Chapter Fourteen
Stephanie's morning had started and ended on the same note. Confused. From that conversation, it was entirely possible her day would end the same way. She heaved out a half-sigh, half-moan, and slid out of the booth.
Her clothes hung in Ranger's closet, and she didn't know what to make of it. Maybe it was just about practicality, but the gesture felt far more intimate than it should have. Now Les was telling people she was Ranger's woman, and nobody would tell her what that even meant.
On one hand, she had the good sense to know she should be offended, on the other, she liked the idea. Now if it were only true. Her lunch felt like lead in the pit of her stomach at that little gem. No, that had bad idea written all over it. She didn't want to be Ranger's woman. Did she?
Ranger had turned out to be a decent guy, aside from that whole hooker thing, which, in retrospect, she had to admit wasn't that far-fetched. At the time, she didn't know about Harold's fondness for the ladies of the paid variety. Truth be told, not even Stephanie could explain why she had been out with Harold Marconi, so it wasn't a stretch for Ranger to wonder the same thing.
OK, she was making excuses for him, but he'd given her a job and took his time to train her. He hadn't just fobbed her off on one of a dozen options. That had to count for something. Right?
Stephanie watched Les' retreating back and let herself admire the view for a minute before she followed him out of the diner. Whatever was in their family tree was grade A, unlike her family gene pool, which had produced Vinnie and Shirley the Whiner. And her, she reminded herself. She was definitely out of her lane.
Dixon's mother lived on Sanford Street at the edge of the Battle Monument neighborhood, a mostly blue-collar area that reminded Stephanie a lot of the Burg. They parked down the block and trudged towards Dixon's house. The sky had clouded over, and the threat of snow hung in the air like a heavy blanket. Stephanie pulled her coat around her a little tighter and quickened her steps to keep up with Les.
The Dixon's house was a small, detached bungalow that had peeling paint on the porch and creaky stairs with a small, neat yard surrounded by a short chain-link fence.
"Go on, you take the lead on this one." Les told Stephanie.
She took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. Stephanie rang the bell and Les pulled her to the side of the door.
"Never stand directly in front of the door, always stand to the side. Just in case."
"In case of what?"
"They decide to shoot you."
"Oh." For about the twentieth time today, Stephanie wondered if she was cut out for this job.
The locks rattled, and the door creaked open. A woman in her early sixties peered out. She was dressed in a pink house dress with her grey hair tightly rolled in curlers.
"May I help you?" She asked, her eyes landing on Les. She nervously clutched her house dress together at her throat.
"Mrs. Dixon?"
"Yes."
"Is your son here?" Stephanie asked.
"What do you want with Frank?" Wariness evident in her voice as her eyes darted back to Les.
"We need to talk to him. I'm Stephanie Plum and I'm a bond enforcement officer. Your son missed his court date, and we need to take him down to fill out some paperwork."
Mrs. Dixon pursed her lips and her eyes narrowed. "Frank!" She yelled so loud Stephanie startled. "Get your sorry ass off the couch and get over here."
Mrs. Dixon turned back to Stephanie and gave her a smile. "He'll be right out."
Stephanie heard scraping, mumbling and then the shuffle of feet and Dixon appeared in the doorway bleary eyed, smelling like a brewery. He was dressed in striped boxers and a white tank top with a bevy of unidentifiable stains, and house shoes.
Stephanie threw a nervous glance towards Les and he made a go on motion with his head.
Dixon took a long pull from the beer in his hand and let out a loud belch as he absently scratched his impressive gut that hung over his ratty boxers.
"Mr. Dixon, I'm Stephanie Plum and I'm a bond enforcement officer. You missed your court date and I need you to come with me so we can get you rebonded. Please step outside."
"No." Dixon gave her a narrow-eyed glare.
Stephanie was well and truly done with men at the moment. Irritation roiled through her and she surprised herself with her next move.
"Now!" Stephanie reached out and slapped a cuff on one of Dixon's wrists and yanked him out of the house. His house shoe caught on the threshold and he stumbled forward and dumped his beer down her shirt.
"Shit." Stephanie hissed.
"Bitch, you made me spill my beer." Dixon whined.
Stephanie threw Les a look that said a little help here. He gestured with his hand that she should continue. He wanted to laugh, but did his best not to. Les was a wise man.
Stephanie tried to cuff Dixon's other wrist as he flailed around like a slimy eel and Stephanie resisted the urge to scream. She could do this. She had to. It was this or move home with her parents. That thought gave her renewed incentive, and she clamped the bracelet on his other wrist with a loud click.
A sense of triumph rolled over her and she felt pretty proud of herself, right up to the point when Dixon bent over and hurled down her pant legs and all over her boots. Stephanie jumped back, but not before the lower half of her body was covered in puke.
"Seriously!" She glared at Dixon and tried to ignore the chunks that clung to his filthy shirt and the sour stench of vomit and beer assailing her nostrils.
