. It did sound like the Colonel could be in some deep stuff, and maybe some really nasty deep stuff too. The thought of giving the file to Ranger, though, made me crazy. I hated giving up. And I was dangerously close to having to pawn my TV again to buy food.
Screw it. I picked up my bag, made sure my gun was loaded, and headed out to the Gun Club.
The Jersey Gun Club was twenty miles southeast of Trenton near Pemberton, off a two lane road through rolling hills and surrounded by trees. It was a low, cement and brick building, with a field out back that looked to be set up with targets in the summer. There were no cars there when I arrived at ten in the morning, so I drove back out and down the road less than a quarter mile to a diner. Fortifying myself with a couple donuts and a cup of bad diner coffee, I locked up the Mini and walked back to the building, settling myself in the trees with my binoculars.
It was a sunny day, but it was still pretty chilly, in the low 40s. I stamped around a bit to keep my feet warm, happy that I was in my warmest winter coat. Finally, in midafternoon, a few cars rolled up and then a whole posse of Harleys. I counted four goombas in bad suits and eight Hells Angels, all carrying metal cases or rifle bags. Yikes. The gunfire started, and although it was muted, I could still hear the pops. It sounded like they were using automatic weapons down there!
When it started to get dark, I walked back to the diner to pee and had an early dinner, blessing the warmth of the greasy spoon. As I was digging into my pie, several of the Hells Angels strode in and sat, leaning their rifle bags against the counter. This gave me an idea.
"Excuse me," I asked my waitress, an aging blonde with sagging skin. "Have you seen this man?" I slid the picture of Evangelista toward her.
"Oh yeah! The Colonel. He's usually in here after his session at the range. 'Bout six, six thirty."
Bingo!
I paid for my food and went out to the Mini. If he showed up, I could get his license plate then try to go in after him. If I didn't get him, at least I'd have another step to follow up.
The problem with doing car surveillance in the wintertime is that you're a warm body enclosed in a cold vehicle. Within 20 minutes, my windows were frosted over, and in an hour I couldn't see a thing. It looked like there were kids necking in my car, it was so steamy. Using my mitten, I rubbed a hole in the windshield so I could see out.
Now that I was out of the wind and the late afternoon sun was shining into my car, my bulky winter coat was too hot. I struggled out of it, leaving my hat and mittens on. I was still wearing a turtleneck and sweatshirt, so I was warm enough. I thought maybe if I wasn't giving off so much heat, the windows wouldn't fog so badly.
I was on my fifth wipe of the window when I saw a black SUV roll up to the diner. At first, I had a jolt of surprise, thinking it was Ranger tracking me down, but then I saw Evangelista swing out of the cab, dressed in a black pea coat and heavy boots. The two goons from the bar followed. I jotted down the make, model and plate number of the car, and looked into the diner just in time to see my waitress, who was speaking to the Colonel, point straight at me. He turned his head and looked at me. Our eyes met, and I felt like a rabbit staring into the eyes of a rattlesnake.
Crap!
I turned the Mini's engine over, the defroster coming on full force, and glanced over my shoulder to pull out of my parking spot. The rear window was solid ice and I couldn't see a thing. I desperately rolled down my driver's side window to see if anyone was behind me. Suddenly, the passenger door opened and Blondie got in, pointing a black .9 mm pistol at me.
"Hi cutie pie. Drive."
"What?" My hands clenched convulsively on the steering wheel.
He pushed the gun toward me. "Don't make me shoot you. Drive. Go to the road and turn left."
I hesitated for a second, and his finger began to tighten on the trigger. I pulled out of the parking lot. Who needs windows, anyway?
We drove down the road for a few minutes, past the Gun Club and went away from the turnoff back to the highway.
"Told you to back off, didn't I? Me and Ox, we were being good guys, telling you to mind your own business. Now, we have to do this the hard way. Turn right at the road up here."
"Where are we going?" I asked.
He didn't answer and with a sickening stomach, I made the turn.
