Earlier this year I read an interview with JE, where she seemed pretty happy to get rid of the number centered book naming thing. It made me wonder about coming up with 27 number themed titles, and then pairing up story ideas with them. In the end, I came up with 31 story ideas (more, if you count the multiple ideas for several of the numbers), and The Number Series was born. Some stories are longer one-shots, some are short, and some developed into multi-chapter offerings. All have the title somewhere in the story. I have no set posting schedule for them.
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All recognizable characters belong to Janet Evanovich, I'm just playing.
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Twenty Dollar Bill
SPOV
Parking at the curb behind Lula's beloved Firebird, I finish up my coffee and sigh. I don't really have a schedule, so it's not uncommon to work on a Saturday or a Sunday to find my skips. That would mean, in theory, that Monday is just another day, but holy Hannah, this is already starting to feel like the Mondayest of Mondays. Something's up with the water heater in my apartment and I had maybe five minutes of hot water. Six at the most. That's not enough time to do all the things I needed to do, and as a result, my hair is fluffed out in all its bird's nest glory. Even pulled back in a ponytail it's reaching critical mass.
There was yet another call from Morelli on my phone, and I deleted it without even listening. Ditto for the three calls from Burg busy bodies. My current POS car looks fine, runs rough, and smells like day old fish thanks to bringing in Stanley Wizkowski yesterday. Added to the fact that my pants are tight, and I can literally feel the PMS coming on, it's not starting out to be such a great day.
I'm tempted to turn around and head home; signs are pointing to this being a shitty day. Skip chasing has been a lot of low-level cases and there's been some minor mishaps here and there. I've been able to eventually drag them all back into the system, it just doesn't add up to a lot of money. My bank account is anemic, especially since I wrote the checks for rent and bills last night. I won't get evicted or starve, but I'm down to my last $20 bill. Single and solitary, he looks a little lonely in my wallet. The angel on my left shoulder points toward the bond's office, while the devil on my right waves sunscreen and a bikini at me. The beach would be so much better than this, but a girl's gotta make a living.
Hauling myself out of the car, I snag my bag and throw the straps over my shoulder. My entire plan is to just plow my way forward and hope for the best. It's worked for me so far. At least the overnight rain has moved on and here's hoping sunshine will help my mood. Inside the bond's office, Lula and Connie are debating pancakes versus waffles (waffles are just pancakes with abs!) and all but ignore my entrance. That's fine. I don't really have an opinion either way; I'll happily eat both of them. The pancakes and waffles, that is.
"Hey, Connie. Have you got anything for me?"
She gives me a sympathetic smile as she hands over a small stack of files. I shuffle through them, recognizing several of the names. All are low bonds and add up to maybe $3000 when brought in. Crap. Every file has either been low-level and not worth much, or Rangeman level high-bonds or dangerous ones that Vinnie automatically passes on to Ranger. No mid-range bonds to give me a chance to get ahead.
Sighing, I give Connie an assessing look. "Are you sure there are no more files?"
She taps a small stack on the corner of the desk. "There are a couple for Rangeman. Vinnie hasn't been bonding a lot of people out lately. I think Harry's got a choke chain on him. Rumor has it that he was seen with Joyce over in Hamilton Township."
We all take a moment to set our brains to "heavy scrub with bleach." Joyce is a reoccurring boil on our backsides. Vinnie? He's just our pervert boss. And my cousin. Sheesh. Lula launches into a story about someone she knew when she worked down on Stark Street as a ho (excuse me, pleasure facilitator) and I take advantage of Connie's attention being shifted to walk my fingers over and slide the top folder to my side of the desk. The devil's cheering me on, while the angel is sighing in disappointment.
Setting my stack of skips on top of it for a few minutes while listening to Lula, I debate the wisdom of snagging one of Rangeman's skips. In my head, I'm doing the hand scales thing, weighing the pros and cons. I come down on the side of I'd like to pay my bills over the next couple months and pick up the entire stack, shuffling the new folder to the top.
Flipping open the file, I read through the particulars. Darius Washington, 24, alleged leader of a group of entrepreneurs that make their money in a less than legal manner down on Stark Street. He's charged with the murder of Melvin Granger, another Stark Street resident and not so nice guy. He's also well protected by his friends and employees. Oh yeah. This is going to be a fun one.
Information on Washington is sparse; house in the area, wife works at Helen Fuld, one year old daughter. No other family in the area. This isn't going to be an easy pick-up, but the $30,000 will make it worth it. Absently, I flip to the front, scanning the picture that I ignored on the first run through. Tapping the photo, I have a niggling feeling that I've seen him before. It's a funky déjà vu feeling that won't let me go the longer I stare at the booking photo.
Closing the folder, I'm still trying to figure out where I've seen him before. "I'm going to head out and try and grab a couple of these guys."
Lula makes no move to go with me, and that's fine. If she came with, I'd have to share the skips fees and there's not a lot there to share. Back in the car, I flip through my folders and settle on Minnie Rogers. She was busted for shoplifting some muscle rub and Metamucil because her Social Security check was late. I hate having to collect elderly skips. I usually end up looking like an idiot, because there's no good way to grab them. Sometimes they get away, sometimes I let them go. Either way, I end up looking stupid.
It's my lucky day, though; Minnie is amendable to taking a ride, no scuffle or bribe needed. I get her settled on the bench to be processed and step to the side to call Connie to have someone come down and rebond her. While we're waiting, I hear a couple of the cops swapping stories over at the coffee maker.
