Steph elected Ella to decorate the new house after finding out the she was responsible for decorating the apartment on the seventh floor, as well as the rest of the building. I told Steph to do whatever she wanted with the house. Decorate. Wallpaper. Paint. Rip out walls. Whatever. She says that she wants the house to be the same type of peaceful oasis that the apartment has been.
So, Ella is in charge of decorating the common areas and our suite. Steph is allowing Angel and the girls to decorate their rooms. Angel requested that Ella decorate his space, also. Smart boy. He chose one of the two-bedroom suites on the second floor of the North wing. Hal and Heather chose one of the first floor suites in that wing. Cal and Mica took the other. Heather and Mica chose to decorate their own suites. The ladies quietly agreed to help keep an eye on the children. Something tells me there are going to be more children in our house sooner rather than later.
Last week, when Hector and Juan got back to Trenton, Juan announced that he had left the restaurant in New York. He told us that he plans to open a restaurant here in Trenton. I think that Hector getting shot up in Springfield made him think about what's really important to him. So, he quit the job he loved for the man he loves more. They are more than happy to move into the house with us. Ella is taking care of their rooms, too. They chose a one bedroom suite on the first floor.
Lester and Bobby took over two second floor one bedroom suites. Ella is in charge of their space, too. Jemma is helping out here at RangeMan while Ella does the decorating. We all decided that we'd wait to actually move into the house until it's all redone. That way, the contractors won't be tripping over us and we won't be inhaling paint fumes and wallpaper glue.
So, we're in a holding pattern. Unfortunately, that doesn't excuse us from Sunday dinner in Hell at The Plums'. I don't know whether Steph has fully explained the Lopez children. Knowing her, I doubt it. I'm willing to go so far as to bet that the only one who she told about the children was Albert. Tonight will be our first trip to Sunday dinner with the children. If I'm lucky, a war will break out somewhere and I won't have to deal with Mrs. Plum.
Sunday night dinner…
Regrettably, no wars broke out that needed my attention.
The first thing I saw when I parked the Cayenne at The Plums' was the minivan belonging to The Kloughns. Any hope for a relatively peaceful evening went out the window right then and there.
I get out of the car with a sigh and step back to help the girls out of the back. Angel gets out on Steph's side. She looks as apprehensive as I feel. I pick up Anna as a shield. Surely Mrs. Plum won't attack a man holding a little girl, right? Steph has crutches; she can use them as weapons to hold off her mother. I stifle a chuckle as I think about that for a minute. Steph looks at me funny. Angel takes a page from my book and lifts Bella into his arms.
The door to the house swings open with a crash. Anna buries her face in my neck, her arms hanging on to me for dear life. Bella reacts the same way. Steph rolls her eyes and heads for the door Grandma is holding open for us. The fact that Mrs. Plum isn't by her side gives me hope that she's distracted by the Kloughns.
"Hi, Grandma!" Steph says as she breezes through the door ahead of us. Angel looks at me nervously. I nod in what I hope is a reassuring manner and he follows Steph through the door. I thank Edna as I walk past her. She grabs my ass. I manage to avoid flinching.
I follow Steph and Angel into the living room. Albert is sitting on the couch. Valerie is no where to be seen. Hopefully, she'll keep Mrs. Plum in the kitchen. Angel settles down on the couch next to Albert, who is at least familiar to him. Albert smiles and tells him that his girls are in the tiny back yard if Bell and Anna would like to go play with them. Steph offers to show Angel out. I decide I need to follow them to make sure the children are safe.
With five little girls playing in it, the yard seems even smaller than it really is. Steph sits down on the steps. Angel drops to the ground next to her, his watchful gaze never leaving his sisters. I lean back, letting the wall of the house support me. Albert stands on the top step. He followed us out and quietly introduced the Lopez children to his daughters. Angie looked a touch put off, but Mary Alice and Lisa were thrilled to have more girls to involve in their tea party.
Angel is more relaxed than I've ever seen him. He always seems as though he is carrying the weight of the world on his thin shoulders. In some ways, he has; he's been carrying the burden of caring for his sisters alone for far too long. I don't think he feels as though he can relinquish that responsibility to Steph, me, or anyone else. He's willing to allow us to help a little, but not much. To him, they are still solely his concern.
Steph is watching him watch the girls from the corner of her eye. "They look happy, Angel. You made the right decision to bring them here," she says softly.
He looks a touch startled. "Thank you for helping me," is his equally soft reply.
I'm learning that handling Angel isn't all that different from handling Steph. They're both strong and independent. They need to make their own choices. You have to offer them options and compromise. Usually, they end up doing more or less what I want when I use the Options Method, as I've come to think of it.