'Road' was a bit of a stretch – it was more like a hard dirt path. If it was a bit warmer or had rained, I was sure it would be nothing but mud. A two storey farmhouse was at the end of the road with a "For Sale" sign in the front. A moving van was parked along side the house, next to the storm cellar door. A couple Harleys were parked next to it. I could see several large men moving between the storm cellar and the truck, loading up large crates.
"Out," Blondie said.
I got out of the car, heart pounding in my throat. We were in the middle of nowhere, and I was pretty sure he could kill me and the guys in the truck wouldn't care. No one would look for me for at least a day, maybe longer. Poor Rex would go hungry until someone found my dead body.
There was a copse of trees that separated the farm from the road. If I could make it to the trees, I might be okay. I turned toward the road, ready to sprint for it, when there was a loud "pop!" and a tug at my upper left arm. A second later, searing pain flooded my senses. I clapped my right hand over a tear in my sweater and saw blood on the blue wool mitten. I was used to men threatening to shoot me, but only infrequently did they ever follow through. The fear that I was feeling intensified by a factor of a thousand.
"Don't be stupid. That was your last warning. The next one is to the head." He motioned with the gun. "Move."
This is the one situation where I will do as told.
Blondie guided me through the house. The downstairs seemed to be empty except for a card table and some folding chairs, four empty pizza boxes and a dozen beer bottles scattered across the dining room. I could hear the men in the cellar beneath us, moving things around and talking. He nudged me up the rickety stairs to a small, narrow bedroom. A mattress, old and bare, sagged on the floor.
"Now, you're going to stay here until the Colonel has time to figure out what to do with you." Blondie gave me a push and I stumbled against the wall.
I heard him turn a key in the lock, and I was alone.
The sun had gone down by now, and the light was rapidly fading as thick clouds rolled in. A few wisps of snow were falling outside the window. I saw Blondie go outside and start speaking to the men loading the truck. It seemed he wanted them to hurry up. The SUV rolled up to the house and Baldy and the Colonel stepped out. Two Harleys came up behind them, the men dismounting and nodding to the Colonel, deferring to him. They all went directly into the cellar.
The room's window opened out onto a small roof over a porch, a lot like my bedroom window at parent's house. My Mini was only maybe ten yards away. In high school, I had climbed out my own bedroom window dozens of times. Never before had my heart been in my throat and my life on the line. If I got caught, they might kill me on the spot, but if I stayed up here, I was dead for certain.
I eased the window up. It was old and warped, but slid up without too much noise. I paused, listening for voices coming to kill me. Hearing none, I slid on my belly out of the window, onto the roof, then let myself hang from the roof to the ground. My arm was on fire, but I tried to ignore it. As soon as my feet touched the ground, I sprinted to my car.
Yelling erupted behind me as I jammed myself into the driver's seat. Gunshots pinged off my door. I ducked down and threw the car into reverse, putting the pedal to the floor. My tires screamed as I tore the hundred yards to the road, crossed the median, and then put the car into drive. I didn't slow down.
Headlights and the roar of motorcycles were behind me, so I didn't let off my gas. I turned onto the parkway and floored it again, hoping to lose them in the rush hour traffic to Trenton. I pulled out my cell phone and speed-dialed Ranger. No answer. Shit!
"Look, you were right. I just interrupted something big and now they're following me. You can have this case. I'll just go on a starvation diet. I'm sorry for yelling at you," I told his voice mail.
Hanging up, I punched in Tank's number, trying to hold the steering wheel straight with my injured arm. He answered on the second ring.
"Tank."
"Oh thank god. I need help."
"What happened?" Tank didn't sound concerned. I didn't blame him; for me "I need help" could mean "my skip is covered in Vaseline and refuses to come with me" or "my car just blew up/got crushed/was stolen and I need a ride". Only occasionally did it mean "I'm being chased by men who want to kill me."
I gave him the short version. "The Colonel and his men grabbed me and took me to an old house. I got away, but I think they're following me."
There was a pause. "I'll have to consult Ranger. Sit tight." And he hung up.
