The Concert
.
Previously on The Concert: The meeting today involved myself, the two federal agents, Tank, Antonio and Vince. Agent Smith steps up to me and growls, "You're going to let your girlfriend get involved with this job, Colonel?"
I say, "Ms Plum is a colleague, a bond enforcement agent."
Smith chokes out, "I'm just saying...the girl's presence could change the dynamics of the job. Your mind should be focused on the terrorists, on protecting the President, maybe peripherally on the security of the concert. And now you'll be helping this woman pick up a fugitive? You are only one man, Manoso. Not Superman."
Chapter 3: A Change in Direction
.
Ranger
Tank got up and escorted Agents "Smith" and "Jones"out through the back door. Anthony leaned waaay back in his chair, hands folded behind his head, elbows out. Hole in the sleeve of his faded vintage Rip Curl tee shirt.
Silence.
He recrosses his feet on my six-figure conference table and I study the scuffed soles of his old Reef flipflops.
Finally I say, "Man, is that a beer can opener on the bottom of your shoe?"
My semi-brother, my stealth brother, bends his right foot back towards himself, takes off the sandal, peers at the bottom. Now I am treated to a view of his grubby foot and tattooed ankle, though I swear the guy must get pedicures, look at those nice neat toenails.
Anthony looks up at me from the flipflop and says, "Dude. It's built-in. Efficient. It's like for, you know...long necks. Beer, man. Cerveza?"
"Uh huh."
"Ingenious."
"Uh huh."
Anthony digs in his board shorts pocket, produces a stubby white plastic comb on a small tether. He says, "And look, is this not awesome? My shorts have, like a board-wax comb built in. I totally have it all, bro."
Or not, I think.
He drops the sandal on the carpeted floor and sits up, his foot rummaging around until he gets the flipflop back on. The whole time he stares at me in silence. Considering. Mood turning darker.
I cave. "What?"
"Dunno, man. Isn't this kind of a change in, like, direction for you?"
"What do you mean? I still take domestic guard jobs. Or Ranger Manoso does."
"I meant the girl."
"What girl?"
"Oh, man..."
"Stephanie?"
"Yes. Stephanie Michelle Plum, girlfriend to local cop, wannabee bounty hunter. Hot chick. That girl."
"She's not with the cop anymore."
"It's been two, three fuckin' years and she's not with you either, dude, what's with that?"
?
"Point is that fed might actually have a point here. Won't having her on-scene, trying to make an arrest, complicate things unduly?"
"Maybe. But if I told her "no" she'd just follow up without me and be even more likely to cause trouble for everyone involved."
"Trouble. And this is the little cutie you got the hots for? Little Miss Trouble? From Jersey? Are you out of your fucking mind?" he says calmly.
I stare. My feelings for—interest in—Stephanie Plum are not up for open discussion. I keep hoping cool and steady will win the race. Or the girl. Whatever.
I think, Subject closed.
But still.
You don't know her, don't judge her.
You're in fucking love with her, man.
I know, shut up. I block my mind hard and Anthony shrugs.
He says, "Door number two: why go after this bomber dude at a concert? Why not just take him out some morning when he goes into his garage to the car on the way to work? Or slip into the house at night, gggggrk"—he makes a casual slashing of the throat gesture—"end of issue. Job complete, send cash."
"Obviously there are some politics involved."
"Like—a publicity op?" says the man who never in his twenty-six/seven/eight (he lies) years wanted publicity. Skeptical, disapproving.
"Yeah."
"Sucks to be you, Rangeman."
... ... ... ...
.
Stephanie
the next day, Pino's
I handed over twenty hard-earned dollars and picked up the greasy white bag holding two meatball subs and a double order of chili-cheese fries. Stuffed the change into my jeans pocket and bumped hard into a familiar chest.
"Morelli."
"Cupcake."
Joe leaned down to kiss me but I turned my head away quickly and his lips just brushed my cheek. He said, "Got a minute?"
I held up my bag of food. "Lula's waiting for me. Lunch."
"Two minutes. It's important."
I blew out a sigh. Morelli always thinks he's important. Joe and I broke up months ago, but he still thinks he's the man, go figure. I nodded but warned him, "If you try any of that the boys miss you shit, I'm outta here, Joe. And don't even think about playing the Bob card, I stopped by your house and walked him an hour ago."
"How'd it go?"
"Well, he did. Go, I mean. Then he ate Mrs. Lucchese's hydrangeas, gonna be barfing blue stuff tonight." I hid my glee, I hoped.
"Sit for a sec." We sat and he asked Maria-Teresa for two cokes.
"Talk, Joe. I'm busy. And Lula's hungry."
He grimaced, doesn't much care for Lula—but got down to business. "I hear Rangeman is running security for Juniak's fundraiser, the show at the new Meadowlands Arena."
"We're doing event security for the benefit." Joe frowned. He also doesn't like me to identify too closely with Rangeman or its owner, he thinks it's just a little part-time hobby. Safer than bond enforcement, but not as good as barefoot and pregnant in his, Morelli's, kitchen. But I like a steady paycheck, and while Ranger makes me wear black clothes, he does NOT make me wear pantyhose. And I enjoy the companionship of a bunch of very hot men.
Joe shook off his annoyance, said, "I'm working a joint undercover job with ATF; I need a cover, I need a way in. A ruse."
"Buy a ticket? I'm sure Joe Juniak would appreciate your support."
"No way, two hundred bucks just to sit in the Siberia seats, five-hundred for floor-level. I figure Ranger can get me in, get me backstage or a VIP pass."
Hearing my own motives coming from Morelli's mouth made me squirm a little. I had asked for Ranger's help with Sally's pick-up mostly because I too wanted a free pass into the show. And I had the idea that, with Sally was so star-struck by his new band pals, he might not want little old me to haul him off in handcuffs after the show. But being arrested by Ranger, oh wow, Sally would—in his very own words, think that was fucking awesome. A win-win thing, plus a job with Ranger, what more could a Jersey girl want or need?
"Cupcake? Stephanie?"
I redirected my attention to Morelli and calmly said, "Rangeman turned down the performers' private protection contract, he doesn't have enough guys right now, a lot of his men are deployed in, um—uh."
Well, I never ever thought I'd use the Merry Men's 'uh' ploy.But Ranger has moved his company more and more into the PMC-private military contractor- arena. And it was so classified, sometimes I wondered if even Ranger knew where his men were stationed.
"Rangeman is supplying bodyguards for Juniak and his wife, his chief of staff—Ranger still takes a few bodyguarding contracts. Tell me more what you need…?"
Joe explained in as little detail as he possibly could.
I cut him off after a moment, so annoying. He's asking me—and Ranger—for a favor, then he waffles about the intell? I said, "I'm sure Ranger can get you in, provide a cover story."
"Yeah, the big man. He could get us in to see the friggin' President, probably, right?" Joe was sarcastic.
From behind him a neutral voice said, "Do you really want to meet the President? I can't see how he'd add anything to this op. And logistically his presence would be a nightmare."
Joe jumped a little, cheekbones went pink, eyes went dark and beady. He craned his head around to look at Ranger. "It was a figure of speech, Manoso."
"Uh huh."
tbc