"At least your case is a slam dunk. My best suspect is my best suspect because he doesn't have an alibi. Swears he was at a diner over toward Newark, but no one remembers him clearly. He jumped on bond, so I'd say guilty. Plum's the bond agent, so you know Rangeman will track Washington down. At least there's that."
Connie comes breezing through the door and we get Minnie squared away. The entire time, my Spidey-sense is humming, and something is eating at me. They were talking about Darius Washington, I'm sure of it. I send my body receipt with Connie and drive Minnie home, mentally running through the Washington file while she chats away about the trouble my grandma caused at the last Bingo game.
After I drop Minnie off, I grab the file and flip through to the police report. Melvin Granger was murdered on April 17th, and Darius Washington swears he was at Mama's Diner outside of East Brunswick, off the turnpike. It's like someone rings a bell as I figure out why he looks familiar. I need to run back to my apartment.
The only spot available in my parking lot is by the dumpster. Running up the two flights of stairs, I let myself in and head straight for my cheap point and shoot camera on the kitchen counter. Mid-April, I was searching for Tommy Leggati and followed him on the turnpike (I'd like to say that my tailing skills have gotten better, but Tommy's just not that bright). We stopped at a diner outside of East Brunswick and I huddled in a booth, setting my camera up with a timer and taking shots of the woman he met with just in case I lost him that night. There was a guy there that night that ended up in a few shots as he walked from his booth to the bathroom. I remember him because he debated over the cherry and apple pies before deciding on cherry. I meant to delete all the photos after I hauled Tommy in, but never got around to it.
Stabbing at the arrow buttons on the camera once it finally powers on, I search through until I find the photos. There are three that show my mystery man, including one that has a very clear view of his face. Dropping into a chair, I flip the file open and snag Washington's booking photo to compare it to the man in the camera image. Hello there, Darius.
When I bought the camera, I went through the steps for setting it up, including setting the time and date stamp that appears on every image. A quick look verifies it was taken on April 17 at 7:49pm. Melvin Granger was killed just before 8pm in Trenton, forty miles away. I'm holding Darius Washington's alibi in my hand.
The angel on my shoulder is telling me to turn it over the cops. The devil on my shoulder is reminding me that I needed to bring Washington in, and this is leverage. Right now, the devil is making more sense, but the angel is making a lot more noise.
Blowing out a sigh and pulling the SD card from the camera, I eat a PopTart standing over the sink before heading back out. Jenny Conway was busted for taking a bat to her cheating boyfriend's car and skipped her court date. According to the file, she works at the CVS over on N. Olden. That works out well for me.
An hour later, I've used the Kodak machine to print out the photos before retreating to my car and reparking at the far end of the lot near the Kia listed on her bond agreement. I heard Jenny mention that she got off work at 2pm. It's 1:55 now. At ten after, she's walking toward her car. I let her get close before getting out of mine and approach. "Don't run."
She gives me a weird, why would I? look while taking out her keys.
"I represent your bond agent and you missed you court date. It's not a big deal. You come with me today, I call someone to come down and repost bond and you're done in an hour or two. You run, I have to come back and I'm going to do it while you're working and cause problems for you. You don't take care of this now, my boss is going to take possession of your car, and then you're stuck with the bus. If you still have a job, that is."
Her eyes have gotten bigger the longer I talk, but she hasn't taken off. She looks around before finally asking, "It's that easy?"
"As long as you haven't gotten into more trouble, there shouldn't be a reason to hold you."
Her shoulders slump. "Are you going to put me in handcuffs?"
"Are you going to make me?"
She shakes her head no, so I lead her to the passenger seat. "Don't make me regret being nice." That earns me another nod and we motor to the cop shop with the angel and devil both gaping in shock. Me, too. I'm on edge the entire time, wondering when this is going to go south. Jenny's been entirely too agreeable, and my spiel never works. After parking, we move across the lot, skirting the muddy puddles from last night's rain. It doesn't matter, though. My luck is fully in force as a large SUV speeds through the lot, showering us with dirty water from the chest down and splashing up into my hair. Fucking perfect. I knew things were going too well for me today; Monday just took a little coffee break before circling back around.
Even though it's one of the easiest captures I've ever had, I still walk into the police station looking like a drowned rat. The snickers start as soon as I clear the door and don't stop, even after I motion for Jenny to sit on the intake bench. The jokes range from don't you know you're supposed to dry off before you get dressed? and usually the top half gets more soaked in a wet t-shirt contest to how did we not hear about the fire department putting out your car. Who won the pot?
None of it shocks me anymore, but it's still annoying. And since a lot of them are coming from friends, it feels more than a little crappy. Caruthers from patrol pipes up. "Seriously, does anyone have her down for bringing an actual criminal in without making a mess? 'Cuz that would be a freaking miracle."
Laughter abounds and I do my best to ignore it. Eventually, everyone wanders off when the Stephanie Show loses its appeal. Jenny calls her cousin to come get her, which helps me out. I need to get the photos and the SD card to the detective on the Granger case. Heading over to the area that houses the detectives' offices, I give myself a mental pep-talk. Get in, give them the evidence, get out. Do your civic duty.
That thought goes out the window when I open the door and find a ring of detectives and patrol officers standing in a circle and laughing. I'm coming in at the tail end the story, but hear, "…can't even bring in a college girl half her size without being covered in shit."