"Goddamnit!" I screamed into the car. I was sitting very tight as I sped back toward Trenton, certain any one of the headlights behind me could be out to kill me. Another motorcycle roared past and I nearly sideswiped the car in the lane next to me.
What the hell could I do? I didn't want to lead them to my apartment, or to my parent's house. I could just drive to Haywood Street and park at RangeMan, but that might lead to a fire fight, and I didn't want that either. I didn't want to show up at Joe's house, in trouble, after all the times he said I was trouble and couldn't handle myself. Granted this one time I couldn't handle myself, but that wasn't the point.
The answer came to me in a vision. A vision, that is, of the Golden Arches. It was an anonymous, public place. No one would dare shoot me at a McDonald's, would they?
I made my way to the McD's on Broad and parked in the back, beside the Dumpster, out of view of the street. By then, I was shivering, freezing cold, so I pulled out my winter coat, gingerly stuck my left arm in the sleeve, and went in the back entrance of the restaurant. I shoved my mittens in my pocket, flipped my phone open and called Tank.
"I'm at the McDonald's on Broad," I told him.
"We know. On our way." Sweet relief came at his words.
Tank, my hero. Ranger could eat shit and die, but Tank would always see it through.
The place was nearly empty, except for a few teenagers laughing at each other and a kid mopping the floor. I sat behind the condiment bar, hunkered low in the seat, so I could see the cars coming in and out, but had something to duck behind. Less than a minute or two later, a big SUV rolled in. My heart sped up again. It could be either Tank or Ox and Blondie.
I went to the back corridor and peeked out the back door from the corner by the men's room. The SUV crept along the back and stopped at my car. A man hopped out and went to look. He passed under the one streetlight in the back and I could see close cropped blonde hair. Blondie gave a signal to the driver, and strode toward the back entrance.
I spun around and bolted for the side door. I slammed full speed into a brick wall. Looking up, it was a brick wall of Tank.
"There!" I told him, pointing. "Coming in!"
He dragged me out the door and stuffed me into the back of another SUV. Just as he slammed the door, gunshots rang out. Tank swung into his seat and the driver took off.
"Stay down!" Tank yelled at me as we squealed away. A few more shots pinged off the car. We made for the highway again, swerving around slower cars. I was glad I was flat to the seat, or I would have probably been thrown around the interior. Cal, who was driving, was taking corners on two wheels.
When we were on the highway heading north at full speed, Tank made a call.
"On route. See you there."
I sat, silent and numb, in the backseat for the three hour trip. Every motorcycle that passed us made me cringe and I was certain every SUV was going to ram us. The guys made no sound either, except for a few phone calls to check in. I knew where they were taking me when we crossed the Maine state line, but I was sure when we turned off a two lane road onto a dirt track and wound our way through a forest. The moon was out now, and I saw the glint of light off a frozen lake. I bet it was pretty, I thought, if I was in a different state of mind.
The safe house was a fairly large log cabin, and was brightly lit when we rolled up. It didn't feel safe to me now, though. I knew who would be inside.
Ranger was leaning against the breakfast bar when we entered. He didn't smile at me, and I could tell that he was tense, like a cat ready to pounce. Unfortunately, I knew that I was the mouse.
The lights inside were oddly bright, and the smell of wood-smoke made me nauseous. My head was pounding and the last thing I wanted was a fight.
"Talk," was all he said.
Wearily, I told him about staking out the Gun Club, and then waiting at the Diner. I told him about Blondie, and being forced to drive to the farmhouse. I told him about the men loading up the truck.
"You interrupted a gun deal. That's why you're not dead," he said, his eyes still cold and hard. "It sounds like he had bigger things to handle than you. You got lucky."
I didn't feel lucky. I felt like crap. I took two steps toward the sectional sofa thinking I'd sit down for a minute, tripped and fell, and the world went black.
When I woke up, my head was still pounding and my arm hurt. I was lying in a darkened bedroom, wrapped in a blanket and toasty warm. At first I didn't know where I was, thinking I might still be in the farmhouse. I struggled to sit up, crying out when I put pressure on my left arm.
"Shh. Hey, you're okay," a voice said from the darkness.