Stephanie gagged and put her arm over her nose and mouth, and swallowed against the bile rising fast and furious in her throat.
Les had her by the scruff of the neck. "You are not going to puke. Do you hear me?"
Stephanie's eyes watered, and she gagged again. She was pretty sure Les was wrong about that, but she appreciated the fact he thought he could just will it into existence.
Les shoved Dixon down on the porch swing. "Don't move." He ordered as he pulled Stephanie off the porch. He grabbed the garden hose and turned it on her. Ice cold water hit her like a firehouse.
Stephanie leapt back. "What the hell, Santos!"
"Stand still." He ordered in a voice that didn't broker any dissent.
Stephanie crossed her arms and glared at Les, but complied with his command. He hosed off her pant legs and boots and turned off the faucet.
"See, washes right off. Gore-tex is rainproof, and vomit proof too." He grimaced as he looked her over. "Well mostly."
Stephanie gave him a look that said she thought he might be certifiably insane, and Les just grinned at her. He was having way too much fun for either of their benefit. She might freeze to death, but at least she wasn't in danger of puking anymore. Les' version of a cold shower had done the trick. Her teeth chattered and her nipples could cut glass, but overall, she had to admit it was an improvement.
Stephanie trudged back up on the porch and threw Dixon a baleful glance. She knocked on the door again.
"Mrs. Dixon?" She poked her head in.
"Yes dear." Mrs. Dixon waddled to the door.
"Do you have a coat for Frank?"
Mrs. Dixon handed Stephanie a coat from the hanger inside the door and then closed the door with a decisive snap. The locked tumbled, and the TV turned on. Apparently, Mrs. Dixon didn't have any plans to bail her son out any time soon, not that Stephanie could blame her.
They hauled Dixon to the SUV and Stephanie chained him to the floor and slammed the door. Dixon leaned against the window, face smooshed against the glass, drooling. Stephanie's lip curled back, and thanked her lucky stars she hadn't ended up married to someone like that. It was a slippery slope. She had a feeling Ronald was just one chicken's ass away from turning into a Dixon. The last time she'd seen him, his nose had been red and his eyes bloodshot. Another good reason not to date a butcher. At least Bernie didn't seem like an alcoholic.
Stephanie groaned. She'd forgotten about her so called date coming up on Saturday. She'd blocked the whole Bernie escapade from her mind, mostly in self-defense. Denial was kind of her thing. If she didn't think about it, maybe it would go away. Why deal with unpleasantness today when you could get hit by a bus tomorrow?
Les opened the door for her and she climbed in. "Look at it this way," Les said. "At least he won't puke in the SUV." He looked at Dixon propped against the window. "Probably."
Stephanie flipped Les a classic Italian salute, and he laughed as he jogged around to the driver's side.
"What's all the groaning about? You caught your second skip."
"It's not that. I remembered I have a date tomorrow."
Les' eyebrow climbed up his forehead, and he gave her a quizzical once over. "Date? You don't sound too enthused."
"I'm not. My mother set it up, and I don't want to go. He's probably a good guy. He's just not my type."
That had come out sounding way more pathetic than she would have liked, and from the expression on Les' face, he thought so too. She swallowed another sigh. God, she was such a loser. No job, no money, no boyfriend, and it wasn't looking like she was too good at the bounty hunter thing either.
"You mean he's not a hot Cuban sex god." Les ribbed her and waggled his eyebrows for effect. She wasn't sure if he was talking about Ranger or himself. Right now, she'd take either.
Stephanie snorted. "Far from it."
Not to mention Bernie had confused the Cuban sex god for her personal trainer, but she figured that was one of those things that Ranger wouldn't want her to share.
"So tell her you're not going." Les said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
"I can't."
"Tell her you already have a date."
"But I don't and she'll know I'm lying. She's got a nose like a bird dog for that sort of thing."
"Yes, you do. We have that distraction tomorrow around six."
"But that's pretty early." Stephanie shrugged. "I'll end up having to go for after dinner dessert."
"I'm sure you'll come up with something." Les said with a knowing smirk.
That sounded a little too mysterious for her taste, but she let it go. Les was right. Either she'd think of something, or she'd sit through cake and coffee with Bernie while trying not to stab herself in the face with a fork. It wouldn't be the first time she'd debated the wisdom of a trip to the emergency room to get out of a bad date, and with her luck, it wouldn't be the last.
They dropped Dixon off at the police station and Stephanie collected her body receipt and ignored Eddie's protests about Dixon in his underwear, smelling like vomit. That wasn't exactly her fault.
Stephanie had the aroma of beer with a tinge of puke herself, but the hosing off had knocked down the worst of it. Besides, they only had one more stop before she could go home and use all four minutes of the hot water in her shower. Stephanie considered showering in Ranger's apartment, but somehow two showers in one day seemed like it might tempt fate. That and her self-control, which was waning by the minute.
