Ranger left me at Rangeman. He followed Hector and Rodriguez to visit the new client, and then had some social calls to make. It was Ranger's way of keeping his ear to the ground. He had regular meetings, not just with clients, but with some pretty unsavory characters. He didn't elaborate on his plans for the day, and I didn't ask.
I went back to the monitor station where Ram was still working on algorithms. I turned on the computer at an empty station and started researching news articles on husband number three, Wayne Brandt, the investor that screwed me out of my lingerie buying job at EE Martin. It was going to be hard to keep my cool with this guy. I didn't get the feeling he was going to be anywhere near as nice as Anders and Rogenbach, either.
I read several articles, understanding none of it. I was getting frustrated when Ram turned to me, handing me a head set.
"Dickie's calling Joyce," he said.
I slipped the head set on, nearly falling out of my seat as I tried to scoot closer to Ram's monitor.
"Hello?" Joyce answered, her deep voice sounding annoyed, as ever.
"It's Dickie. What the hell is going on? I've got some reporter calling me about you being the new number one female bounty hunter in Trenton."
"That's right," Joyce crooned. She never missed an opportunity for flattery, especially self flattery.
"You took Stephanie's job?"
"You bet."
"Why?"
"Because I can." Wasn't that the truth.
"How?"
"What are you saying? I'm not good enough?"
"Good enough to convince Vinnie, sure."
"That hurts," Joyce said sarcastically, like she cared what Dickie thought of her.
"Well, it's me they've got you linked to in the papers," he complained. "I just got my shingle back out. I don't need this crap."
"I'm in the paper?" she asked?
"Yeah, the Times, yesterday, and apparently for the next couple weeks. They're doing a series on you two."
Joyce seemed to be looking around for yesterday's paper.
"Damn, it went out in the trash. Read it to me."
For the last few years, Trenton's Bombshell Bounty Hunter has been making headlines. Stephanie Plum of Vincent Plum Bail Bonds made a big splash with her first apprehension, not only capturing fugitive Trenton police officer Joe Morelli but proving his innocence. And the hits just kept on coming. With a stellar record for getting her man, a penchant for explosive vehicle demolition and random fires, and most recently, with an alluring billboard plastered to the side of a bus, Stephanie Plum has made her mark as the leading Bond Enforcement Agent.
Today, that icon status is being challenged by the equally colorful Joyce Barnhardt. Dressed head to tow in black leather, she lives up to the image inspired by television legends. The boisterous, red-headed Maven has reportedly ousted the Bombshell from the top job, according to Vincent Plum.
"This rivalry goes way back," Vincent tells us. "Most people think it started when Joyce stole Stephanie's husband, Dickie. But, this thing went back to grade school with these two."
Is this conflict the result of jealousy or is it fueled by a need for revenge? The venomous looks exchanged during the police investigation of local attorney Richard "Dickie" Orr's disappearance testify that no love is lost between these ladies. Miss Barnhardt accused Miss Plum of kidnapping and murder. But she was cleared of all wrongdoing when it was revealed that Mr. Orr was actually in police custody at the time. So, what is the true source of the tension? Is Richard Orr, in fact, at the center of it all?
Our preliminary research revealed some startling findings. While Miss Plum has been married only once, briefly, to local attorney Richard Orr, Miss Barnhardt has been married no less than seven times! The Plum-Orr marriage was indeed dissolved when Miss Plum filed for divorce following an affair between Miss Barnhardt and Mr. Orr. But what was not made public was that Miss Barnhardt's marriage to rival local attorney, David Rogenbach, was also dissolved as a result.
This wasn't Miss Barnhardt's first union. Her antics during her marriage to plumber Hank Anders was equally unsettling. Anders was formally accused of defamation in a dispute with Stankovic Plumbing and Heating. On the surface, this may appear to be a frivolous dispute between competitors in the field. But what the filing did not reveal was that Miss Plum and Mary Lou Stankovic have been best friends since elementary school. Prior to his association with Miss Barnhardt, Hank Anders was well liked and had been in business without incident for seven years. When he was forced to file bankruptcy, Miss Barnhardt filed for divorce. Did Mr. Anders also fall victim to the Barnhardt-Plum rivalry?
