A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who wrote a review. I appreciate the feedback. I have the entire story in my head and without giving too much away, I just want to say: Babe fans, hang in there.
Chapter 2
It was 4:00 am on a Sunday morning, so I promptly fell back asleep. When I woke up again it was 10:00 and I was more ready to face the day. The previous night's events came flooding back to me. Morelli had proposed and I didn't give him a yes or no answer. I had slept with Ranger who may not make it back to wherever he's going. My stomach turned.
Deciding that I didn't want to think about either outcome, I took a quick shower, and got in my Ford Escape. I figured I would get out of Trenton and look for Cruise Mendez, the drug trafficking skip in Newark.
The address in his file had him listed in a neighborhood close to the one that Ranger grew up in. It was lower-middle class and Latino. Cruise lived in apartment 320 in an old building on a busy road. I found parking on the street beside a Catholic church and made my way up to the third floor. I knocked on his door. No answer. No surprise. He was probably off making drug deals.
I knocked on his neighbors' doors. Either they weren't home or they didn't know Cruise. I left the apartment building and went to the neighboring businesses. I walked into the laundromat and showed the lady behind the counter a picture of Cruise.
"Have you seen this man," I asked.
"No hablo Inglés," she said.
I didn't know Spanish, but I think she said no. I went into the hardware store, the pharmacy, and the convenience store. No one had seen Cruise, or at least admitted to it. I left my business cards and asked them to call me if they saw him. I bought a couple of tastycakes and a bottle of Coke and headed back to my car.
A lot about being a bounty hunter is sitting and waiting. Ranger calls this a stakeout. I call it purgatory. Not quite hell, but pretty damn close. I watched the street. I ate my snacks. I drank my coke. I reorganized my shoulder bag. I played Candy Crush. The afternoon stretched on.
For lack of something better to do, I read Nicholas Jones' file. He was 37 years old and had sandy brown hair and blue eyes. He was arrested for forging savings bonds and cashing them in. I thought that was a pretty smart way to make money, you know, if it wasn't illegal. Sure beats sitting in a car.
Just as I was ready to call it a day and head back to Trenton, Cruise Mendez walked across the street right in front of my car and up the steps to the church. I grabbed my shoulder bag, locked my car, and followed him into the church.
Sunday mass was over but there were a few stragglers sitting on the pews. I didn't see Cruise right away so I sat down on the last pew. I looked up to the front of the church and said a quick prayer for Ranger, and one for forgiveness for the previous night's activities. I figured I looked a little suspicious, so I made my way over to the candles.
I was lighting a candle to guard over Ranger when a middle-aged Latino woman lit two candles beside mine.
"May God take care of our loved ones when it is out of our hands to do so," she said. She said a quiet prayer in Spanish and left.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Cruise leave the confessional booth and walk out of the church. I followed him, but by the time I got out to the street, he was long gone.
I cursed myself. If I had waited in the car I would have been able to take him down. Stupid Stephanie is impatient. Just then, Smart Stephanie piped up. Why was Cruise in confession when there wasn't a priest on the other side?
I re-entered the church and sat down in the confessional booth. I looked around for clues. Just then, the sound of a priest entering the other side startled me. My shoulder bag dropped off my lap and onto the floor with a thud. No sense in pretending I wasn't here. The priest said something in Spanish. I reached down to pick up my bag off the floor and noticed a bag filled with white powder was taped to the underside of the bench.
"Holy shit!" I exclaimed. There must be a kilo of cocaine there.
"Perhaps you prefer English," said the priest.
I closed my eyes. I was caught red-handed in a confessional booth swearing with a big bag of drugs. My Catholic upbringing kicked in.
"Forgive me father for I have sinned," I said.
"You have taken the Lord's name in vain," said the priest. "Please recite Hail Mary."
As I did my Hail Mary, I was prying the bag of cocaine off the bottom of the bench. I shoved it into my shoulder bag. I was thinking about leaving when the priest spoke again.
"What is your real problem, child?"
I almost snorted. I have so many problems I can't keep track of them. I'm in my thirties with a crap job and no sense of where my future will go. I live paycheck to paycheck. My cars blow themselves up, I'm an attractant for stalkers, I've been kidnapped more times that I can count, I chase after dangerous criminals, and I can't seem to pull off the wavy beach hair look.
"And I'm in love with two men," I accidently spoke aloud.
"Are you married?" said the priest.
"No," I said. At least, not yet. I shuddered.
"Are both men good?" he asked.
"Yes," I admitted. Both Ranger and Morelli were good men.
