A/N: So, it's been more than just a little while. Real life happens and so does laryngitis of the fingers … aka writer's block. To those of you who have sent notes of encouragement and great reviews in the past, I humbly thank you and apologize for being MIA. Sadly, I wasn't with Ranger or it would have been much more fun.

This may or may not be a one shot. I'm not really sure if it is going anywhere or if it needs to. The muse is finally talking but seems to be speaking in Pig Latin!

Disclaimers: All of the standards apply. No one has been hurt in this endeavor and no one has benefited financially. Just taking a few characters out for a spin and having a little fun.

In my heart and mind, the series ended with book 12 … so this is some time after Twelve Sharp, but I have no idea when.

Fine … We're All Professionals Here

By Alfonsina

It seemed that my whole life, I've been putting on a show for someone's entertainment. Had I been paid for my entertainment skills and not my bounty hunting or office jobs, I'd be able to make both ends meet and maybe even pass each other. Since I've never been paid for my entertainment skills and I wasn't being overly well paid for bounty hunting, shall we say both ends wave at each other from time to time? One day both ends will meet, but it was very likely they wouldn't recognize each other.

Today, I was doing another unintended free show, but had no idea if there was an audience or who exactly was in the audience. Truth be told, I seldom knew who was in the audience until everything was over and I got a telephone call from my mother. Then again, I shouldn't have allowed Lula to talk me into helping her with a project in Vinnie's supply closet. All I knew with any level of certainty was that the door was closed, the room was small and smelled of dust, and the lightbulb was barely 15 watts. And it was stuffy. Did I mention that it was small?

"I was a professional," Lula said. "I remember how to do this. No one has asked me to do this in a long time. And, no, I don't know why it is so important to him."

I was also a professional, a long time ago. If I thought back on it, I could remember going to work and coming home in the same outfit with no mystery stains. I could buy a car and keep it more than six months. At one point, I kept the same car for almost three years, I didn't realize I'd consider that to be a miracle now. My car insurance premium was reasonable. My voicemail didn't resound with the three Gs: guilt, grief, gossip.

"I was a more of a desk jockey. As far as this goes, you'd probably consider me to be semi-professional," I said. "Since you're the one who sought me out, which one of us is in charge right now?"

Lula grunted. "Fine. You can be in charge, but it's just this once."

"Fine. Step in front of me. Your feet need to be shoulder width apart. Put your arms through the straps, lean forward, and put your hands on your knees. Oh, and don't forget to breathe."

"You aren't going to look or laugh, will you?" Lula asked.

"On my honor, no laughing." I would have felt better about things, but I heard a shuffle outside of the door. "I won't even look."

"Wait a minute. Don't you need to look? I always need to look. That's why God made mirrors so we know what we look like when we are making an attempt at something like this."

"Nope. After I was about fourteen, I always did it by touch. Come on, you are dragging your feet. It won't be that bad." Maybe I'd need to look. What you do for yourself isn't always them same as what you need to do for others. I was a pro at taking care of me. Sort of.

She turned around and faced me. "Fine."

"Fine."

I twirled my finger indicating that we couldn't unless I was facing her back. "Fine. Now let me get behind you again and no more complaining or procrastinating. Remember, you're the one who wanted me to do this. Are you sure this is the right size?" The item in my hand seemed small and probably not up to the task at hand.

There was more scuffling and shuffling outside the door. Great. Just great.

"Of course I'm sure. I'm a-"

"Yes, I remember. You're a professional." I took a deep breath and wondered if Lula really wanted to do this in the first place. "We're both professionals."

She glared at me. Probably she didn't like my tone of voice. Then again, few people were willing to argue with Lula about much of anything. "Remember, you promised you wouldn't tell anybody."

I wouldn't, but there was no telling if Connie would keep quiet or what Vinnie had overheard. Plus there was no telling if anyone additional was outside the door.

"You're dragging your feet. Lean over and hold on to your knees," I said. Probably I shouldn't get short with her, but there was no telling who was outside and whether or not Vinnie had drilled a hole in the wall. "If you don't want to hold your knees, you can always brace the wall. Not that I'd recommend the wall, there's no telling the last time it was cleaned."