I would have let that go, until Joe's voice breaks through the laughter. "She's got other redeeming qualities." His statement is met with raucous laughter and right now, Joe's lucky I don't carry a loaded weapon with me. Also, if I had any doubts about our breakup, they're gone now. Both angel and devil agree and start making "tiny dick" hand gestures in Joe's direction.
I know I should just turn the evidence over, but I have an opportunity here. "What are the odds if I bring Darius Washington in?"
There's a moment of stunned silence when they notice me there. Everyone looks around at each other before Joe steps forward. "Cupcake—"
Ignoring him, I look at Jankowski from Robbery. He seems to be the ringleader. "Odds?"
"Pointless. You'd just have Manoso help you."
Joe's jaw clenches at Ranger's name and I realize I don't feel a single shred of guilt for spending nights with Ranger or miss Joe a single bit. Ha! Progress. I press the issue with Jankowski, especially since we've drawn a crowd. "What are the odds of me, just me, bringing in Washington with no mishaps. No outside help."
He blows out a sigh as murmurs go through the assembled group of cops. There's a bit of laughter at the idea that I can do it and even the devil on my shoulder is wearing a what the fuck are you doing? look.
"Astronomical. Sorry, Plum. Betting on that would be like taking candy from a baby."
"Humor me."
He rocks back and forth while he does mental calculations. Apparently, something in that was funny, because he laughs once or twice before looking at me again. "You bringing in Washington is such a longshot, they don't make odds that high."
Reaching into my bag, and past the photos I printed earlier, I flick open my wallet and pull out my single, solitary, last $20. The room is silent as I hold it out to Jankowski.
"What's that?"
"I'm putting $20 down on me bringing Washington in, no fuss, no muss."
"Jesus, I can't take your money, Plum."
"Why not?"
His meaty hand comes up and rubs his neck. "There's no way you can bring him in by yourself. You'd have to survive the trip down Stark Street, where you don't have the best history. You'd have to get past his scouts. And then you'd have to get past his lieutenants. And if you get to the man himself, you'd have to get him out past all of them and get him down here. No way that happens. I might as well cart you to the coroner myself."
Laid out like that, it does sound pretty farfetched, but that's never stopped me before. I'm sure I'll regret this later, but I ask, "Then what have you got to lose? Think of all my past adventures and the things you can run side bets on. My car getting stolen or exploding. Random psychos dropping a body in front of me that has nothing to do with Washington. Exotic animals loose in Trenton. It's not like you guys haven't bet on this shit before. Could be fun."
The angel is slack jawed and shaking her head in stunned disbelief, while the devil is smiling and rubbing his hands in anticipation. I must be insane. Just because I don't like talking about my past exploits doesn't mean I'm above using them to my advantage. Call me an opportunist-in-training. Jankowski is back in thinking mode and the room is holding its breath. "Fine. New pool is open. 100 to 1 odds that Plum can bring Darius Washington in by her little lonesome. If she brings him in by noon tomorrow, she gets the entire pot, side bets included."
The murmuring turns into a ripple as Jankowski takes my money and pulls a small notebook from his back pocket. I have less than twenty-four hours to bring in a Start Street alpha-dog by myself. A few of the bolder cops are yelling out their bets, but my friends, like Carl and Big Dog, remain silent. I have no doubt that they're waiting until I leave before placing their bets. Joe looks close to stroking out. I stick around for a few more minutes, hearing the odds on the side bets of my car being destroyed, a Rangeman rescue, and more. Trying to run the numbers in my head hurts, but it sounds like if I can convince Washington to come with me before lunchtime tomorrow, I'll have a tidy pile of cash, courtesy of the Trenton PD.
Nodding to Jankowski, who's either looking at me with some newfound respect or heartburn (it's hard to tell), I figure I should get while the gettin's good. Joe grabs my arm and drags me to the side. "What the fuck are you thinking, Cupcake?"
"That I can do my job?"
"This is insane. You can't go after Darius Washington. You'll get killed!"
I shrug. "Then your heartburn problem will resolve itself, won't it?"
"I can't let you do this."
"You're not letting me do anything. Last I checked, I was a fully formed human with a brain."
"That's debatable."
Ah, yes. I didn't need a reminder that Joe was an ass, but there it is, anyway. "Walk away, Joe. Nothing I do is your concern anymore."
Walking back to my car, I realize I have a stop to make. Angel and devil know exactly where I'm headed, and devil is smirking while angel fans herself. Nailed it, angel, nailed it.
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The office on Haywood always has a zen feel. Stepping out of the elevator on the 5th floor, I greet the guys I know on my way to Ranger's office. The door is open, and I peek my head in. "Hey, you got a minute?"
"I've always got time for you, Babe. You know that."
I do. I know how busy he is, and yet he's never made me feel like I was another demand on his time. Budget, yes, and the "line item in the budget under entertainment" will always sting, but he always makes time for me. Always.
Coming into his office and closing the door behind me gets an eyebrow raise. Sadly, I'm not planning anything untoward, just hate the idea of being on display. Anytime I'm in Ranger's office, I swear there are guys milling around outside that don't need to be. As soon as I'm close enough to him, he snags my arm and pulls me into his lap for a very thorough kiss that leaves both of us panting and eyeing the door. His hand snakes up under my t-shirt and his fingers run along the lace of my bra.
"Isn't there a camera in here?"
"Disabled it as soon as Junior called to tell me you were pulling into the garage."
