Stephanie's POV
Oh my gosh. Sex with Carlos was nothing I had ever experienced before. He definitely made it a craft, and he was all mine. Or he would be once we exchanged vows. I wondered if waiting was for the best.
Ranger and I entered Joe Morelli's apartment off Route 1. It was at the back of the building, off the breezeway on the first floor. We received a copy of the apartment key from the superintendent. Ranger opened the door, and we looked at everything inside the unit. Morelli's place was cleaner than I expected. "Take these," Ranger said, passing me Morelli's keys. I noticed a fob for a Jeep. "Babe?"
"I have an idea," I replied. Ranger raised a brow. Giggling, I added, "I'm commandeering Morelli's Jeep."
"Do you think he'll understand?" Ranger queried.
"Who cares? I want to lure him out into the open. Maybe I can catch him tonight. I know you're headed to New York in a few hours to catch a skip, so do you think Hector would mind watching my back?" I hoped Hector wouldn't mind helping me. He only needed to be on standby if I needed him. Ranger had Hector's contact information. I never thought of asking Hector for his phone number last night.
"Babe, what are you thinking?" Ranger asked.
"Maybe Morelli will find a way to pay me back for running him over with my dad's Buick," I replied.
Ranger laughed as he shook his head. "I'll arrange your backup with Hector. Pass me your phone," Ranger demanded. I rolled my eyes but handed him the device. "Babe, you don't have the screen locked by a password. I set one up. Hector's number is speed dial two. Numbers one and five were taken."
"Daddy is five," I explained. Ranger returned the phone, and I tried to unlock it. "Carlos," I whined, "what is the code?"
"My birthday," he chuckled. I put my hand on my hip, standing with an apparent attitude until Ranger said, "Two months before yours."
"How do you know?" I asked, squinting my eyes to glare.
"The salesman asked at the dealership," Ranger replied. I searched my mind to recall the conversation, and he was right. The salesman wanted to ensure I was the client in the account. I typed the date into my phone, but it was wrong. "Four digits for a year, then two for the month and then day."
I entered the date as he explained, and it unlocked the phone. "Did you know my birthday already?" I wondered.
"Babe," he answered. It wouldn't surprise me if someone else told him. I had to provide that detail when I applied to apprehend fugitives. Connie had a copy on file. A simple Facebook search would also display my birthdate. Hmm. Maybe I should remove my photos and secure the account. I mentally noted to change my account settings when I got home.
"There isn't anything here," I sighed after checking Morelli's mail. His phone rang a few times. I listened to the voicemails women left, hoping to hook up with the Italian Stallion.
"Is Morelli a stallion?" Ranger joked, causing me to snort.
"If you're asking for a comparison, you have way more to offer than Morelli," I replied. My face flushed bright red. I could feel the heat radiating from my cheeks. Ranger quirked a brow, and his lip slightly curled into a crooked smile. "You're the stallion; Morelli is a pony."
"Babe, you're stroking my ego," Ranger teased.
"Awe…is your dick feeling neglected? Would you like me to give it the attention it deserves?" I queried.
"Later," Ranger growled.
After Ranger and I returned the key to the superintendent, we went our separate ways. He promised to bring dinner. A feeling of unease settled over me as I drove away in Joe's vehicle, leaving mine in the back corner of the parking lot. I could almost see the neon pink "pussy" written on the driver's side of my POS Nova. For a brief moment, I feared someone would steal my car if I left it in the lot. Then, I decided it didn't matter. Someone could set it on fire for all I cared.
I drove home instead of getting to work on locating Morelli. My spidey sense was off the charts after taking Joe's Jeep Cherokee. A persistent thought kept me from ignoring my intuition. Once inside my apartment, I grabbed my old laptop to boot up. I researched various apartments available in Trenton. Most were on Stark or Comstock Streets, close to gang territory.
Ranger entered my apartment a few hours later. "Babe?" he asked.
"Oh. I didn't drive around aimlessly. I'm searching for empty apartments," I replied. Carlos listened as I explained my thoughts. We determined that Morelli's best hiding location was on Stark Street since Carmen Sanchez was Morelli's informant. She was a prostitute, working the streets near the gym where Benito Ramirez trained.
We ate dinner as I formulated a plan. Carlos seemed upset that I wanted to question the prostitutes, but I needed their input to learn the landscape. "Babe, that would put you in Ramirez's sight," Carlos warned.
"I promise not to do anything crazy without backup," I argued.
Carlos and I discussed his trip to New York to capture his skip. He hoped to be back in the early morning, but there were no guarantees that it would happen that quickly. The man, Gary Barnhardt - no relation to Joyce - was wanted for tricking elderly women into giving him money. He promised to heal them from their illnesses if they gave him between ten and fifteen thousand dollars. Many elderly women in Trenton and Newark had to move into their children's houses because they couldn't afford to live in the retirement facility.
He helped me with dishes, and we made love before he quickly showered. I followed Carlos to the door, where he kissed me passionately. "Babe, don't go crazy," he whispered against my lips.
"Don't get shot," I replied. Carlos kissed me chastely before exiting my apartment. His hand slapped the door, reminding me to engage the locks. Carlos tapped the door twice. I heard the echo of the stairwell door slam shut. Ranger preferred using the stairs whenever possible. Walking up the stairs felt like exercise to me.
