Chapter 23
Note: A new Chapter 22 went up a couple of days ago. Read it before continuing here. Yes, I mish-mashed my story and had an extra Chapter 19 still in line.
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At the bar:
"What's ya goin' to do about your apartment?" Micky asked, faking being tipsy.
"I looove my apartment," Stephanie slurred. "I wanna keep it, y'know, just in case."
"Just in case of whaaa?" Micky replied.
"Things happen," Steph said, looking into her margarita.
Micky shook her head. Did those curls prevent common sense from entering her brain? "In case of what, Stephanie?" Micky said harshly, causing Stephanie to raise her eyes.
Micky glanced at Manny, who was sitting nearby, but not at the table with Stephanie and her. She could see Manny rolling his eyes at Stephanie's defeatism. Micky continued, "In 1519 the Spanish Conquistador Hernan Cortez landed in Vera Cruz, Mexico. As his men began marching inland in the heat, he ordered the ships they came on to be burned. Like your apartment, the ships were a safety net. Without ships, there was no returning home. They had to move forward. As long as you have your apartment as a safety net, you will not move forward. Burn your ship."
Stephanie thought of the number of times the apartment had burned but didn't think Micky meant literally. "If what I have with Ranger falls apart, where would I go?" she sobbed.
"You fight for your relationship. You make it work through talking and compromise. Stop running back into denial."
"But.." Stephanie sputtered.
"If you fight and it doesn't work, you leave town or at least the Burg. What is more important, Ranger, Burg, or a stand-up Stephanie?"
Manny had been listening and came over and slid next to Micky, facing the door. "Where would you go, Bomber?"
"Away."
"To an ocean?" Micky asked. "Your happy place?"
Stephanie smiled. Yes, she'd probably live someplace close to an ocean. She has always associated peace and comfort with the waves. "Do you have a happy place, Micky?"
Micky looked off. Has she ever been happy? Yes, seven years in New York City with her mother and Ivan, but whenever she goes back to the city, it is so lonely. Paris, Moscow, and London held nothing but bad memories. "Excluding Bobby, I have no happy place."
"I'm sorry."
"I am afraid until I know Arkady is dead," she sighed. "Maybe after all this ends, Bobby and I can find a place to be happy."
Manny had no clue about what she was talking. He looked at Micky for more information.
Sighing, maybe she was tipsy. She hated telling the story. "My stepfather believes he is my bio-father and wants me to marry into his family tribe in Turkmenistan. He had me kidnapped once and tried again in Albany. It's why I've changed my name and why Bink is my shadow when I go to and from work."
"Shit," Manny mumbled.
After the ladies finished off the overly large pitcher of margaritas, with Micky drinking most, they prepared to leave. Stephanie had told Micky she was a one or two drink wonder, and now Micky believed it. When they left the bar's parking lot, Manny paid attention to the traffic. "Where to, ladies?"
Stephanie smirked, "Usually, youz wanna get back to the Hashwood."
"There was a car parked along the street with someone inside. They pulled out as we pulled out. They may be following us. I'd rather not led them back to Rangeman."
"Oh, dumb," Stephanie said as she sunk in her seat. Micky reached behind her back and felt her handgun, wondering if she dare pull it as she had been drinking.
Manny called into Rangeman control. "We may have a tail. Requesting backup." Manny didn't need to give his location, the GPS on his vehicle relayed the information back to Haywood, and the nearest unit would intercept. They got off 206 and headed east and south on I-295. Staying five miles under the speed limit, Manny waited for the suspected tail to pass him. It didn't. His phone murmured. Manny listened and then replied, "Yeah, the blue Durango."
After putting his phone in his pocket, Manny said, "Tighten up, ladies. We are going to get a little fancy here while Ram blocks our tail."
Stephanie and Micky tightened their seat belts, grabbed the handrests, and began the rhymic breathing. Stephanie watched her side mirror as Manny suddenly sped up, allowing a black Rangeman SUV to slide in behind them. At the last possible second, Manny took the freeway exit on to Sloan Ave, hurried down the ramp, turned right, and made a series of turns. The second Rangeman vehicle slowed and blocked the blue Durango from following. Manny cut through parking lots, down side streets, and stopped behind a dry cleaner. They waited. Manny's phone murmured. He listened, nodded, and said, "Rodger." Rangemen didn't expend words on phone courtesies.
"Who waz shit?" Stephanie asked.
"Joe Morelli."