"That's good." Really good, as his hands start doing magical things that almost make me forget why I'm here and that I didn't lock the door. Almost. We stay entwined together, enjoying a couple minutes of time alone. I broke up with Joe, for good this time, a month ago. No one believes me about the 'for good' part, especially Joe. I'm not sure what Ranger thinks; we didn't discuss it before we slipped back into overnight visits. I'm letting myself enjoy the time with him with no expectations beyond lots of orgasms and some time between his amazing million-thread count sheets. He dropped a comment about his bed being lonely when I'm not there, but I'm not sure what to make of it. There's a huge difference between his bed being lonely and wanting something with me.
Ranger nuzzles the spot behind my ear. "You need something from me, Babe?"
"I need you to trust me."
To a casual observer, he has no reaction to that, but the hand on my hip tightened and there was a barely perceptible hitch in his breathing before it evened out. "I do. I thought you knew that."
I'm a little surprised by the hint of hurt in his voice, and realize I've approached this conversation from an awkward angle. Turning to straddle him, I cradle his face in my hands. "I know. But I need you to trust that I can bring a skip in."
One eyebrow goes up, the "Explain!" implied.
"This morning, I grabbed the file for Darius Washington."
"Babe."
Pretty sure that one means, what the hell were you thinking? but he says nothing else. "I think I can bring him in by myself."
His eyes narrow at that, but he continues to exercise his right to remain silent. "I need you to promise to let me go in by myself, not assign any men to follow me, or help me in any way."
And that's the end of the silence and he holds my hands in his. "Do you know who Darius Washington is? Do you have a plan? Are you dressed? Why do you need to do it alone? Are you in trouble? Why can't you take a partner with—"
In a complete role reversal, I lean forward and kiss him to get him to stop talking. By the time I back away, we're both breathing hard. He casts a resigned glance at the still unlocked door.
"Yes, I know who Darius is. Yes, on having a plan. I don't plan to go after him until early tomorrow morning, and I'll have my gun with me. As for the rest…" How do I explain that I let my pride write a check that I might not be able to cover?
"You know there's not been a lot of mid-level skips, right?"
At his nod, I marshal on. "I had two perfectly good captures today, but some asshole splashed me and a skip in the TPD parking lot, so of course I looked inept by the time we got in there. I can ignore the jokes, but today the betting got to me."
"What did you do?" It's kind of sad that he knows me well enough to know that my mouth ran away with me. I mean, my mother still thinks I can play the cello.
My cheeks are slightly pinked and, suddenly feeling more stupid than bold, my eyes drop to his neck. His pulse is even and steady, hypnotizing me. With a finger under my chin, he brings our eyes level. His face is neutral, but his eyes are warm. Blowing out a sigh, I figure I might as well spill it. "I bet the cop that holds the gambling book that I could bring Darius Washington in, by myself with no help from you or anyone else. He's giving 100 to 1 odds. If I can get him to the cop shop before noon tomorrow, I get the entire pot, even the random stupid bets that follow me around."
"And you agreed to this?"
The angel pops the top on a bottle of vodka and takes a healthy swig. "Yeah…sort of instigated it. And bet my last $20. I need you to trust me to do this."
I can tell the "Babe" is there on the tip of is tongue, but he holds back. "Have you thought out this plan? Because there's a lot of layers to get through to even get to Darius."
I nod my head but it's not enough. Both the angel and the devil seem to be in agreement for once. The devil does an "and…" arm motion. Fine. I'll spill. "When I saw his picture in the file, my Spidey-sense went off. Reading the report reminded me of something so I double checked."
"And…" Ranger doesn't make the hand motion, but he does place his hands under my butt cheeks to pull me closer. From there, I lay out my story about Tommy Leggati, the diner, and the pie. Ranger's lip quirks up and his eyes go dark at the mention of pie. "So, what's the plan, Babe?"
"I get him to talk to me and I make a deal. I give him a copy of the photo that shows his clothes, but not his face to show I have something. Then I make him a deal, my easy capture for his alibi. From what I understand that's about all the detective has on him."
Ranger tucks a curl behind my ear. "That's very mercenary of you."
"My mentor taught me that it's all about applying pressure."
When he throws his head back and laughs, I lean forward and ghost kisses from his collar up to his chin. The laughter stops and a low purring sound rumbles from his chest. From his chin, I move over to his ear and whisper, "Are you interested in making a deal?"
His hand tunnels into my hair, and a gentle tug brings us lip to lip again. "What did you have in mind?"
After a couple nibbles on his lower lip, I go for blunt honesty. "There's no reason to pretend we don't know how this will go. You'll try and talk me out of it or go behind my back to make sure I'm safe, and then I'll get mad and do it anyway, or do something to make it more complicated or dangerous. So, here's my deal. You trust me to go by myself and take my shot. In exchange, I'll carry my gun on my hip, a panic button in my pocket, and wear a wire. I harbor no illusions that you'll have spies watching. Fine, just don't let them intercede unless I use a code word. You'll be able to hear everything and have some control. I'm just asking you to trust me."
Me, the angel, and the devil are all holding our breath. Seconds tick by while Ranger holds my gaze, judging my sincerity. I can't even blame him for that. Finally, he leans forward and delivers a kiss hot enough to ruin my panties and make me want to say the hell with the unlocked door. His eyes are filled with warmth when I pull back. "Ok, Babe. We'll do this your way."
A warm blanket settles over my heart as I fuse our lips together again. Ranger reluctantly pulls back with a sigh. "I have a meeting in half an hour. That's not nearly enough time for what I want to do."
