Chapter 4

It was rotten all right. Ewwww! Yuck!

Ranger's nose wrinkled and his handsome face twisted. Ranger wasn't used to mess. Ranger didn't like mess. By his own decree, Ranger and mess were never supposed to occupy the same body space.

Not going to laugh. No sir. Not me. Have no desire to relocate to the Third World. Not even going to think about laughing.

Too late. The giggle burbled up from my tummy like a bad meal.

Fortunately, Ranger didn't notice. He had just discovered dog doo on his fingers and was frantically shaking his hands in a fruitless effort to get it off.

I reached for my water bottle. And realized that in my haste to leave the apartment, I'd left it on the kitchen counter. No problem. Ranger always came prepared.

Except for today. His water bottle must be stashed in the car with his sweats. He'd been a little upset about the car.

Although spandex doesn't allow for much baggage, I did have a Kleenex tucked into my shorts. The sweat-soaked tissue I produced disintegrated when I pulled it out. Guess that wasn't going to be much help.

Keeping my distance to avoid the smell, I pointed to the cell phone clipped to Ranger's pocket. "I could call Tank and have him pick us up."

He was horrified. "No, God no! Tank will tell Brown, Brown will tell Santos and Santos, in spite of the fact that he knows I will beat him to a bloody pulp, will post this little incident on the break room bulletin board," he shuddered, "or Facebook. No one will be afraid of me any more. I'll lose my street cred and then my clients. RangeMan will go out of business! I'll have to declare bankruptcy!"

Whoa. Dog dirt to bankruptcy sounded like a stretch to me but then I wasn't familiar with the tipping point of street cred.

As I considered alternative action, a long tall shadow blanketed Ranger's forlorn figure.

"Young fella," cackled a raspy old voice, "young fella you be sittin' in a pile of dog shit."

Dirty Dan. We saw him nearly every morning. Coming from wherever he had been. On his way to wherever he was going. Always clutching a pint of Jim Beam to his chest, the holy grail to his Knights Templar.

Ranger was eyeing the flask. "Babe," he said softly, "I think we can make a deal here."

I looked uncertainly at my soggy Kleenex. Didn't seem like anything Dirty Dan would want. Or maybe he would. You never knew.

"No the Kleenex won't hack it, grab my phone."

Damn ESP. I carefully stepped around a smoldering pile, held my breath and gingerly plucked Ranger's phone from its clip.

"Inside," he directed, "tucked in the case. A bargaining chip."

I pulled out a crisp $100 bill.

"Dan," Ranger said pointing, "I'll trade you that Ben Franklin for your friend Jim there. Deal?"

His eyes burned with a maniacal fire as Dirty Dan recognized either that his morning eye opener was secure for days to come or, more likely, that he was set for one hell of a bender. With a toothless grin, he snatched the money from my hand and flipped the pint toward Ranger who made a frantic grab to keep it from smashing on the pavement.

Dirty Dan disappeared down the alleyway, but not before I got a whiff that confirmed the accuracy of his name.

"Good day for a gas mask," I mumbled.

Ranger triumphantly held up the bottle.

Reality check. Dan had been a thirsty boy this morning. "You realize you just paid $100 for an almost empty pint of Jim Beam?"

"Yeah," Ranger replied pouring what little remained of the liquid into his palm and rubbing his hands together, "but I figure the alcohol will kill the poop cooties."

Poop cooties? Did Ranger say poop cooties?

With his hands as clean as they were going to get, he cautiously got to his feet and stretched out the waistband of his shorts.

"You're not going to take those off are you?" I cried. Ranger always went commando. Not even eating donuts is better than seeing Ranger naked but here and now didn't seem like a good idea.

"I guess not." He looked crushed. He really wanted them off.

"Come on, we'll go back to my apartment and you can shower there. Lester will never know."

"Diesel will."

This was ridiculous. "Or you can stand here all day and let the flies gather."

He conceded, "Oh, all right."

It would have been a good plan if Tank hadn't been in my parking lot directing the removal of the Cayenne. When Ranger spied the flatbed tow truck and the squad of men in black, he cringed..........and hid. I went on.

"Bomber," Tank's face lit up when he saw me. He craned his neck looking over my shoulder. "Where's Ranger?"

He would ask.

"Well he, ah, he ahhh, saw someone he knew. A skip. Yeah. A skip. Took off after him. You know. Should be back in ahh a jiffy. Yeah, a jiffy."

Like as soon as you guys leave.

"What happened?"

"Nothing happened! Okay. Nothing. Nothing happened!"

"Bomber, you're a terrible liar. Tell me what happened."

"I can't,"

"Why not."

"Ranger doesn't want to go bankrupt!" Oh, shit I didn't say that.

To his credit, Tank didn't laugh. He looked concerned. "It's Diesel," he stated matter of factly. "Ranger's allergic."

That stopped me. "Diesel? Ranger's allergic to Diesel?"

"Yeah, usually he manages to be "in the wind" when Diesel shows up. You've probably noticed."

I hadn't, but when I thought about it Tank was right. "Wait a minute. How'd you know Diesel was here?"

"Well, for one thing Ranger got up with a headache. Ranger's not a headache kind of guy."

I nodded.

"And, there's the car. Things happen to Ranger when Diesel's around."

"Things? What kind of things?"

"Strange things. Things that don't usually happen to Ranger."

Boy, you can say that again.

"Then there's the fact that Diesel just left your building."

"He left? You saw him? He left?" I must have been wearing relief on my face.

"Yeah, but he said to tell you he'd be back."

"Oh. Did he say how soon?"

"Something about in time for 'night night'."

Just great.

Tank looked at me speculatively. "Why?"

"Ranger needs to shower."

"I don't want to know."

"Good."

The RangeMen were getting ready to winch the Cayenne onto the flatbed. One of them slowly approached us. I thought I knew all the Merry Men, but I'd never seen the group Tank had brought with him.

"Tank? Who are these guys? I don't know any of them. You been holding out on me?"

"New hires." Tank replied. He laughed. "Not one of them is brave enough to even look at Ranger. Figured if weird stuff was goin' down that might be a good thing."

Maybe Ranger wouldn't go bankrupt after all. "You're a good friend, Tank," I said giving him a peck on the cheek. With Tank it was hard to tell, but I think he blushed.

To cover his embarrassment he barked, "Report!" at the young man who now stood in front of us -- eyes lowered. Guess Ranger wasn't the only one who scared them.

"Tank, Sir," the young man said. "Something you should see, Sir. On the car, Sir."

"Well, show me then," Tank said as we made our way to the car.

"That wasn't there before!" I said. "I would have seen it."

Plastered on the driver side window was a piece of paper. It read "So now do I have your attention? You're lucky to have someone as attractive as me trying to kill you." There was no signature beneath the wording, just a small American flag sticker.

Tank whistled and ran his hand across his shaved head. "Damn," he said. "Ranger has a stalker."

TBC