Miss Plum has been linked to her first fugitive, Trenton Homicide Detective Joseph Morelli, for the past several years. Are there wedding bells in their future? Similarly, Miss Barnhardt continues to be seen with Richard "Dickie" Orr. She claimed to be his fiancée at the time of his disappearance, but alas, there is no ring on her finger as of yet. Is it true love, or could The Maven in black leather be laying a trap for husband number eight?
How long has this rivalry been going on, and will it continue? This reporter wants to know, and I'm sure many of my readers do as well. So I will be conducting a series of interviews over the next few weeks. Stay tuned.
"The Maven," Joyce repeated, trying on her new moniker. "The Red-Haired Maven," she repeated, letting it roll off her tongue.
"I guess Mistress of Mayhem was already taken," Dickie said, grumpily.
"I like it," she decided.
"Great. What you need to do is to set this story shut down."
"Why? You know what they say. 'Any publicity is good publicity.'"
"Not for me! I'm trying to run a respectable law practice here. Not to mention, I can't risk making Stephanie unhappy, or I may have bigger problems. Like Ranger."
"She's not sleeping with Ranger," Joyce laughed.
"The papers may say she's marrying Morelli, but I have been in that house and it's not happening."
"What are you saying?" Joyce was suddenly paying close attention.
"I'm saying, she and Morelli aren't as tight as people think. Believe me, I know how independent that girl is. And Mr. Perfect is not getting through to her."
"Really?" Joyce purred, more eager to hear this news than her own.
"Sure."
"I'm having such a good day."
"Well, I'm not. I've got a reporter calling me, and I've already got Ranger on my ass."
"Ranger? Why? What did you do?"
"I filed suit against that giant ape he's got working for him for injuring me when he rousted me from Stephanie's apartment."
"You really are as dumb as you look," Joyce sneered. "You can't sue Ranger."
"Yeah, I got that message," Dickie groaned, probably looking at his broken finger. "And we both know Stephanie's tight with him too. I don't need him over here cracking my skull because of this. What the hell am I supposed to tell the Times?"
"I don't care what you tell the reporter," Joyce snapped. "You just better make me look good."
"How the hell am I supposed to do that? Tell her you're good in the sack?"
I could hear Joyce smiling. "That goes without saying."
I made a gagging motion and pretended to throw up. Ram smiled at me.
"I want to tell that reporter this thing didn't start with our affair. I want out of the middle of this mess."
"Fine. Tell her whatever you want."
Dickie paused. "Why do you hate Stephanie? I mean, I know she's a pain in the ass. But, was there a particular reason?"
"Like I'm telling you now," Joyce laughed. "Ta ta." And she disconnected.
"Damn!" I said, tossing the head set on the table.
"What's wrong?" Tank asked, walking up behind me.
"Joyce didn't tell Dickey why she hates me."
Tank didn't say anything.
"I'll call you if we get anything more," Ram assured me.
"Thanks," I said, turning off the computer I had been using and getting up from my seat.
Tank was checking an account. He seemed satisfied, and returned the monitor to it's regular view.
"Tank, do you have a minute?" I asked tentatively.
Tank looked at me with a blank expression. "In my office?" he asked. I took this to mean, "Is this going to be personal?"
"Yes," I said.
"OK."
Tank lead the way and I followed him down the hall.
I sat in the comfy leather wing chair opposite Tank's desk as he shut the door. Once he was seated facing me, I studied him for a moment. I had never had much luck interfacing one on one with Tank. I wasn't sure this conversation was going to be any better. He looked like he was having the same thought.
"It's about Lula, isn't it?" he asked.
"No," I said, "but we can talk about it if you want to."
"No," he said.
"You sure?"
He thought for a second. "No."
"No, you don't want to talk about Lula, or no, you're not sure?"
Tank sighed.
"I don't intend to tell her about Celia." I tried to look re-assuring.
"You won't?" He looked surprised and relieved.
"Do you love Lula?" I asked.
"I think so. Yeah."
I gave him a measured look. "I was kind of looking for a yes or no answer."
"Yes." he decided.