The kiss I place at the corner of his mouth brings a small smile to his face that falls away when I whisper, "Don't discount what I could do with 30 minutes."
"Babe!" comes out on a groan as he drops his head on my shoulder. I have no idea what's gotten into me today, but I'm kind of liking it. Both angel and devil are giving me the thumbs up as I twine my fingers in Ranger's hair and give it a tug to find his mouth again. Sooner than I'd like, he pulls away and effortlessly lifts me off his lap to set me on the desk. His voice is gruff and holds a hint of warning. "Kiss me like that again, and I'm going to miss my meeting and every man on this floor is going to know what we're doing in here."
Running a finger down his abs, I shrug. "They already think they know what we're doing in here."
"You're killing me, Babe."
"How about another deal, then. I'll go lock the door and then come back over and deal with this." My fingers slide up and down the obvious bulge in his pants while he hisses in pleasure. "Then tonight, you can repay the favor."
He hesitates long enough that I figure his control will hold, but instead he steps back just enough to let me up. "Fuck. Make sure it's locked, then get your ass back over here. But Babe, paybacks are a bitch."
The lock clicking into place is loud in the room. "I'm counting on it."
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Ranger's alarm rings way too early the next day and I'd love nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep. After I left him slumped in his office chair trying to compose himself in time for his meeting, I kept my word and collected a wire and panic button from Hector down on the third floor. He'll never admit it, but I know he was silently following me as I did some poking and surveillance down near Stark. I have a decent idea of where to start looking for Darius this morning, providing I can find the energy to get out of bed.
"Babe." It really is an all-purpose word. This morning it means we need to get up. I notice that he's not moving yet, though. He was already up here on seven when I got back with another bag of clothes and my gun. His eyes got dark when I set it on the breakfast bar and thirty seconds later, my naked ass was on the counter next to it, clutching Ranger's hair while he did, indeed, return the favor. From there I was thrown over his shoulder and dropped onto his heavenly sheets for an even more thorough demonstration of his idea of payback. I'm definitely a fan. Other than to refuel and take a middle of the night shower, we never left the bed. Helluva way to spend a night, but we're paying for it now. Pretty sure both angel and devil are comatose at this point.
With a groan, I wiggle my boneless and pleasantly sore body to the edge of the bed before staggering to the bathroom. While the shower heats up, I reluctantly take a peek at the mirror and stifle a scream. My hair is big enough to qualify for its own zip code. While I'm assessing the love bites on my breasts and hips, Ranger and all his glorious nakedness appear behind me in the mirror. I'm too tired to bother trying to cover myself and we stand there with Ranger's arms wrapped around my waist and his chin resting on my head. It's a nice moment that neither of us feels the need to spoil and after a bit we both smile at each other in the mirror before he leads me to the shower.
It's only because I want to hit Stark when it's quiet and try to get an audience with Washington that I'm up this early. Scraping my hair back into a braid helps hide the wildness. Jeans, boots and a black silk button down stolen from Ranger's side of the closet are my uniform for the day. As I'm buttoning up the shirt, I study the closet, a little shocked to realize he actually does have a side, and so do I. Maybe we're closer to the something than I thought.
At the table, he takes in my outfit but doesn't say anything. Instead, he pushes a plate with eggs and toast toward me. At my face, he uses his foot to push out the chair. "Eat. Please."
After I sit, a cup of coffee appears next to my plate. It's already perfectly doctored with cream and sugar, making me smile. I still have the wire and panic button from yesterday, so I just need to head down to the battle zone. "What's on your agenda for today?"
"The core team is meeting at Sunrise Café."
The fork pauses halfway to my mouth. "That's a cop hangout."
Ranger's face is neutral. "Is it? I heard they make a mean omelet. And if our meeting gets noticed and reported, then all the better."
After I'm done eating, Ranger tugs my hand to pull me into his lap. He fingers a couple of the buttons on the shirt. "You look good in my shirt."
"I thought it would be easier for the wire." Looking at him, I step out of my comfort zone. "And if I couldn't have you next to me then at least I have something of you surrounding me." It's stupid, but it gave me a little extra courage this morning.
His arms get a little tighter around me and we sit in silence until he asks, "Need any help with the wire?"
Ten minutes and some hanky panky later, I'm ready to go. Ranger leaves first with a receiver tucked in his ear so he can listen in to what's probably going to be a shit show. The drive to Stark Street is quick this early in the morning and I park down the block from what I think will be a good place to start. While doing some deep breathing to shore up my nerves, I spy at least three patrol officers circling more often than they normally do. The angel is pacing and cracking knuckles, but the devil is standing with hands on his hips in a superhero stance. Yeah, ok. We got this.
I've barely gotten the car door closed behind me when several men step out of doorways. None outright approach me, and I've never been more thankful for being under Ranger's protection as I am right now. When I'm close enough to the building I've targeted as a likely place for Washington to be, one of the men on the street approaches me. "Not a good place for a nice-looking girl like you to be alone."
It's clearly a warning. "Agreed. I'd just like to have a word with Mr. Washington."
The other men laugh but the sentry is assessing me. It's unlikely that he doesn't know who I am or what I do, thanks to Vinnie's billboards and Lula and my escapades down here. "What makes you think he'll want to talk to you?"
"Tell him that in the debate between cherry and apple, you should always go with apple pie and freedom. He'll figure it out. And really, it's in his best interest to talk to me."