"Ranger?" I asked, just to make sure.
"Yeah, Babe." Ranger was lying beside me and pulled me back against him. I took a few deep breaths and calmed down, snuggling into his chest. He ran his fingers through my hair and I felt my muscles slacken even more. "Were you going to tell us the part about how you got shot?"
With all the chasing and the running, I'd forgotten about the wound on my arm. "Uh, I guess I forgot."
I felt rather than heard his chuckle. "I've seen men cry like babies when they get shot, and you go and forget on us. A flesh wound, but a fairly deep one. You were in shock, Babe. I'm sorry we didn't notice sooner, all the blood soaked into the inside of your coat sleeve, so we never saw it."
"Not your fault."
He paused, his fingers still roaming through my curls. "Every time I find you unconscious or shoved into cupboards or bloody, I swear my heart stops."
I went breathless at his words. Ranger never shared his feelings, especially something as honest as that. It made my heart twist in my chest. "I'm sorry. Although, I have to admit, when you got shot, I'm pretty sure my heart did stop."
"Exactly why relationships in my line of work don't usually work out."
I didn't really have a rebuttal for that, so I kept quiet. I knew it was his way of apologizing for our argument before, and accepted it for what it was. We laid in the dark for a while, an owl hooted outside.
"I have to go back to Trenton, for a meeting in the morning," he said at last.
"How long will I be here?"
"Until we get the Colonel. Probably no more than a week or two."
"Will you take Rex to my sister's?"
"Already done."
"Thanks."
He brushed a kiss across my lips. "No thanks are necessary, Babe. Just stay here, and stay safe. That's all I need."
"I hate not finishing a job," I told him mulishly.
"I know."
"I hate not being good enough to bring him in. I hate being incompetent."
His arm tightened around my waist and his lips caressed my neck. "You found him. That's not incompetence. You weren't strong enough to bring him down, but the leg work you did to get to him was pretty damn good."
"Are you placating me?"
"Is it working?" His lips migrated to my earlobe and a flash of heat went south.
"Maybe."
He chuckled again. Abruptly, he rolled away. "Sorry, Babe, I have to leave soon."
I missed his warm body next to mine. "Will you at least stay until I fall asleep?"
"I'll give you five minutes," he answered, spooning against me again.
It took roughly thirty seconds.
I woke up to the sun streaming through the windows and a happy little bird singing on a branch outside. I flipped the bird "the bird" and dragged myself to the bathroom.
The mirror showed me an ugly picture. My eyes were red-rimmed and had heavy, dark circles, and my hair was beyond wild. A dark stain covered the upper half of my left arm and there were large rips in my sweater and turtleneck sleeves, where someone had cut them to bandage my arm.
A cursory inspection found me some sweats, a RangeMan T-shirt and an old flannel to wear, and a toothbrush, soap and hair products. Not quite all the amenities of home, but a whole lot less of the "bang, you're dead" variety.
After a quick shower, I went out to the main room. It was an open space, with the kitchen and a breakfast bar running the length of one side, dining table against one wall, and a cozy sectional in front of a large stone fireplace. A deer head looked out from over the mantle. Hal was sitting at a desk wedged into corner of the dining space, watching a monitor. There didn't seem to be anyone else here.
"Morning," I said to him. "Coffee?" He pointed to the kitchen and I nodded. Great conversationalist, I thought.
There was a bag of bagels on the counter, so I stuck one in the toaster and reached for the coffee pot with my left hand. Pain shot down my arm and I hissed through my teeth, instinctively grabbing my arm.
"You okay?"
I turned, surprised to find Hal only steps away, concern written on his face. It was a disturbing picture, what with the flaming skull tattoo and all.
"Fine," I said, involuntarily taking a step back. He pulled out a chair for me at the breakfast bar and I sat, puzzled. He went to the refrigerator and pulled out butter and cream cheese, then got a knife from a drawer. "Not that I'm ungrateful or anything, but I can get my own bagel."
"Ranger nearly fired Tank last night after you passed out. All the same to you, I'd rather keep my job."