They rolled up to Zeke's last known address. It looked more like a vacant, condemned building than apartments.
"You sure this is it?" Stephanie hedged as she scanned the area.
The little paint left on the building was peeling and the windows were either boarded up or rotting. The awning over the entryway sagged in the middle and Stephanie sent up a silent prayer, it wouldn't collapse until after they got out. A broken-down chain-link fence marked the perimeter and looked more like a warning to stay out than anything. A few weeds littered the packed dirt yard. The overall effect was depressing as hell.
"Zeke's in 3A." Les told her as he shouldered his way through the front door into the dark foyer, lit with a single low-watt bulb.
Les scanned the mailboxes, and Stephanie tried not to breathe too deeply. The foyer stunk like weed laced with urine, and the last thing she needed was a contact high. Les handed her a pair of latex gloves.
"Put these on. We don't need to catch scabies." He winced when his eyes landed on a dark brown pile of goo in the corner. "Or some flesh-eating bacteria."
Stephanie pulled on the gloves and wondered if scabies was a real thing. She had a bad feeling it might be and decided googling it would just give her nightmares. Sometimes ignorance was bliss, especially when it came to things called scabies. And Ranger.
Les headed up the stairs that groaned under his weight. "Watch out for needles."
The way the stairs sagged and complained, a building collapse was the more imminent threat, but she kept that to herself and hugged close to the wall as she picked her way up the stairs behind Les.
The light in the stairwell had burned out, and Les clicked on his flashlight. They made their way to the third-floor landing. Weak light filtered in through a window obscured with decades of grime, and Stephanie looked around. Someone had scrawled apartment numbers on the doors with a black magic marker, and trash littered the hallway.
Stephanie approached 3A, stood to the side and rapped on the door. A moment passed, accompanied by some scraping sounds. Stephanie knocked louder, and the door popped open, and Zeke peered out.
His file put him in his late twenties, but he could have easily passed for mid-forties. He was rail thin, white as a ghost, and red rimmed his dull eyes. His stringy hair was matted in some places and sticking up in others. It didn't look, or smell, like he'd bathed in a while.
"You the new probation bitch?" He snarled, revealing his missing and rotted teeth.
Stephanie's lip curled up, and she took an involuntary step back. Les stepped into view, and Zeke's eyes widened in surprise. He took a step toward Zeke, and Zeke backed into his apartment. Stephanie and Les followed.
A bare, stained mattress rested in one corner of the room. A lumpy, dilapidated couch, a table lamp, and a big screen TV rounded out the rest of Zeke's furnishings. Stephanie suspected Zeke's TV had recently fallen off the back of a truck. An empty pizza box, a few beer bottles, and some drug paraphernalia accented the sparse furniture.
"That's not how you talk to a lady." Les menaced towards Zeke.
Zeke's throat bobbed as he swallowed, and his eyes darted around the room.
"The lady has some questions about your friend Ziggy."
"I don't know no Ziggy." Zeke whined.
"Look, man, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. That's up to you." Les took another step forward.
Zeke ran a trembling hand through his greasy hair and looked at Les a little closer. "You ain't from probation."
"Nope." Stephanie chimed in.
"I don't know nothin'."
"Just tell us where Ziggy is holed up and we will be out of here."
An involuntary shiver snaked down Stephanie's spine at Les' tone. She was half afraid Zeke was about to wet himself, because she wasn't entirely sure she hadn't already done that herself. This Les was all predator. Gone was the funny, goofy guy with the heart-stopping grin. This Les bared his teeth, but it was more like a feral snarl than a smile. He was six foot something of hard muscle and barely restrained violence.
Zeke shook his head, muttering unintelligibly to himself. In one quick move, he shoved Stephanie into Les and bolted to the window with surprising speed, yanking it up and fleeing down the fire escape.
"Son-of-a-bitch." Stephanie huffed as Les hauled her upright, one hand under each arm.
Stephanie sprinted to the window and followed Zeke out onto the fire escape.
"Wait!" she heard Les yell and then all hell broke loose.
Or, more accurately, the fire escape broke loose from the side of the building with an alarming screech and swayed precariously back and forth, metal grating on metal. Stephanie could see the entire thing had rusted through and attempted to scramble back through the window. The platform gave way in a shower of rust and chunks of metal that crashed to the second-floor platform below.
A terrified scream caught in her throat, and she grabbed onto the rung of the ladder above her as the fire escape squeaked under her weight like a frightened animal and clanged against the side of the building. The last thing she saw was Les' terrified face as he grabbed for her. The remaining bolts jarred loose, and the entire fire escape pulled free and fell backward in slow motion. Stephanie clung to the rung on the ladder like a monkey hanging in a tree, thinking hitting the ground was really going to hurt.