I was channel surfing an hour later when Ranger called.

"Yo," I answered.

"Yo, yourself"

"Everything going okay?"

"As well as can be expected."

"And that mean what?"

"Donaldson is meeting with Lye tonight. We're working to be a fly on the wall."

"Do you need me?" I was thinking, to be a distraction or to slip a bug into their pockets?

"No." Ranger slapped that idea right out of the air.

"Wow." I may have sounded a little disappointed.

"I heard you want to help," he told me. "Yes, you can help. No, not with that."

"With what then?"

"Put me on speaker. I'm sending you some photos. Tell me if you recognize any of these men."

I pressed the speaker button, and received a message. I opened the file, and scrolled through the photos.

The photos were taken from a distance, zoomed in with a good resolution that let me zoom in even more. I could probably check out the tiny red veins in their eyes if I wanted to. These men looked a lot like Rangemen, but there was a difference. It wasn't physical or the uniform. It was something in their attitude. Rangemen could be menacing and scary as hell, but none of them were bad guys. It was part of the job. Not that all of them were pussy cats when you got to know them. There were a few with no sense of humor at all. But Donaldson's guys didn't seem to share a sense of comradery. I didn't get a warm fuzzy feeling, even when they were standing watch together, seeming to be alone. The feeling I got was that Donaldson's men wouldn't care if the guy next to them got his guts blown out as long as the body parts didn't get in his way.

I scrolled through the photos, and came to a screeching halt.

"Bernard Gross!"

He was looking away from the camera and he was behind a parked car, but I knew the profile and the no-neck barrel-body. I looked again. Yep, it was Bernard Gross alright. He was a contender for the World's Strongest Man competition at one time. He went FTA on a domestic dispute and tossed my car on it's roof like it was a turtle. Like a very small turtle. Ranger and I later found out that Dickie had represented Gross in his subsequent divorce. Dickie, being the sensitive, caring person that he is, made a reference to Gross's steroid-related condition, gynecomastia, as being a possible cause for the divorce. Upon hearing the words "man boobs", Gross destroyed the conference room and that pretty effectively terminated Dickie's involvement in the case.

"I thought so too," Ranger said.

"What is Gross doing working for Donaldson? I figured all of his guys were from out of town."

"Gross may be working as an inside man. At least, as inside as Donaldson can get."

"What do you mean, inside?"

"A lot of my guys know Gross. They worked out at the same gyms and some of them looked up to him while he was training for the title."

"Which means he can ID a lot of your guys," I followed. "Or try to pump them for information."

"Yeah."

"And?" I sensed there was more.

"And I turned him down for a position with Rangeman."

"Because of the steroid-induced rage issues," I assumed.

"Yeah." Ranger is very rarely intimidated by anyone, but it might take an elephant gun to bring down a guy as big as Bernard Gross. And even then, it would take several well-placed rounds.

"So, he's got motive to help Donaldson take you out," I gathered.

"I think that's a safe bet."

"Is Tank with you?"

"Not right now. Why?"

"He needs to call Lula."

"He did."

"When he cancelled their date?"

"Yeah."

"He needs to call her again. And don't bother asking me why. You know why."

"I told you before. I'm not involved."

"You remember that time you filled in for Morelli and had dinner at my parent's?"

"Don't."

"You made me promise not to tell Tank."

"You remember what I told you I would do?"

"Yeah." He had threatened to chain me naked to the traffic light at Hamilton and Broad. "But you also promised to shoot my Grandma if she grabbed you."

"Babe," he groaned. Maybe I was making him queasy. He didn't like to talk about Grandma.

"I'm just saying, I think it was a hollow threat."

"You want to find out?"

"Yeah." I pretty much just double dog dared him. "You tell Tank to call Lula, or I'll tell Tank you've had dinner with my family. And I have witnesses."

"That's harsh."

"Speaking of harsh, did Dickie get the suit against Tank and Rangeman dropped?"

"Yeah. You know why?"

"Yeah, I know why. I was listening."

"Then hear this, Babe. I can be very, very persuasive."

"Great! Time to persuade Tank!"

"Babe," he said in his threatening tone. I wasn't really feeling it though.

"Later," I said cheerfully, and I disconnected.

I tossed the phone aside, turned off the television, and stretched. It didn't sound like Ranger would be back anytime soon. I decided that if I couldn't help Ranger, I may as well work on my own case.