"The bible does not give much direction in these matters," said the priest. "But conventional wisdom says to choose the one you cannot live without."
Technically I would be dead if it weren't for Ranger. He's saved my life more than I cared to admit. He jumped off a bridge into the Delaware River to rescue me. He says he doesn't do relationships, but thinks about marrying me. He's confusing.
And Morelli…I don't even know if I can co-exist in the same house as him. We fight, we make up, we eat the same greasy food. He's fun and I always know where I stand with him. I realized that I'm no further along in making up my mind.
"Please miss," said the priest, "could you leave so the others can confess."
I packed up my shoulder bag and cocaine and drove back to Trenton. My phone rang as I was just on the outskirts of the Burg. It was my mother.
"Hello Stephanie," she said. "Grandma said you were picking her up tonight. Come early and have some dinner. I made pot roast and pineapple upside-down cake."
I figured I needed some comfort food, so I arrived at my parents' house just before six. My grandma met me on the front porch.
"I have some juicy news," Grandma said. "Come on inside."
I entered the house and the warm aromas of a home-cooked meal flooded my nose.
"This is my boyfriend, William," said Grandma, introducing me to a tall and surprisingly normal-looking man in his 70s. "We met yesterday at the senior's centre. He caught me cheating at playing crib and we hit it off right away."
I shook his hand. "Hello," I said.
"Nice to meet you," William said, "I'm finally shaking the hand of the bounty hunter Edna keeps telling me about."
"It wasn't my fault," I automatically replied.
My mother came out of the kitchen, carrying the pot roast. "Everyone sit down, dinner is ready."
Dad was already sitting down at the dinner table salivating. The rest of us sat down.
"Before we start," Grandma said. "I have some news."
"Can't this wait?" said Dad while serving himself some meat.
"I'm getting married!" proclaimed Grandma. William took her hand and kissed her on the cheek.
There was silence for a beat.
"Could someone pass the mashed potatoes?" said Dad.
Once my mother realized there was not talking Grandma out of it, the rest of dinner was spent working out the details of the wedding. It helped that my dad wanted Grandma out of the house as soon as possible.
We drove to Sitva's funeral parlor. I dropped Grandma and William off near the front doors and found parking two blocks down. When I made it back the place was packed with people, mixed with the smell of carnations and body odor. I'm not a huge fan of funerals, but I know from experience that they're a good source of information when I'm tracking down skips. And the cookies are pretty good too.
Tonight, all three viewing rooms were occupied. Judging by the amount of people with designer outfits and plastic surgery, a wealthy resident was in slumber room 1. Someone from the Knights of Columbus was in room 2 and Ivy Swathmary was laid out in room 3.
Coming out of room 3, Grandma said to me, "Ivy really did have one blue eye and one brown eye. I managed to get her eyes open and poked around to make sure she wasn't wearing contacts." I choked on my cookie. I may do a lot of stupid things, but I draw the line at poking dead people's eyes.
I looked around for a glass of water to wash down my cookie and spotted Nicholas Jones animatedly talking to a particularly rich-looking couple. I tried making my way through the crowd.
"You should definitely switch your investments to equity funds," Nicholas' voice carried through the crowd, "Let me give you my card."
Nicholas was moving away from the couple. The crowd was too thick. I tried pushing but one of the Knights of Columbus elbowed me back.
"Watch it girly," he warned.
I was too late. Nicholas had disappeared into the crowd. I approached the elderly couple he was talking to.
"Excuse me," I said, "I think I know that man you were just talking to. What was his name?"
"Joshua Cole," the man said, "He's a financial planner. He had a lot of good advice for our retirement funds. I have his card here."
"Can I see it?" I asked. I took a picture with my iPhone and thanked them.
Grandma caught up to me as I was sighing. "I just saw one of my skips. I think he was trying to con an elderly couple."
"That's just wrong," Grandma said, "Old people have enough problems without good-looking con men trying to get their money."
I dropped off Grandma and William and headed home. Mrs. Bestler was in the elevator and pressed the button for the second floor when I got in.
"Second floor," she said, "Ladies accessories and handbags."
I entered my apartment and said hi to Rex, my hamster. I opened up my laptop and plugged Nicholas Jones and Joshua Cole into a search program. I grabbed a beer out of the fridge and sat back down to look at the results. The basic information came up. Nicholas Jones was a 37-year old investment banker. Joshua Cole was a 37-year old financial planner. Nothing out of the ordinary. However, the address on the business card was an office building that was undergoing construction after one of the floors blew out. I personally knew that since Ranger and I barely made it out before the bomb went off.