I grabbed the Lycra band of Lula's new bra and pulled. Hard.

"Are you sure this is the right size?" I asked. "Cause it doesn't feel like it."

"You know how it is, things fit differently after you've had them a while. You have to break things in."

I no longer believed in breaking things in. Well, I did if they were incredible heels that are one half size too small and just a teensy-weensie bit too small. But that isn't something I do regularly. Much.

There was a snicker followed by a shushing sound.

"Lula, if you are sure this is the right size, we can try again, but I might need reinforcements. This could be a two or three person project."

She turned around and put her hands on her hips. "I bought the same size and model I did ten years ago. It was the last time I needed to buy something like this. It's a little worse for wear, but I still have it in my purse. I'll show it to you."

"I believe you."

That would explain a lot. In the three years I've known Lula, she has become, well, more lush. I know that Tank and her other boyfriends have appreciated the bounty of her beauty, but if a thing didn't fit, it didn't fit. Then again, I had about two more years before I had to seriously watch my caloric intake. Hungarian genes and hormones or no, the Mazur women fought with gravity and gravy after 35 and it was a grudge match. I wasn't ready for a grudge match of any kind, a fudge match with some pecans or walnuts maybe. Maybe there could be a divinity match? Nah. We were nowhere near Christmas and divinity disappears in about three days.

I took in a deep breath. "We'll try it again."

"OK. And so you know, everything I own is in the same size I wore ten years ago."

"Rotate," I said. Maybe she did in Lycra or spandex, probably not if she was talking cotton or wool.

I grabbed both halves of the bra and tugged. And pulled. And stretched. And tugged some more. "Deep breath." What? I could be just as encouraging as the next guy.

"I can't breathe any deeper," she said. "Just do it."

Grunting, tugging, pulling, and I finally got the first hook connected and it immediately popped off. The band missed my face by a fraction of an inch. Lycra is a magical fabric, but even it has its limits.

"It's not going to fit." It was never going to fit. Sneaking a look at the band size, it wouldn't fit me. It wouldn't even fit my grandma. There wasn't much to Grandma. She was pretty much a bad perm, a pair of trifocals, skin and bones.

"Why don't we go shopping together," I said. "I need a new one anyway."

"Fine."

"Fine. I'll back out of here and leave you to redress. I'll meet you in the lobby in a couple of minutes."

I had no sooner backed out of the storeroom than I backed into Ranger. Of course.

"Having fun?" he asked.

His lips tilted up a just the tiniest bit, which for him could have been a full grin or he was pondering the next word he was going to say.

Fun? Not really. My shoulders shrugged about as much as his lips tilted.

"I'm a lot of fun in the dark."

Yes. I remembered. A lot of fun on stakeouts, distractions, and going in pursuit of whichever drunk who staggered home in the small hours of the morning. Running, skidding, falling, stumbling, and more running. Who could forget all of the wheezing after the fact. There was that one amazing night and a couple of, shall we call them incidents, incidents. But that kind of fun felt hollow. It was great at the time, but just like eating marshmallows, a lot of consequence for something I knew better to live without.

I shrugged again.

"Want me to prove it?"

My head shook from side to side. "I don't have worker's comp with Vinnie and I don't have any jeans to replace these when I rip out the seat or the knees." I purchased some patches at the fabric store to cover the rips and holes in my work clothes. Probably I should take some sewing lessons to learn how to reinforce the seams. Maybe I could find my iron and just use iron on patches.

"Babe."

Lula staggered out of the storage room, tugging her shirt down over her middle. She was in pursuit of a Kleenex to wipe the sweat from her face. "I'm ready. I'm just going to leave a note for Connie. Then we can go shopping."

Ranger looked at me. I looked back. He raised an eyebrow in question. Did I raise mine in answer? No, I did not. It was a skill I never quite mastered. One day. Maybe. Ok, probably not.

TBC?

Thanks as always for reading and reviewing.