I pulled out the ex-husband info and took a look at the photos of husband number four. Grant Lawrence was vain. I mean, possibly even more vain than Wayne Brandt. Some guys are just born with good looks, but other's buy them. Lawrence had some high-dollar hair. I was going to bet it had been sewn on. His smile was too perfect to be real. His rugged chin and the tightly stretched skin around his eyes and forehead suggested he'd had a little enhancement. His body looked like it had been sculpted by a personal trainer for most of his 50-some years, and he kept regular tanning bed appointments. But at this point, he was beginning to lose the battle. He was looking more stringy than beefy, like my mom's roast when I'm five minutes late for dinner, and his skin was creasing around his neck. And, like all men as they age, his ears were getting bigger Another 20 years, and they'd have Dumbo potential.

Just like with Brandt, I was having nervous butterflies about meeting Lawrence. I considered using my Anita Biernow disguise one more time, but then reconsidered. What if Joyce got wise and called to warn him? I could be walking into an ambush. Yikes.

I went to the bedroom and lay spread eagle on the bed in my thinking position. I had counted sixty two made-up constellations in the glitter of the sprayed ceiling when Lula called.

"Yo," I answered.

"Yo, yourself. You really threatened Batman?"

I blew out a laugh. "Yeah."

"Girlfriend, I don't know whether to hug you or knock some sense into you."

"What did Tank say?"

"He says he's busy and he'll call when he's done."

"Big surprise there."

"Is there any special reason why I should be carrying around a handcuff key for a meeting at Hamilton and Broad?"

I sucked in some air and broke out into a nervous sweat. "Did Tank mention any special time?"

"No. He said someone would call me."

"Oh," I said. "I think you should do what he said," I told her. "Keep the key handy and your phone charged up."

"Why? You gonna need it?"

"Quite possibly," I said, my hand holding the phone was shaking, so I put Lula on speaker and laid the phone down.

Note to self. Don't undermine Ranger's authority with his men...including Tank.

"Are you okay?" Lula wanted to know. "You sound like you're working out or something. Hey, you're not with Batman are you?"

"No. He's not here. I'm just thinking about husband number four."

"You need some help?"

"Maybe. Joyce is aware something's up. I think she might have called ahead to warn him."

"If she's warned him, how are you gonna ask him about Joyce and get away with it?"

"I don't know," I admitted. "I guess I'll just have to risk it."

"Hmph. Not a good plan," Lula said. "What happened to those master plans you used to come up with?"

"Masterson," I gasped. "What's going on with Masterson?"

"Masterson? Who said anything about Masterson?"

"I forgot all about Vinnie's high dollar skip. Has Joyce found Masterson yet?"

"As far as I know, she's working on Morelli's case almost exclusively. Vinnie's fit to be tied. A few more days, he's out half a mil, and Harry's going to end Vinnie." Lula laughed. "You may not have shot him, but you still might have killed him."

I groaned. Vinnie was a slimey rat, and a no-good human being, but he was still my cousin.

"Grrr!" I squelched a scream.

"What's that?" Lula asked. "Is that the sound of you caving? You really gonna help that little weasel?"

"If I don't, a lot of other lives will be affected, including yours. You'll be out a job too, remember?"

"Oh yeah. I always forget that part."

"Can you get me a copy of the Masterson file from Connie?"

"I guess, but what good will it do? Unless Vinnie approves you to work the case, you can't bring Masterson in."

"No, but I can make Vinnie jump through hoops to find out where Masterson is hiding," I said. "Maybe he knows something about Joyce's murky past."

"That's true. Good thinking."

"And don't worry about Tank," I told her. "He'll call."

"Yeah," Lula said. There was a guilty pause. "You know, I probably shouldn't tell you this, since you made a nice clean break with Morelli and all."

"But?"

"Word is your Grandma Mazur got into a fist fight with Morelli's Grandma Bella at the Ollie Weinhart viewing. Details are sketchy, but Bella accused your granny of slander when she called Joyce a man-eating slut. I guess Bella was the one who decided cooking lessons at Morelli's would be a good idea. I don't know if she even realizes she's dealing with Joyce. Bella's old and probly she can't see real good. And from what I hear, Joyce was dressed like a librarian. Anyway, I guess Bella didn't check with Morelli first, 'cause he wasn't even there when you drove by. It was just Joyce and Bella in his house, making spaghetti and meatballs."

I pressed my finger against my eye twitch.

"Good to know," I said. "Well, gotta go. I'll call you tomorrow."

"OK, well, thanks again," Lula said, and we disconnected.

I fell back into my thinking position and blew out a nervous sigh. I was debating whether or not I should shave my legs in case I woke up naked on Hamilton and Broad, since clean underwear wasn't going to be an issue. I wondered what my mother would say. But I knew the answer.

"Why me?"