"What do you think would help draw El Rey out so we can take him down?" Steph asks, still not looking directly at him. She's been bothered about why this guy is after Angel and his sisters. One would think he'd be grateful that Angel was out of the area, away from local authorities. It seems a little odd that a local gang leader would risk pissing off the large, well-organized gang who controls Trenton's Stark Street underworld. Doesn't seem to make much sense for him to step on toes over a kid that's out of his hair.
Of course, it's possible that he found out about Steph's problems with The Slayers a while back and is hoping to use that somehow. Why, I don't know. But then, I don't know much of anything about this guy or his reasons for coming after these kids. Unfortunately, getting information about him hasn't been easy because his gang is small and local. They're tight in a way that bigger gangs aren't. I haven't tried to push Angel to give us more information. I wanted him to more comfortable here first.
Angel hesitates. Finally, he says simply, "Me."
Steph is surprised but she hides it well. "Why you?"
Again, Angel hesitates before answering. He looks at the ground. When he finally answers, his voice is barely audible. "Because I'm his."
I look at him sharply. What? Did Angel join the gang and then defect? Are they related? How is Angel his?
"His, how?" Steph voices the question in my head.
"I… He…" Angel takes a deep, shuddering breath. "He's my father."
Shit.
Impressively enough, Steph shows no real reaction. Her eyes widen a touch. The muscles in her shoulders tighten. Her hands ball into white-knuckled fists. The reactions are fleeting and gone as quickly as they arrived. "I see." She sighs. Her expression changes to 'thinking.' A few minutes pass in silence. "Is he their father, too?" She gestures at the girls with her chin.
Angel sighs. "Yes."
Fuck.
"He wants you guys back, but he's after Ranger and me because we took you." As often happens, Steph begins thinking aloud. "Which means he's equally likely to come after us." She squints into the distance. "So we can draw him out by being visible while you guys stay safe inside the RangeMan building or the house." She nods to herself, looking like she's just solved all the world's problems. She looks up at me. "You and I are going to be bait, Ranger."
I knew this was going to be her decision the second Angel admitted that this guy is his father. "Sure are, Babe."
Later that evening, back at RangeMan…We returned the kids to their apartment. I arranged for a guard to be on duty outside their door. I arranged for additional guards inside the building on every floor above ground, including the roof. The perimeter lights were turned on and left that way, instead of going off at 0100. The garage was on lockdown. The elevator was turned off. The stairwells were secured.
No one is getting in or out of here tonight.
Steph and I are in the control room with Lester, discussing the best way to keep the kids safe until we lay hands on El Rey. Logically, they need to stay indoors and out of sight. They need guards. They need to be out of sight.
They're kids and they'll need to be entertained. Not unlike Steph, they'll be climbing the walls without something to keep them busy.
"We could call in a nanny or something," Lester says.
I shake my head. So does Steph. "Not enough time to find someone willing to work in this atmosphere, keep their mouth shut, and pass my background check," Steph informs him. She's right. Her background checks are more thorough than even Silvio's. And his are unreal.
Lester taps his fingers on his thigh. Steph has her thinking face on. Suddenly she slaps herself in the head. "DUH!"
"What?" Lester asks.
"My sister. Georgia. Women who know how to keep kids busy. Women we know and trust. Women who will be willing to work in this atmosphere."
She's got a point. "When's Val due?" I ask. I've lost track.
"I dunno. But it's her fourth. They say it gets easier every time." Steph shudders as she finishes speaking.
"Babe." That's a visual I really didn't need. From the look on his face, neither did Lester.
Steph rolls her eyes at me and whips out her cell. "I'm going to try Georgia first. Val can be second-string."
Ten minutes later, the arrangements have been made. Steph and I will spend the next several days out and about, making sure we are seen all over the city. Visible. The girls will be both safe and distracted. "What about Angel, Babe?" I can't see him playing with the little ones while we offer ourselves up as targets. I also can't see him being easily distracted.
She smirks at me. "No problem. I'm going to make him Louis' assistant. All the stuff that Ella and Georgia normally do around here is now his job. Except the cooking. I need Ella's cooking."
I stifle a chuckle. Lester doesn't bother and gets swatted in the back of the head by my sweet little wife. "HEY!"
"Babe." That earns me Another eye roll. "C'mon. You've got an appointment with the doc at 0800." I aim her toward the elevator before she accidentally knocks Lester out.
"Shit. Why did I take such an early appointment again?" she grumps as she gets into the elevator with me.
"I believe it had something to do with the possibility of getting the cast off immediately… And this was the only appointment available for a month."
"Crap." She stomps her crutch. "I hope this appointment is worth it!"