I hope to hell I sound more confident than I feel. He makes some sort of hand signal to the other men, and they move, surrounding me while the sentry disappears inside. An uncomfortably long ten minutes later, he returns with another man. The guys surrounding me all straighten up, making me wonder if I'm looking at one of the lieutenants. He gives me a thorough once-over, eyes stopping on my gun in plain sight.
"I'm gonna need to take your piece."
I'm not that stupid, and Ranger would kill me if I handed it over. "No. I'm not here for trouble, I just have a business proposition for Mr. Washington that will benefit us both."
He pulls a phone out of the pocket of his shirt, and I can see that the line is open. He talks with whoever is on the other end; well, he answers yes or no to a bunch of questions before closing out the call and sweeping an arm toward the door. Angel is hyperventilating and devil looks a little pale, too. After two steps, I stop and turn, thinking about the betting pool. Looking at the first sentry, I tell him, "It would be best for everyone if my car is still here and in the same condition when I return." Let him think it's a threat from Ranger.
I follow my guide through a warren of dark hallways and up and down a few sets of stairs. If he's trying to confuse me, he's mostly successful. We finally arrive at a closed door, and he knocks twice before entering. My bravado is starting to wane, but I need to see this through. The knowledge that Ranger is listening and probably has some sort of plan keeps me upright and trudging forward.
"That's far enough Ms. Plum."
The voice comes from the kitchen area of the apartment we're in, and Darius Washington steps into the light, carrying a plate of delicious looking Danishes. "Marcus, grab the coffee."
My guide, Marcus, disappears. Darius takes a seat at a well-worn table that would be at home in a 1950's sitcom. When Marcus returns with a coffee pot and two mismatched mugs, Darius motions me to sit across from him. Thank God, my knees were starting to shake and that's not exactly badass.
Darius hands me a plate and waves his hand toward the offerings. Taking one to be polite, I sit back and wait for him to grab his own food. Once he's situated, his stony gaze settles on me. "You think you're here to take me in?"
"I am here to take you in."
Darius and Marucs both laugh deep from the belly. When they've got it out of their system, Darius takes a bite of Danish and looks at me. "There's no way you can get me out of here and back to jail."
"I know."
"And yet you're here." I can't tell if the inflection in his voice is merriment or disbelief.
"I am. I'm here to make a deal with you and you're going to let me take you in."
He takes a sip of his coffee. "And why would I do that?"
"On April 17th, you were at Mama's Diner. You were wearing blue jeans with a hole in the right knee and a Mets jersey. You were meeting with a young man wearing an NYU hoodie and got up to use the bathroom. You debated with yourself about cherry or apple pie and finally chose the cherry. You were still there after 8pm."
Darius has sat back in his chair. His gaze is neither friendly nor unfriendly. "You were there."
"I didn't know it until I opened your file today and couldn't shake the idea that I knew you from somewhere."
"You being able to describe my clothes doesn't really help me, Ms. Plum."
Moving slowly, I ask, "Can I get something out of my pocket?"
Marcus is moving forward, hand settled on the gun that's probably at his back even as Darius is nodding. Pulling out the photo, I pass it across the table. Darius grabs it, giving me a raised eyebrow. Jesus, can everyone but me do that? Angel and devil both raise an eyebrow. Great. My imaginary friends are mocking me.
"You have photos?"
"I was tailing another skip and followed him to Mama's. I set the camera up and took a burst of photos with the timer, trying to get one of the woman my skip was meeting in case I lost him that night."
Darius looks at the photo again. "It's a nice try, I'll give you that. But my face doesn't show and therefore doesn't help me."
"It's not my only photo."
After another sip of coffee Darius calmly points out, "I could just kill you and take the photos."
I swallow, angel faints and devil looks pissed. I imagine that Ranger is wearing a similar expression a few miles away. "You could, but you won't. That's not who you are."
"You think you know me, Ms. Plum?"
"No, but maybe I know someone like you. You might stand in the grey area, but you're smart, otherwise you wouldn't be where you are. I have no proof, just my gut and what I can see, but I think you were at that diner, far away from here, to meet family where they'd be safe. You take care of the people you care about. You were willing to hear me out and haven't thrown me out yet."
"Doesn't mean I won't."
If I'm not mistaken, there's a hint of smile trying to peek through. "Fair enough."
"You came here alone. I could disappear you with little effort."
Man, I could really use a Danish or two to calm my nerves. It's taking some real effort to not reach over and grab one. "You're smarter than that. The entire PD knows I have your file and three patrol officers saw me park down the block. At least one was still paying attention when Marcus here showed me inside. It might come as a shock, but people actually like me and would cause a fuss if I disappear." The last part comes out with a shrug and a self-deprecating smile that earns me a matching smirk from Darius.
"What's in this for you, beyond the obvious bank you'll make for taking me in? You tryin' to use me to make a name for yourself?"
That gets a laugh out of me that startles Darius, Marcus, and even devil. "I've already made a name for myself around town. Unfortunately, it comes with low expectations."
"And you think taking me in will fix that."
"No, but it will potentially bankrupt the betting pool on me at the station. Sometimes you take the little victories and run with them."
Darius chews on that before picking up the photo again. "You have other photos that actually prove my alibi?" At my nod, he sets the photo down and starts drumming his fingers on the table. "You said you wanted to offer a deal. How do you see this shaking out?"
Oh, thank God he's considering it. "We walk out of here and you ride with me to the station and get rebonded. Your lawyer meets us there. As soon as I have my body receipt, we all meet with the detective on the case. On camera, I'll hand over the three photos that are date and time stamped, the original SD card, and a signed witness statement. Then you get the charges dropped, because you can't be in two places at once. Win-win for both of us with little effort."