Stephanie was mad, "What the fruck! Das cap, caprope….whatever, knows I'm at Rangeland."
Manny glanced at Steph, "Wanna try that again."
Micky chuckled, "She was saying, 'What the fuck. That coprolite knows I'm at Rangeman."
"What's a coprolite?"
"Fossilized dinosaur dung. Stephanie is trying to improve her language, but the margarita tongue got in the way." Micky wasn't sure Joe was following Stephanie but didn' share her concern. Instead, she began, "Stephanie, it is time to move on. Burn your ship. There is no safe harbor in or near the Burg. Show us a strong, thinking, prepared woman best suited to stand with Ranger. No more hiding behind a man. It is time to step up and tell Ranger you are ready."
As Stephanie left the vehicle, Manny looked at Micky, "How do you know Morelli isn't after you?"
"I suspect he was, but he'll have to get in line. You don't see me arguing about protection, do you? I just used this incident to finish kicking her butt into gear."
"You've been ragging on her pretty hard."
"It was everything I wanted to tell her back in the Adirondacks but didn't have a voice. She's making progress. She just needs a boost over the final hurdle."
"Boost? I'd call it a trebuchet launch.
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Stephanie took the stairs to the fifth floor, refusing to wait for the elevator. The margaritas were starting to hit her hard as she tripped twice on the stairs. Maybe the elevator would have been safer. She got to the door and paused. What would she say?
"Come in, Babe," came the voice through the door.
Stephanie didn't see Tank sitting in one of the chairs. Her eyes bore into Ranger, "It is time to burn my sheeps," she started with a bit of margarita slur. I whuv you. I want to be wiff you in a comm….comm, hell, in a relationsheep. I wanna mar you but OK if not. I will give up skimping. I will rezum my twain. If you dare send me back to the damn Burp or that framming, frucking asshole Morelli, I will shooz …ah, everyone and burn down the Burp and move to Qatar." With that, she spun around, marched back to the door, forgetting it was closed. After bouncing off it, she opened it and took the elevator to the 7th floor.
Ranger and Tank looked at each other. Both men wondered what disaster occurred on the shopping trip to bring on such an emotional display. "I need to talk to Manny. Either she has a head injury affecting her speech, or she's snockered. Sheeps?"
Tank chuckled, "Skimping?" Tank shook his head, "Forget about the alcohol. She threw down the gauntlet. It's time to step up or duck once she's sober. Her range scores were outstanding before Albany."
"Qatar?" Ranger asked.
"They don't have extradition," Tank smiled. The can't bring her back for shoozing.
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Ranger entered the apartments and found Stephanie in the bedroom on her back, staring at the ceiling in what she often calls her thinking position. She was rhythmically breathing the way Micky has taught her.
He quietly walked to her, wanting to wrap his arms around her, but waited. "Babe?"
"It hurts."
"Babe, are you injured? Did something happen?" he asked as his hands slid over her head. Maybe she did have brain trauma. He continued feeling down her arms. Muscles had replaced the weight she lost in New York. While he missed her softness, he relished her toned body.
"My wife is crab."
"Want to tell me about it?" He said as he kept his hands on her arms, softly caressing them, keeping her from falling over. He reached over to the wastebasket in case whatever she had been drinking returned.
She was quiet for a while, "I'm not sure I have the woods, yet. I have soooo much to progress." She turned around and wrapped her arms around his waist. He pulled her into a hug, her head nestled against his chest. He wondered if she was listening to his heart. A heart that was hers and had been for years, except his brain kept blocking the message. He rubbed her back, surprised she wasn't crying. Usually, when she got this emotional or drunk, tears cascaded. Perhaps the cyclic breathing was helping. He would try to get information by replaying the day's events. "How did the shopping trip go?"
She chuckled, "Good."
"What about lunch?"
"Manny and I ate crab, I mean crap. Micky had purple stuff."
"Sounds delicious."
"You would think that. We talked. Well, she talked."
Ranger remained quiet.
"I've let men poop me up, I mean prop. I married the Dick to be important. Joe wouldn't give me help with my skimps, er, skips. You are my Lone Ranger, saving my ass so I can wave my finger at the Burp. Am I a disaster?"
"Babe, you are too hard on yourself. You are one of the most intelligent women I've ever known. You power through problems where others fail. Your weaknesses are several. Yes, several. You don't talk to me…"
"Pssss, pot and kettle…, whatever," she tried to say.