Me, too, I think as the elevator stops on the seventh floor. 'Cause I really miss having her legs wrapped around me…
Monday morning, 0730…Steph is not a morning person. She is not totally functional before noon, which means that she's grumpy and clumsy as we make our way down to the garage. Once she's seated in the truck, I hand her a large travel mug filled with strong coffee, heavy on the cream and sugar.
"I love you," she says, taking a sip and closing her eyes.
I smile. "I know, Babe." She grunts at me. I chuckle softly as I make my way to the driver's side.
The traffic is pleasantly light all the way to the doctor's office. We check in with the receptionist and have a seat in the waiting room. Blessedly, her name is called before she starts to fidget.
Steph had the foresight to wear a skirt. She's been doing that a lot since she got the cast. Alternatively, she wears a pair of Hector's gym shorts. Mine are way too big for her. The skirt guarantees that she won't have to strip out of her pants for a Johnny. She really hates those things.
I help her up onto the exam table and lay the crutches on the floor next to the table. I take a seat in the chair meant for non-patients. As soon as my ass touches the vinyl, she starts to fidget. I'm surprised she's lasted this long, really. She's not good at waiting. And she's been waiting what, three whole minutes since we checked in at the front desk?
She sighs. "Problem, Babe?"
"What if he won't take the cast off?"
I'll be climbing the walls right along with her. "You'll have it on for a few more weeks."
"Ugh. It's driving me crazy. And it itches."
"I'm sorry, Babe."
She grunts at me. "Not as sorry as I'm going to make the asshole who shot me."
I smile at her. "No doubt in my mind."
Before she can get to her crutches and beat me with them, there's a soft knock and the door opens to reveal a man who looks like he should be on my staff at RangeMan. He's at least six foot one and two hundred fifty pounds or so of muscle. His entrance stops Steph's fidgeting and makes her jaw drop. "Holy crap! Are you really the doctor?"
He looks at her calmly. "Yes, I'm really the doctor. No, I never played football. No, I was never a professional body builder. No, I was never a pro wrestler."
"Oh." She gulps.
I stand and offer my hand. "Ranger."
He looks up from Steph's paperwork and smiles at me. "I've had your boys in my office before. I'm Mike Stebbins." We shake hands and chat for a few minutes about how my employees are and I answer his questions about Tank's leg. He's the one who set it when Tank broke it helping Steph catch a skip. I tell him about Tank's marriage to Lula and their new baby.
Steph looks at him. "Hello? Remember me? I want this cast off."
Mike turns a reassuring smile on Steph. "I'm just looking over the x-ray reports from your current injury, Mrs. Manoso."
She rolls her eyes at him. "Well? What do they say?"
"They say you got shot twice in the right leg, once just above the kneecap, which caused it to become dislocated. And it says here that you've got three holes on your leg now."
"And?" She squirms, looking like she feels guilty for having so many holes in her leg.
Mike pauses for a beat, reading another page from her voluminous medical file. "This is not the first time you've been shot, is it?"
"Of course not! But mostly, I've only needed Band-Aids."
I chuckle softly. I'm the one who told her that. In all reality, her GSW's have rarely even required stitches. This is only the second time. Of course, there was the knife wound from that time she was hanging on the side of a building not long before we got married…
She swings her left leg out to kick me. I sidestep and smile at her. She gives me a dirty look. Mike grunts at something else he's read and she turns the dirty look on him.
"I'm going to remove the cast so I can get a good look at the injury sites. I'm going to take some x-rays while the cast is off. I may also send you down for an MRI. Once I have a good idea of the damage done, I'll decide what we're going to do about the cast."
Steph sighs. "So when are you taking it off?"
He smiles at her. "Is right now good for you?"
Steph's face lights up like a Christmas tree. "Perfect."
I help Steph down off the examining table and hand her the crutches. We follow Mike out the door and down the hall to a room labeled CASTS. Mike points us to a clean, stainless steel table covered by a white sheet with a pillow at one end. "Ranger, if you could help the lady up onto that table please. Mrs. Manoso, I'd appreciate it if you could lay down and relax for me."
"Steph."
"Pardon?"
"My name is Stephanie. Mrs. Manoso is awfully formal for a man who's going to be lifting my skirt."
Mike makes a choking sound and turns bright red. He turns to me, eyes bugging out of his head. I smile and shrug. Really, she's got a point. In order to remove the cast, he's going to have to lift the hem of her skirt to the top of her thigh. "Ah.. Stephanie. Okay."
Mike opens a cabinet and removes a special saw made for cutting through plaster casts. It's Steph's turn to do the bug-eyed thing. "Holy crap! Are you going to cut my friggin' leg off?"