Interesting! From what I saw, Tank and Ranger were close. For Ranger to want to fire Tank, he had to be pretty pissed off. "Really?"
"Yeah. I thought he was going to deck Tank when he found your gunshot wound. Thank god I was just the driver. My only job was to safely transport you here. Tank was supposed to make sure you were in one piece."
"Not his fault – I forgot I was shot." Hal just shook his big head as he smeared cream cheese on my bagel. I felt really bad for Tank, and figured it must suck for Hal to sit here and baby-sit me as well. "I'm sorry you guys had to get involved. Must not be fun following me around all the time."
At this, Hal actually laughed. When he smiled, he didn't look half as intimidating. Of course, he was a 12 on a 10-point intimidation scale, so even at half, he was pretty scary. "Are you kidding? In a choice of watching monitors all day or following you around, I'd rather follow you. At least then I know I'll see some action."
"Do all the Merry Men feel that way?"
"Oh yeah! We have a pool on when you'll destroy your car next and how it will go out."
So Ranger wasn't kidding me when he said I was "entertainment", I thought as I chewed my bagel. I always thought he was humoring me. Well, hell, I was going to have to start calling on the Merry Men more often.
I took my bagel and coffee over to the sectional and flipped on the television, surprised to find a cable menu pop up.
"You get cable all the way out here?" I asked.
"Satellite," Hal answered from the corner. "This place is for long-term stays."
Great, I thought. Well at least I got ESPN.
The monitor station started an insistent beeping. He clicked the mouse to change the view on the screen and a Harley rolled passed followed closely by a black SUV. He hit a button on a console and turned to me.
"Shit. We've got company. Grab your coat, we gotta run."
Hal had the Rangeman SUV turned over and moving before I closed the door on my side. I looked out my side mirror and didn't see anyone coming.
"Nobody's there," I said.
"There are cameras and sensors all along the road in. They're a minute out." We rounded the lake, plowing through a blanket of snow that covered what could be considered a trail. Right before we went into the thick part of the forest, I saw the SUV pull up to the cabin and Ox jump out.
"How did they find us?" I asked.
"Dunno. Maybe followed us last night and decided to catch us with our pants down in the morning."
We plunged through a small snowbank, chunks of ice flying, and came out on the main road. Hal gunned the engine. I kept my eyes on the side mirror, but didn't see anyone behind us. I realized that my hands were white-knuckling the seat and I eased them off. My bagel was still warm on my lap. First rule of running; never forget the food.
"Now where to?" If the safe house wasn't safe, what the hell were we going to do next?
Hal frowned, never taking his eyes from the road. "No cell reception here. Once we get back to the highway, I'll call Ranger." He didn't look excited at the prospect.
We drove for about an hour down the small empty highway with no signs of followers when Hal's phone rang.
"Hal." Pause. "Yes, one Harley, one black SUV, counted at least three intruders." Pause. "No, no injuries. Yes, I'm sure," he said, cutting his eyes to me with a hint of a smile. "Orders?" Pause. "Affirmative." He hung up and cut across a lane to take an exit.
"What's the plan?"
"Lunch."
"Good plan."
We did a flyby of a Burger King and parked in a Wal-Mart parking lot nearby to eat. I noticed that Hal had two double whoppers with cheese and a large fries; apparently he wasn't a rabbit food kind of Merry Man. He scanned the parking lot as he ate, watching everything.
There was something bugging me about all of this, but I couldn't put my finger on it. I thought back through the whole case. Evangelista had spent years in the militaryand now was on the fringe, running arms and killing men in bar fights. He was making deals with biker gangs and probably others in the criminal element. He had two guys working for him at least, both of whom also looked ex-military, and they looked to Evangelista as their leader for their orders. In a lot of ways, he was like Ranger. You could take the man out of the military, but it seemed you couldn't take the military out of the man.
Hal's phone rang and he put it on speaker phone.
"Report," came Ranger's voice. Talk about militaristic!
"No activity yet. I've been monitoring incoming traffic for the last ten minutes, and no suspicious vehicles have come through."