"You two are good together," I told him. "And she's deliriously happy that you're back together, Tank. My advice to you is never to let her find out you rented that house full of cats to get rid of her."
"I just meant to slow her down. I didn't mean to break it off," he explained.
"I get it. She won't. Don't tell her."
"OK."
"That wasn't what I wanted to talk to you about," I started. I shifted nervously in my seat.
"You want to talk about Ranger," he assumed.
"No," I said. Tank looked immediately relieved. "What I want to know is, who was the guy that nearly blew him up yesterday?"
Tank looked stunned. I wasn't sure if he was surprised that I knew what happened yesterday or that I was asking him instead of Ranger.
"He told you?"
"He said this guy was crazy, like Orin, and that he was one of many that he comes in contact with."
"Yeah," Tank said.
"Does this guy have a name?"
"Why do you need to know?" he asked, eyeing me suspiciously. Yeah, like I was going to go after this guy by myself.
"How many crazy guys like Orin are out there?"
"I would guess there are about a dozen on our radar right now."
"Nationwide, right?"
"Trenton and Miami," he corrected.
"And how many in Trenton?"
"Five that are active."
"So, from what you're telling me and what Ranger's telling me, I should expect to wake up in a safe house at any given time, day or night?"
"Yeah," he admitted. Then he looked surprised again. "Ranger talked to you about that?"
"About locking me up in a safe house the next time there's a serious threat?"
"Yeah."
"He mentioned it," I said. "He isn't kidding this time, is he?"
"No."
"Should I pack a bag for you guys to bring to me in the event of such an emergency?"
"Already done."
"Ella?"
Tank nodded.
"Good to know." I got up slowly. "Glad we had this talk." And I showed myself out the door.
Just then, my cell phone rang. I didn't recognize the number.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Anita, I have a transfer call for you." It was Ram transferring Dickie's call to the paper.
"Thank you," I said. I heard a faint click. Turning on my Fran Drescher voice again, I answered. "This is Anita."
"This is Richard Orr, returning your call."
"Oh, Mr. Orr. Thank you. Did you receive my fax?" I asked as I walked back towards Ram's station.
"Yes, I did."
"What was your reaction to the piece?" I asked eagerly, sitting down beside Ram who was still listening on his head set.
"I'll tell you what my reaction is. If you don't print a retraction in tomorrow's paper and cease working on this story, I'll be filing suit by the close of business tomorrow," he huffed.
"Now, now. Mr. Orr, the facts were checked. They may be unpleasant, but they are true," I told him in a sing-song voice.
"Listen here, Anita. I'm not a man to be trifled with. I have connections in this town. Mark my words, you will be lucky to be typing up classified ads by the end of the week."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Orr. I don't think you understand. The Times is in the business of selling papers. The Bombshell sells papers. The Bombshell at war with an arch-nemesis...well. That's gold. I'll be settling into my corner office by the end of the week. But thank you for calling me back. Your reaction was most...interesting." And I disconnected.
"You bitch!" Dickie yelled, slamming his hand down on the desk.
I nearly dropped the phone and Ram ripped his head set off as Dickie let out a scream that was muddied amid a horrible screeching feedback.
"That had to hurt," I said, both laughing and wincing.
Ram looked at me, eyes wide, not sure what just happened.
"Ranger broke Dickie's index finger yesterday," I explained. "One of the bugs is in his finger splint."
Ram raised both eyebrows, and then began adjusting the settings of the monitor.
"Is the bug still working?"
"We still have one," he said as he discontinued monitoring on the bug that was still screeching.
"Great," I said, blowing out a sigh.
Ram was trying not to smile.
"What?" I asked.
"Dickie's making another call," he said, handing me a headset. I cautiously put it on.
"Who is he calling?"
"The Times." Ram's eyes were laughing, even though he was trying hard to maintain the Rangeman blank face, the professional standard.
"News Desk," a man answered.
"This is attorney Richard Orr. I'm calling to lodge a complaint."
"About what?" the man asked wearily, as if he got calls like this all day long.
"Anita Gnap-Grumbles."
There was silence for a beat. "What?"
"Anita Gnap-Grumbles."
"Look, I don't have time for you and your silly games. Grow up, get a real job, and stop calling me!" and he disconnected.