Mike smiles again, his face returning to its normal color. "Nope. Just the cast."
Steph looks over at me, apprehension in her eyes. I move to stand by her left shoulder and taker her hand in mine. As soon as I touch her, I see the tension leave her body. I giver her hand a reassuring squeeze when the saw starts. In under five minutes, the cast is removed. Steph promptly reaches down and starts scratching her dry, itchy skin. Mike tells her soap and water are on the way. She asks if she can put lotion on her leg, if they should need to put the cast back on.
"Some, but you're going to keep it away from the open wounds."
"Ugh." She keeps scratching.
A minute or so later, the nurse appears with the promised soap and water, as well as a rough wash cloth. Mike wets the cloth and adds soap to it. He reaches over to start scrubbing her leg. His hand stops halfway to her leg and he turns red again, then hands me the wet cloth. "I can't do this after the skirt thing with her husband standing here."
I chuckle and take it from him. "I understand. Tell me if I do this wrong."
I begin scrubbing her leg. The cloth is on the rough side, and the dead skin comes off with minimal pressure. I carefully wash around the wound sites. They're ugly, puckered at the edges and red in the center with yellowed fading bruises all around them. All three holes have black stitches holding them together. I'm relatively sure that the one on her thigh will leave a bad scar despite the surgeon's careful suture job. I'm not crazy enough to bring that up in front of Steph, though.
I'm also having a very difficult time simply washing her leg. I keep thinking about where her thing ends. Concentrating on the task at hand becomes increasingly complicated. I close my eyes for a minute and take a deep breath, finally managing to get my imagination under control.
Once her leg is both clean and relatively free of dead skin, Mike hands me a towel and I dry her leg off. He sends the nurse to hunt down some lotion while he examines the sutures.
"Steph, I'm going to take your stitches out. The wounds are healed well enough for that. X-Ray will be ready for you after that. Once I have the films back, we'll decide what to do next."
"How long is that gonna take?"
"An hour or so."
Steph pouts. "That long?"
I smile. "Babe."
She looks up at me. "What?"
"It's only an hour. We can talk about El Rey."
"Okay." Sometimes, it doesn't take much to distract her. Other times, it takes an Act of God. I'm not sure which this is.
Twenty minutes later, we're headed for Radiology. Steph is in a wheelchair. She's not happy about that. I told her that if she can cooperate for just a little longer, I'll have Ella make her chocolate cake for dinner. I'm lying my ass off. I already spoke to Ella and Steph is getting the cake for lunch.
The x-rays are completed and in no time at all, we're headed back up to Mike's office. Steph is resettled on the table in the first examining room. She's looking a little tired; sitting still and behaving are very hard work for her.
Fifteen minutes or so later, Mike is knocking on the door. He opens the door and walks in, seating himself at the small table in the corner by the sink. He has a blank face on. It's almost as good as mine, but I can see a hint of humor. I suspect he's about to play a joke on my lovely wife. I hope I can keep her from killing him over it. The guys like him and he's a great doc.
"Well, Stephanie. I really think you're going to need that cast a little bit longer." He's having trouble keeping a straight face, so he looks down at some papers on the table.
Steph groans. "How much longer?" Her voice is heavy with disappointment, and she looks down at her hands, no doubt to hide the tears of frustration gathering in her eyes.
"I think four weeks or so should do it."
"WHAT?" I'm pretty sure the whole building heard her shriek.
"A month. Four weeks. Give or take." I'm impressed by Mike's ability to keep his voice even and calm.
"A FUCKING MONTH? OR MORE? ARE YOU NUTS?" No doubt about how she feels, now is there?
Mike pales. "Uh…" He can't seem to make any more noise than that.
Steph looks ready to launch herself off the table and go ballistic. I decide to intervene. Better for everyone that way. "Babe."
She turns on me, her face red. Tears are pooled in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks. "A month?" she whispers.
Mike decides it would be best to admit he's kidding. To me. "Um… Ranger… Ah … I'm really kidding. The cast is staying off. I'm going to, uh, give Mrs. Manoso a nice flexible brace instead."
Steph goes from rhino to a dead stop in a heartbeat. Her color returns to normal. Her fists unclench. Her eyes lose the wild look. Her tears dry.
Mike starts to breathe again. His color doesn't totally return to normal, though. And come to think of it, it looks like he's still sweating, too.
I wrap Steph in my arms, partly to comfort her, partly to distract her from the idea of separating Mike's nuts from his body. She puts her head on my shoulder and her arms encircle my waist. I kiss her head. "All better, Babe?"