He's quiet, working the angles. I know he's reached a decision when he pushes back from the table. "All right, Bounty Hunter, do your thing."
I have cuffs in my pocket, but I'm reluctant to pull them out. "Are you going to run from me?"
"Only if someone starts shooting at us. Marcus, call Jason and have him meet me there." I'm going to pretend the shooting thing's a joke. Darius and I follow Marcus back through the building to the front where the sentries snap to attention and surround us as we walk my car, which looks untouched. Darius looks at it, then at me before shaking his head. Once we're locked inside, he looks around and shakes his head again. "I would have thought Manoso would have you in a sweeter ride."
"It's not for a lack of trying. I'm just really hard on cars."
That gets me a good laugh before he straightens up. "I can see why he likes you."
"I am amusing."
"Fuck amusing. Man like Manoso don't offer an umbrella for amusement. He's protecting his interest. You ain't in it for the money train, and he knows it."
While mulling that over, I spy at least one police cruiser following me back to home base. We get to the station with no problems and have a reception committee. A very quiet reception committee. The entire intake area is filled with cops, and none of them have a single thing to say. A glance at my watch verifies that it's barely 8am and I've made it here, with Darius, with plenty of time to spare.
Leading him over to the bench, I have to prod the desk sergeant into filling out my paperwork. Once my body receipt is in hand and then carefully folded in my pocket, I start looking around for Jankowski. He's off on the side, surrounded by grumbling cops. I approach with my hand out. "Darius Washington, present and accounted for, well before noon and captured by me and only me. Do I collect my winnings from you?"
"Hold up, Plum. How do we know you didn't have help?"
"Because I can't take a shit in this town without someone reporting the details?"
My sarcasm is not appreciated; a few of the patrol officers start grumbling about the bet being fixed, and a detective from Vice suggests that someone passed Washington off to me outside. I let it go for a few more minutes, but it's clear that Jankowski doesn't want to pay out the pot.
"Freaking unbelievable! You stood there in the squad room and came up with the odds and rules, took bets and recorded them in your little book, and now that stupid Stephanie did what she said she would do, you're welching. You're all a bunch of welchers. Can you even trust each other out in the field? I'm thinking not, since you don't seem to care about keeping your word. I bet the citizens of Trenton really sleep easier at night knowing a bunch of punk welchers have their back."
They're all looking anywhere but at me or each other. I don't care if I'm causing a scene; they made the bet and would have honored it if it was one of them winning. Finally, Jankowski sighs and nudges Stancliff from Traffic. "Pay her the pot."
Stancliff blanches. "There's over two grand in there!"
Jankowski looks a little sick. "And we lost on our own gamble. You had guys down on Stark and there was no one else around when she went in or walked him out, and he's here before lunch. Give her the cash."
Slapping a thick envelope in my hand, Stancliff grumbles. "That pretty much wipes out even the reserve."
Cash in hand, I move back over to a smirking Darius and ask the desk sergeant, "Who's the detective in charge of the Melvin Granger investigation?"
He and Darius say, "Detective Pike" at the same time and with about the same hostility.
"Can you call him, please? I have evidence in his case."
"No need."
I turn to Darius just as he yells, "Yo, Pike!"
One of the men standing that was part of our silent reception grimaces and walks over. He looks at Darius with contempt but offers a hand to me. "Detective Pike. What can I do for you?"
"I have evidence that proves Darius Washington couldn't have shot Melvin Granger."
"What kind of evidence? You going to pull another rabbit out of your hat?"
"The kind I'll turn over after his lawyer gets here."
Pike is less than thrilled with that, asking when said lawyer was supposed to arrive. We're in a tense triangle of silence when Darius motions to a pissy looking man in a suit that just came in. "That your lawyer?" After Darius nods, Pike barks at the sergeant to keep an eye on Darius while he gets an interrogation room set up.
I stifle a small laugh. "Your lawyer doesn't look happy with you."
"Yeah. He's not my favorite person, mostly because he married my sister, but today I think he's going to be worth every penny."
That gets another small laugh out of me as the suit stops in front of the intake bench where we're sitting. "Darius. One of these days, your luck is going to run out."
"But not today, Jason. I told you I didn't off Granger, and Ms. Plum is the bounty hunter that hauled me in and just handed over photographs that prove that I was where I said I was."
Brother-in-law Jason turns his attention my way. "And you're just now turning the evidence in?"
My startled "hey" is cut off by Darius's "back off!"
"I didn't know what I had until I opened his FTA file and read the details. I have printed out copies that are date stamped, plus this." I pull the SD card out of my front pocket. "You'll be able to prove they're legit if they press the issue."
Jason looks between the SD card in his hand and me. "I'm not used to people being helpful. You really hauled him in and then cleared him?"
I shrug. "I'm good at multitasking."
Darius laughs. "For a bounty hunter, you're ok people."
All I can do is shrug at that.
"Seriously, Plum. I owe you for this. You need to scoop up one of my guys, give me a heads up and I'll make sure they're waiting for you and won't give you any fuss. Any time you need to come down to Stark, you're protected."
"Yeah, yeah. Manoso's woman."
He shakes his head. "No. I do my best to not get crosswise with Manoso and his men, but this one's all you. Not many people would have followed through and plunked down the evidence to spring me. Pike was chomping at the bit to throw my ass in jail and now he's having a very bad day, and that makes me very happy. You're protected because tonight I'm going to go home to my baby girl and not taking a trip to prison."