"Doesn't mean he's not out there." Ranger's voice sounded stern, and I realized that he was frustrated with the situation. "We think he's using the bikers to follow you without being seen. No intel has come in on the Colonel's whereabouts, and I've got all the sources on it. He could be right behind you or he could be here in Trenton. We're going to arrange a meet where you can swap out cars, and then you'll go to the safe house in Camden."
Dammit. I hated Camden. "Ranger?"
"I'm sorry, Babe. Just hang in there for a little bit longer –"
"No, I just…" How was I going to phrase this?
"What is it?" His voice was much more gentle now and I could almost see his eyes going from hard black to soft brown. The thought made me warm.
I cleared my throat to get back to the point. "This guy is ex-military. You're thinking in the same ways."
There was a pause. "What do you propose?"
"I'm not sure."
"Babe, he's smoke and yet you managed to find him. What would you do right now?"
I thought about it. "I'd lure him out," I said finally, fear gripping my stomach and making me regret the burger in there. "I'd slip away from you, and go about until he found me." That was my usual approach to psychos.
There was a sigh at the other end of the line. "I don't like it. But that will be the most direct way of getting him out in the open. The guy is smart – we can't risk you having a tail. I'll try to have men in the vicinity, but it would be a minute, two minutes out if you get into trouble."
"Understood."
"Head back toward Trenton. We'll set up a meet."
Fear settled hard and cold in my belly as Hal and I pulled into the McDonald's on Broad. We chose to have the meet there, because my Mini was still locked in the back. We would come in, meet with Tank, and then I would feign going to the ladies' room and slip out the back entrance. The Merry Men would act surprised when I didn't come out, and then start looking for me. Hopefully, anyone watching us would see this act and believe it.
Tank was seated at a table when we came in. Hal went to the restroom and I sat down. Tank slid a drink and some food toward me, along with what looked like a large pill.
"That's a GPS device. Swallow it. They won't be able to find it if they search you, but we'll be able to find you." I nodded and took a deep draught of my soda, popped the pill in my mouth and tried to swallow. It hurt going past the large lump in my throat, and my eyes watered, but it went down. "We'll follow as closely as we can. There's also a one way microphone in your car. If you see them, just talk and we can hear you."
"Got it," I said, surprised at the lack of shake in my voice. He nodded. "Time for me to go."
"Good luck," I heard him say, as I left the table. The sentiment was echoed by Hal, who winked at me as I passed him returning to the table.
I turned the corner to the corridor that led to the restrooms to find Ranger waiting lazily by the ladies' room door.
"Hey," I said.
"You've got everything you need? Swallowed the GPS?" he asked, putting his hands on my shoulders.
"You can now find my stomach on a map," I replied with a small laugh.
"If there's a donut shop in the area, I already know where to look," he replied, the edges of his mouth turned up slightly. He hugged me to him. "Be careful. Stay safe."
"Stay close," I returned.
I moved back and looked up into his warm brown eyes. He was worried for me, I could see that easily enough, but he also trusted me to do this. And maybe I finally found my own brand of ESP, but I could also see that he really did care about me and didn't want me to get hurt. There was also a hint of promise of what could happen when we finished this, and that sent a thrill straight to my naughty parts. He leaned down and gave me a searing kiss that sealed the promise.
"Go," he growled. "Before I throw you over my shoulder and take you home."
I hustled out the back door without a backward glance, furtively climbing into my Mini. There was a strip mall on the other side of the parking lot, so I jumped the divider and exited through there. Catching my bearings, I turned the car toward the bond office.
The plan I had come up with consisted of me appearing like I was going to skip town on my own. I was going to go to the bond office and pick up a weapon and some Kevlar. Then, I'd head over to the bank to get some cash. If I didn't have a tail by then, I was going to go to my apartment and get some clothes. I was pretty sure it wouldn't take long for them to come out of the woodwork.
It was Sunday, and the bond office was closed. I parked right in front and got out with my gun in my hand. I let myself in with the key and disabled the security alarm. In the back, I rifled through the supplies, finding an ankle holster and gun, a small bottle of pepper spray, a stun gun with batteries, and a Kevlar vest. I added the weapons cache to my purse, strapping on the vest and the ankle holster.