She sniffs and nods. Mike wisely leaves the room to get the brace. Steph relaxes into me and sighs. "I can't kill him, can I?"
"No, Babe."
She sighs again. "Damn."
"Sorry. At least he wasn't serious."
"He needs to work for you. He knows how to do the blank face thing. And he's built and sexy, too." The last is mumbled, as if she's talking to herself.
"I think he likes what he does now, Babe. Safer." Except when he's teasing her.
In less than fifteen minutes, we're back in the car and on our way home. A mile from the office, my cell rings. It's Lester. "Yo."
"Ranger. Problem."
"Talk."
"We've located El Rey."
"Where?"
"Right this second, he's in the low rider behind you. Bobby, Cal, and I are right up his ass in an Explorer."
"What else?"
"He's armed with a nice AK-47 that he acquired on Stark this morning. Unfortunately, he was unable to procure ammo."
"Bought it from Manuel, did he?"
"You know it."
"So is he following or attacking?"
"Dunno. He picked you up three blocks from the medical center. That Porsche is an eye-catcher."
"Sure is." And that's why we took it this morning. No point in being bait if no one can see you coming. "Babe, you buckled up?" She nods. "Ready to play, Les?"
"Always."
I turn into a wide alley between two buildings a block up from RangeMan. I hit the breaks and turn the car sideways in front of the car Mr. Diego Martinez, AKA El Rey, is driving. He swerves to avoid hitting me. Lester boxes him in from behind. Diego is trapped between a rock and a hard place filled with armed men and a woman.
I shut down the engine and wait to see what he's going to do. Beside me, Steph eases her gun out of her purse. I remove mine from the small of my back.
The door to the modified 1970 Plymouth Fury opens. Out steps a man who is undeniably related to Angel. He's perhaps five and a half feet tall, one hundred and forty pounds. His face is what Angel's will look like when he is that age. He's wearing loose jeans and a tight white tank top that shows off his sculpted torso. From where I sit, I can see a plethora of gang insignias tattooed on his face and arms.
Were it not for the fact that my injured-but-healing wife is in the car with me, I would be enjoying this situation. I would enjoy making him squirm. As it stands, my primary concern is getting Steph, me, and my guys out of here alive and in one piece.
Martinez looks nervous. He can't keep his eye on all of us; we're too spread out. The best option he has is back up into the wall and stand behind the bumper of his car. He'll be able to see movement from both directions and have the car as cover.
He's not that smart.
His head swings back and forth between the Explorer and the Porsche, trying to decide which is the greatest threat. Given his stupidity so far, I'm willing to bet he'll come to me.
He casts one last look at the Explorer and launches himself over the hood of the Fury. Right at me. At us. Before I can react, Steph is out of the car, aiming her gun at Diego. Does she wait for me or the other guys? Of course not.
"Hold it right there, asshole!" she roars. He skids to a stop five feet from my door. His eyes are wide. From where I'm sitting, I can't see a gun. He's got no place to hide a weapon the size on an AK-47 on his person. He must have left it in the car. Of course, that doesn't mean he hasn't got a handgun or a knife on him.
I open my door and step out. He turns to look at me. I hear doors slam across the alley. The troops are on the move. Hopefully, one of them will get to Steph and get her on the ground before she gets hurt again.
Martinez's gaze dashes from person to person, once again assessing the danger potential. As before, I'm willing to bet who he'll choose as the weakest link. This time, my money's on Steph. Of course, the moron has no idea that nothing could be further from the truth.
Sure as shit he heads for Steph, trying to knock her down. She knees him in the balls so hard his face turns the same color as eggplant. As he hits the ground, Steph shoots him in the knee. When he finally lands, she kicks him in the same knee. "How do you like it, asshole?"
Lester reaches her first and grabs her around the waist. "Leave him be, Chiquita."
She struggles. "Damn it Lester, I AM NOT A BANANA!"
He laughs. "Okay, Darlin'. Let us take care of him, now." He kisses her head and turns her loose.
I cuff Diego while he cries and gasps for air. Steph kneels down next to him. She's silent until he finally looks at her. If I was him, I'd shit myself just from the look on her face. "Do you know what I'm going to do to you?" she asks him softly. He shakes his head. "You should think about it. The worst thing you imagine won't even come close."
She looks at Lester and Cal, who are standing together. She nods once. "RangeMan holding cell?" Lester guesses. She nods. "Before or after the hospital?"
She looks down at Martinez. "Hospital? All he needs is a Band-Aid." With that, she gets back into the car… After she kicks the man on the ground one more time.
I settle into the driver's seat. "Feel better, Babe?"
She gives me that smile that makes me forget to breathe. "Yup."