I can live with that, even though it never occurred to me to not turn the evidence over once I knew I had it. It was just a happy bonus that I got something extra out of it.
"Jason, give Miss Plum one of your business cards and write my number down on the back. She just handed me a literal get out of jail free card when she didn't have to."
Jason does what he's told, and Darius hands it to me. "Hang on to that. I owe you."
Darius and I share one last smile and I back away with the intention of heading out. Within five steps I know it's not happening without a fight. Joe is standing by the door to the intake area, and he doesn't look happy. He meets me halfway. "Stephanie, a word in my office?"
"No."
As usual, he ignores me and reaches out to grab my arm but gives me a pissy look when I move faster than him. We're in the middle of a standoff, and I don't need to look around to know that we're drawing a crowd, waiting for the next Plum-Morelli screaming match. The look he's giving my shirt…Ranger's shirt…tells me he knows exactly where I got it and he's not happy about it. Too bad. Instead of heading down the hall to his office, I move to a spot by the door and wait for him. He finally stomps over to me, unhappy that I'm not doing his bidding or letting him put his arm around me.
"Cupcake, you know the betting and joking were done in fun. It didn't mean anything."
"Today it means I'm $2,000 richer."
It makes me a little warm and giddy to know that not only is that true, but I also bankrupted the station betting pot. And that's before the hefty fee I'll pick up when I turn my body receipt in, Joe looks like he sucked on a lemon and then stepped in dog shit. Not gonna lie. That makes me smile, too.
"Anything else, Joe?"
With that, his eyes go soft, and I know what's coming next. "How about you come over tonight for some pizza. The boys missed you—"
"I don't miss them. We broke up, permanently, because you don't support me and think I'm here for your entertainment. Doesn't look like that has changed any. Now move. I have more open files to collect."
His face twists into a scowl. "Crawling back to Manoso's bed? I know he helped you bring in Washington."
"I saw Martinez patrolling down on Stark. I know he saw me enter the building at Pennington without any Rangemen around, and he was still there when I walked Darius out to my car. Pretty sure he followed me back here to the station. Just me. I brought you in on my own, so why is it so hard to believe I could capture someone else without help?"
He doesn't like being reminded about his time as an FTA and it shows. "But you were with Manoso last night."
"Yep."
His eyebrows shoot up at the fact that I don't offer up any sort of explanation. "Jesus, Stephanie. What's gotten into you?"
It's on the tip of my tongue to say, "Ranger" but that will only escalate the situation. The devil snickers but I just shrug. "A backbone?"
He moves to reach for me, but I bat his hand away. His cop face falls into place. "Don't get so far out on a limb that it can't hold your weight. Manoso's just playing with you."
"Joe…fuck off."
The only thing that saves me from an Italian Stallion screaming fit is the fact we're in the middle of the station and he doesn't want to make a bigger scene than we already have. Whatever. He'll figure out sooner or later that I wasn't joking about being done. He steps to the side, and I waste no time heading for the door again.
Dropping my sunglasses in place while pushing the door open with my hip, I'm greeted with the sight of Ranger leaning against my car. It's a happy vision, and one that never fails to cause a hitch in my breathing and a zing to my heart. He trusted me today, trusted that I had a plan and the skills to play it out. That causes an entirely different kind of zing to my heart.
When I'm close enough, he pulls me to him and tucks a wayward curl that escaped my braid behind my ear. "Proud of you, Babe. Brought in Big D, shut down the betting pool, and made a new friend."
"I'm proud of me, too. I seem to have come into some money…can I buy you lunch? I think I can afford one of your fancy salads now.
"Do I get dessert?"
"Maybe. I also want to pick your brain."
"On?"
"I'm thinking I might want to change my address to an apartment that's a little safer and less well-known."
The wolf grin that settles on his face has me considering a step back. "I know a place."
"Can I afford this place?"
"Babe."
That's not really an answer. Well, it is, and it isn't. And it's not exactly clear. "Come on. We can't have you wasting away into nothing. I have plans for you later." The smile I get is less predatory and more indulgent as he leads me over to the 911. I guess it wouldn't hurt to hear him out and see what he's thinking. If I don't like his offer, well, now at least I have options and my last $20 bill is no longer lonely.
"I could go for some pie." Ranger's phone dings with a text message and he smirks. "Wire's still live, Babe."
"I know." Turning my back to the window for more privacy, I undo my buttons. Reaching inside my stolen shirt, I have Ranger's full attention and his breathing is a little erratic. I'm deliberately slow in pulling out the wire and turning it off and putting it in the glovebox. The angel on my shoulder is blushing and tittering behind one hand, the devil's doing fist pump across the way.
I knew the wire was still transmitting when Joe tried to corner me. I wanted Ranger to hear me cut Joe off and tell him where to go. I'm done with Joe and my success today is making me bold. "These deals seem to be working out for me lately; it makes me wonder what other deals I should be looking at."
Ranger's gaze lifts from my still open shirt to meet my eyes. "Babe."
"Either you meant it when you talked about sharing closet space with me, or you didn't. Maybe you should figure out which things you were serious about, and then we can go from there."
Settling forward and rebuttoning my shirt while ignoring him, I muse that Ranger's been right all along. Getting someone to do what you want is all about applying the right pressure. Based on the way he takes my hand and kisses it, I'm not doing too bad at it.