My gun in one hand, pepper spray in the other, I looked out the large window to the street beyond. No large SUVs or motorcycles in sight. I hustled to my car and took off.
"On my way to the bank," I said to whoever was listening on the other side.
The bank lot was empty when I got there, and a light mist was starting to fall in the growing dark. Not many people were out on a Sunday night; it was dinner time and everyone was home scarfing down turkey or pot roast or lamb chops and getting ready for a night in. I ran up to the ATM and stuck in my card. There really wasn't much money I could pull from my account, but I punched in $40 and took the cash when it came out of the chute. If I really were trying to skip town, I wouldn't be getting too far on this.
I went back to my car and climbed in. The butterflies in my stomach were churning for real now.
"Heading to my apartment," I said.
I pulled the car into the street and headed down Jefferson, keeping my eyes open for other cars. I had gone maybe two blocks when the SUV came out of a lot beside me and slammed into the passenger side of my car. The airbag deployed, pushing my head back, pain shooting down my neck. I groped for my gun, dazed from the impact. The driver side door swung open and I was yanked out.
"Time's up, cutie," Blondie said.
A white van squealed to a stop behind us, and Blondie shoved me in the back. Ox grabbed me as the doors were slammed shut and yelled at the driver to go.
"Take off your clothes," Ox grunted at me.
"What?" My ears were still ringing from the impact.
"No bugs, no tracking devices," Blondie said with a nasty smile. "Take off your clothes, or we'll have to help you."
Shaking with equal parts fear and fury, I took off my coat. I pulled the Velcro on the flak vest and slid the sweats over my feet, then dropped the flannel shirt to the floor. Ox unbuckled the ankle holster and Blondie handed me an extra large white T-shirt. As quickly as I could manage, I stripped off the RangeMan shirt and pulled the white one over my head. It almost reached my knees. Ox cuffed my hands behind my back and gave me a shove that sent me sprawling on the floor of the van. I was now defenseless. My only hope was that Ranger wasn't far behind us.
I have no idea how long we drove before the van stopped. Blondie motioned me out with his gun and I climbed awkwardly out of the back. We were in a large, dark empty warehouse. Standing in the only pool of light, hands behind his back and feet spread at ease, was James Evangelista. Behind me, the van started up again and drove out of the building. Ox and Blondie were at my elbows and I could feel the cold barrel of a gun at my shoulder.
"Who do you work for?" Evangelista asked quietly.
"Bond enforcement. You missed your court date," I said as matter-of-factly as I could.
He laughed. "No, really."
"Vincent Plum Bail Bonds."
"I was bonded out by Sal's." He made a motion to his goons and they took me by the arms.
"Sal sold his business to Vinnie." Desperation tinged my voice now.
I was dragged twenty feet to what looked like an old-fashioned tin tub filled with dirty water. Ox pushed me down facing the back of a chair, and tied my feet to the front legs.
"I'm going to ask you again," Evangelista said. "Who do you work for? The Feds? ATF?"
"Plum Bonds!" I yelled back at him.
"Do you think I'm stupid? You interrupted my meeting at the diner and almost broke the deal. I had to significantly lower my price, after I had already dropped it below my expectations. When my associates found you at the restaurant, you were being escorted by a SWAT team - "
"Look, I don't work for the Feds!" I broke in. "It was dumb luck!"
Evangelista looked at me, more furious than before. Blondie growled from behind me, "Don't interrupt the Colonel."
"He's not a Colonel. He didn't even get past Private First Class!" I spat at him.
I never saw the blow coming. Evangelista backhanded me solidly across my face and I tasted blood. Before I could react, the chair I was sitting in tipped forward and my head and shoulders plunged into the tub of water. I struggled on the chair, but with my legs tied, couldn't get enough leverage to move.
The chair tilted back and I gasped for breath.
"Who do you work for?" he screamed in my face.
"Vincent Plum—"
I was thrown back into the water. I gagged on the brackish liquid and shook my head. The chair came back up.