I decided to dig a little deeper and entered the names into a search engine that Rangeman uses. It was so invasive that it could tell you the results of your last pap smear. I drank another beer and turned on the food channel while the program did its thing. It came up with 5 more aliases for Nicholas. Each name was linked to multiple addresses and even more bank accounts. He was a first rate con man and on the run from the FBI. Finding him was going to be nearly impossible.
Sounds like a challenge.
Monday morning I walked into the bonds office. There was a blender on Connie's desk. Lula was drinking a smoothie. It was the color of pond scum. Like, New Jersey pond scum.
"Want a breakfast drink," Lula asked.
"Don't do it," Connie said, "It tastes awful."
"This drink is supposed to make you smarter," Lula continued, "It's got omega 3s and iron and shit. My book says if you drink one of these every day you improve brain function." Lula took a big gulp. She gagged before swallowing.
"Not bad," she said. "Not good either."
"I'll pass," I said.
"What's new?" Connie asked.
"I have a body receipt for the gingerbread man," I said, "My grandma is getting married. Oh, and this." I took the big bag of cocaine out of my shoulder bag and dropped it on Connie's desk.
Lula and Connie's eyes bugged out.
Connie was the first to recover. "Vinnie!" She yelled.
Vinnie came out of his office behind Connie's desk.
"Holy shit," he exclaimed, "There must be a kilo of cocaine there!"
"Where did you get it?" Connie asked.
"You aren't going to believe this," I said, "I found it in the confessional booth at a Catholic church in Newark."
"You're shitting me," Lula said.
"Do you know how much that's worth?" asked Vinnie.
"I don't want to know," I said. "I need to get rid of it."
"Dougie and Mooner will take care of it," Connie said. "They live out of a motor home which broke down beside an empty lot." She wrote down the address for me.
Dougie "The Dealer" Kruper and Walter "Mooner" Dunphy were in my grade in high school. They were the class stoners back then and haven't grown up much since. I pulled up to the empty lot and found the motor home sitting at the curb. Dougie and Mooner were sitting in lawn chairs with their feet in a kiddie pool watching a TV that had been set up on a foldable table.
"Yo dudette," called Mooner. "Did I forget my court date again?" Mooner was a frequent flier in failing to appear for his court dates. Mostly because he was high as a kite.
"No," I said as I walked over to them. "I was wondering if you can take this off my hands. No questions asked." I pulled out the cocaine.
"Sure," said Dougie.
I cashed in my cheque at the bank and went to the grocery store. I bought all of my staples. Milk, bread, olives, mini carrots for Rex, beer, Fruit Loops, ice cream and Tastycakes. I ate a peanut butter and olive sandwich for lunch and ate a butterscotch crimpet for dessert.
I was debating between burning gas checking out the aliases for Nicholas Cole or burning gas driving to Newark to look for Cruise Mendez when my phone rang. It was the convenience store clerk in Newark.
"Cruise Mendez just came in," he said. "He bought six big bags of potato chips."
Probably Cruise was at home, getting high, and getting the munchies. I thanked the clerk and got in the car. I drove over to Newark, parked by the church again, and waited.
In the late afternoon, Cruise exited his apartment building and walked into the church. He was probably making another drug drop in the confessional booth. I rummaged in my shoulder bag and got my cuffs and pepper spray. I checked my stun gun. Dead. Stupid Stephanie forgot to charge it. My gun was at home tucked safely into my cookie jar.
I got out of the car when I saw Cruise emerge from the church.
"Cruise Mendez?" I asked him.
"What's it to you?" He replied.
"You have violated your bond agreement and I need you to come with me to reschedule your court date." I wrapped my fingers around my pepper spray in my pocket.
He thought about it for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. "Let's go," he said.
I turned him around and put cuffs on him. I noticed that he was wearing a bulletproof vest.
"Why are you wearing a Kevlar vest?" I asked.
"There's a hit out on me," he said. "I lost some merchandise and the boss ain't happy about it. I figure I'll be safer back in jail."
Just then, a gunshot tore through the air. I hit the ground. Cruise wasn't so lucky and fell to the ground beside me. The bullet was a direct shot to his chest.
Cruise was wheezing and blood was quickly seeping out through his clothes.
"Shit man," he gasped.
I tore off my jacket and put pressure on the wound. A bystander called 911. I could tell they wouldn't be able to get here soon enough.
The paramedics declared him dead on arrival and the police took my statement. I headed home, took a shower, ate the entire tub of Ben and Jerry's ice cream, and crashed into bed.
It's true that I've seen a lot of dead people before. I think the scariest thing about it is that I'm getting used to it.