"I agree, we are both lousy at communication. I blame my training, but you internalize, trying to bust through problems yourself. You take the scenic tour, examing all aspects first, which is why you are a butt-kickin' researcher. But time and again, you fail to consider consequences. You rush blindly ahead; devil-be-damned, and get yourself in trouble. It gave Morelli ulcers and kept my men and me on our toes."
"Wanger... Dang, I'm drunk."
He lifted her and kissed her. "Hmm, I taste margaritas."
"Micky said we should get shit-faced since we had a driver. I think she holds her booze better than I do."
"Anybody holds their alcohol better than you, Babe. But let's get back to us. "Your second weakness is disregarding your safety. Bounty hunting is a dangerous job, but you approach it like everyone is going to behave with proper Burg manners. Your body bears the scars proving they don't. You've been lucky so far, but your time will run out. I can't let that happen."
Holding her face and staring into her eyes, he didn't have his granite face in place, but rather one of concern...and love. For the first time, she could read his mind and soul. But after what she tells him, would his mind join the party, or would he find another excuse to keep her at arm's length?
"Babe, let it out. I will continue to love you."
Stephanie's face flashed confusion. What type of love? He has admitted loving her in the past but held it came with restrictions, "in his own way," whatever that meant.
He could read her confusion, so he began, "I was smitten from the first time I met you, but I've never been in love except for familial love. I didn't know how to relate to a woman beyond a sexual interaction. You had me completely baffled. I wanted to protect you from my life but wanted you in my life. But I didn't think my life could afford love or a relationship. My chances of dying were and maybe still are too great to bring heartbreak to another.
"Then one mission was so bad I doubted I'd survive. In that moment of despair, I thought of you. Suddenly I found a way to survive even though badly wounded because I need you. I came home to hear you were engaged to Morelli. I was devastated. After killing a bottle of tequila, I was ready to end my life. Tank found me passed out, gun in hand. He handcuffed me to my bed and placed buckets beside in case I needed to fill them. Bobby monitored me for a day until the alcohol content lessened. Once sober, both of them reminded me there was no formal announcement, but Joe and your mother bragging. Tank reminded me you and Morelli were toxic to one another, and you would come to your senses. He and the men would give me time to get straightened out by running interference between you and Morelli."
"Did they?"
"You had a run of easy captures which enhanced your bank account, taking the financial pressure off you to marry. Joe became upset you were succeeding. Arguments ensued, and you walked away from him."
"Did this have anything to do with my father taking pictures of Joe's playmates?"
"No, Babe. Operation Save Bombshell occurred a year prior. I knew this last mission was the end. I talked with your father about our relationship. Maybe it spurred him into action before I could return.
"Babe, I was coming home to ask you to marry me. Imagine my horror to find you had been missing for so long. I prayed the entire flight to Albany I wasn't late, again.
"The men kept telling me how you had changed while I was away. I knew I'd be asking you to be my wife, but since returning, you haven't found your spark. I recognize PTSD and depression, which is why you've been in therapy and on meds. Each day I hope to see the new Babe the men were talking about. I still love you in any form, but the transition to married life would be easier and safer if both of us are in good mental health."
Stephanie looked away, trying to realign her thoughts with Ranger's confessions. She began slowly, "I've always fought the Burg life. My mother pushed me one way. I wanted to go the other way.
"Marrying Dickie was a way to leave the Burg and maybe Trenton if he went to Congress. When that quickly fell apart, I escaped to Newark and EE Martin. While the job wasn't great, I was on my own, making and saving money. Then it was over. I came home devastated. Being a bounty hunter was my chance at showing my mother and the Burg I could be something other than a wife and mother.
"Micky pointed out how I was using men to hold me up. Dickie and Joe wouldn't cooperate; they wanted a wife. You helped and held me up, but you got tired, waiting for me to get better, and tried to leave. But you are as addicted to me as I am to you. I haven't been holding up my end of the bargain for us to grow together. My Burg upbringing keeps sneaking through at inappropriate times, making me think I need a man to be something. Then my contrary nature kicks back, saying I have to be independent. Ranger, I want to be your partner. I'll never be your equal, but if I stick with what I am good at and abandoned the other, do you think we have a chance together?"
"Yes, Babe, if you get back to where you were before Albany, I think we can work on us as a unit."
"Mmurph"
"Care to interpret that?" Ranger asked.
"Bathroom, now."