"How much do you know?"
"Nothing!"
I was under water again. My lungs were aching and my vision was getting blurry. He dragged me up again. Ranger had better get here soon, I thought.
"Who do you work for?"
"Fuck you!"
I had no time to get my breath. The Colonel grabbed the back of my head and thrust me back under the surface, holding me fast. My heartbeat was thundering in my ears. Ranger, I thought, you have to get here now. Hurry up. Black spots floated in my vision and my lungs were on fire. Ranger, please! Water was coming up my nose and I wasn't sure how much longer I could hold my breath. Ranger!
Blackness invaded and the world went silent.
I coughed and gagged. My lungs felt like they were full of lava and the entire Delaware River was draining from my mouth.
"Breathe," I heard a voice say above me. "Just breathe, Babe."
I opened my eyes. I was lying on my side on the floor of the warehouse, Ranger crouched above me, his hands rubbing my back.
"Get him?" I asked weakly, my voice barely a whisper through my raw throat.
"Yeah, we got him."
"Good."
He picked me up and carried me toward the door. There were lights flashing everywhere as cars screeched up to the building and cops and suits entering in every door. Evangelista was on his knees, hands on his head, as two men in suits were asking him questions. Blondie wasn't too far away in a similar position. Ox was sprawled on the floor and unmoving. An EMS woman ran to us with a stretcher as we came out of the building. Ranger placed me on it gently.
"I have to go answer some questions, Babe. Just stay here and let them take care of you for a few minutes. I'll be back." He waited until I nodded, then brushed a kiss across my lips.
The EMS worker was a nice lady who wrapped me in a blanket and got to work checking I was still alive. An oxygen mask was slipped over my face. I answered her questions, but kept my attention on the action outside. Evangelista and Blondie were escorted to separate black cars and whisked away. Several bags wrapped with yellow "Evidence" tape were brought out of the warehouse and placed in a van. I saw Hal, Tank, and two other Merry Men giving statements to men in suits. Hal caught my eye and gave me another wink. I waved back at him.
A scrawny looking man in a bad polyester navy suit came up to me. "Ms. Plum? I was told to give these to you."
He handed me three body receipts; one each for the Colonel, Blondie and Ox. Blondie was Louis Schultz and Ox was Orville Jordan. I read through the papers and found out that Ox and Blondie were also wanted through another bond agency and were worth quite a bit of money.
"So, they're going away?" I asked him.
"Thanks to you," he said, giving me a smile. "We've been trying to get Evangelista and the Hell's Angels here for months, but never knew when or where they were meeting. He was always able to elude our agents, or they disappeared. You're lucky to be alive."
No, I wasn't lucky, I thought. Ranger had saved me, like he always did. He would stop all of his work to help me out, and that just didn't sit right with me.
"Here, you take these," I told Ranger when he finally came back, handing the receipts to him. "Just give me enough for rent and a couple payments on my car. Oh crap, my Mini!" I had forgotten that my car was probably totaled. Tears came to my eyes. I really liked my Mini.
"Are you sure?"
If it hadn't been for Ranger and his Merry Men, I would have died for sure this time, and it made me feel guilty. "You hemorrhage money every time you put a man on me," I parroted words back to him that he had said months before. I would have given them the whole bounty, except I really needed the money to, you know, eat.
"Worth every penny, Babe." He turned to the EMS lady. "She cleared to go?"
Within a few minutes, I was settled into the reclined front seat of Ranger's Porsche 911, a small bottle of oxygen nestled in the back and the mask over my face. He buckled me in, closed the door, and I was asleep before he even started the car.
The distinct sound of a gravel driveway, stones pinging off the undercarriage, woke me. The rain had stopped, and a half moon shone down through the windows. I could see the tops of trees above me. The car came to a stop and Ranger got out and came around to help me from the car. We had pulled up to a white ranch-style house on a hill. I could see the orange glow of lights from Trenton below us.
"Where are we?" I asked.
He smiled. "The Bat Cave. Welcome to my home, Babe."