Unwilling to go to bed too early, I watched TV in the living room. I couldn't find anything interesting on the free-access television channels. When I looked around the room for something to do, an envelope caught my eye. It wasn't on the table when Carlos and I left my apartment earlier that day. I wondered who left it for me.
Mom was in my apartment sometime in the morning. She filled my refrigerator and cabinet as promised. I know it wasn't there when I came home after commandeering Morelli's Jeep, meaning Mom never left the envelope. However, she cleaned my apartment. I wasn't sure how I felt about that. Returning focus to the envelope, I realized the only possibility was that Ranger had dropped it off when he arrived with dinner.
"Just open it," I mumbled. My hands shook as I opened the envelope. Inside was a copy of my divorce decree, Carlos' divorce papers and our copy of the marriage license application. It was only missing my signature.
Carlos left a post-it note on the application. His handwriting was neat and masculine. I touch the words, imagining his hand holding the pen to leave the note for me quickly. It makes me smile as I read the message. "Please sign and file in Newark," he requested, leaving the decision to me. Smiling, I signed the paperwork and put it inside my messenger bag containing Morelli's file.
When I went to bed, I peeked from behind the curtains. Hector stepped into the dull light for me to see. He wanted me to know he was watching my back. I waved and smiled when he retreated to the dark corner. Ranger ensured I was protected, and the thought warmed my heart.
The following day, I drove Morelli's Jeep along Stark Street, stopping to talk to the hookers working the corner. I was supposed to drop off the application, but I wanted Ranger to be with me. It felt too impersonal to file the marriage license without him.
I felt someone watching me from the second-floor window of the gym. Lula, the short, voluptuous woman, kept glancing at the window. "We shouldn't be talking to you," Lula's friend Jackie said. "I can't afford trouble from my man." Lula chattered and assured me there would be no retribution for sharing their knowledge. Unfortunately, they couldn't help. Morelli likely traded favours for blow jobs.
When Morelli never appeared, I returned to Vinnie's and begged for another file. Connie gave me the file for Clarence Sampson. I dialled his home number, but nobody answered. His file didn't contain a work number. The police report Connie included listed his address as 5077 Limeing Street. I had never heard of the street and had to check a map. It was a few blocks away from Stark Street.
I rolled my eyes because I wasn't aware of my surroundings earlier. It intersected Stark Street, and I had to cross Limeing when I travelled along Stark Street to lure Morelli. The address I wanted was down by the state buildings. To compare the men roaming the streets to Sampson, I taped a picture to the dash as I drove past them.
When Connie gave me the file, she suggested visiting the bars on lower Stark. It was not one of my favourite jobs to spend happy hour in the Rainbow Room on the corner of Stark and Limeing. I equated it to using a dull knife to sever my thumbs. However, it was less dangerous to sit in a locked Cherokee to run surveillance on the area. Sampson would eventually come out of the bar. I found a spot and hunkered down, impatiently waiting for Sampson to appear.
I drew the attention of three kids. One had a lot of hair and gold chains around his neck. His buddy licked my window. They didn't believe I was waiting for someone. My rayon skirt was too hot, and I was getting those annoying crotch wrinkles, which would take a lot of smoothing to make them disappear. When I put my gun and Sure Guard spray, which affected neurotransmitters, on the dash, the boys left me alone, and nobody else dared to bother me. Sunny said it would knock out a three-hundred-pound man in six seconds. She cautioned me to be careful.
Morelli was in the area. I could feel it in the pit of my stomach, like low-volt electricity humming against the inside of my spine. It was the same sensation I get for impending doom. After an hour, the feeling dissipated, and I could relax.
I must have dozed off at some point because it was nearly seven when I checked the clock on the dash. Surveillance was a butt-numbing experience and not one I wished to repeat. To keep myself awake, I ran the apprehension procedure through my mind. All I needed to do was sneak up behind Morelli, spray him with the Sure Guard and cuff him while he was down.
More people walked past the Cherokee, drawing unwanted attention. Though, I couldn't blame them. I was out of my element in the neighbourhood. Being white and female was dangerous on Stark Street unless you were a prostitute. I couldn't operate effectively in Trenton because I would stand out in over half the city. As I berated myself, a man exited the Rainbow Room. The Bluto doppelgänger resembled Sampson with his dark hair, beard, big flabby body, tiny head with a permanent scowl and Caucasian.
After tucking the gun and spray into my purse, I pulled away from the curb and drove to Limeing, where I double parked between Sampson and his house. Two men watched from the couch at the curb across the street. They stared wordlessly into space. Are they watching me? Just what I always wanted - an audience for when I fucked up the apprehension.
Sampson slowly walked up the street, trying to maintain his balance. He was grinning like he had the best day of his life. I was positive the glow was from getting wasted in a gay bar. Perhaps he got laid. His smile made me smile. "Clarence Sampson?" I asked as he got close enough for me to smell his stale, unlaundered clothes. He must have dug those from the depths of his dirty clothes hamper. I kept smiling while trying hard not to gag from the pungent stench.
"Yep, that's me," he quickly replied.
Extending my hand, I said, "I'm Stephanie Plum. I represent your bonding company. You missed a court appearance, and we'd like you to reschedule."
"Huh. I guess I forgot," he shrugged. Sampson acted as though it never bothered him. He was either too drunk to remember or never stressed for a day of his life.
Smiling, I said, "That's okay. It happens all the time. I have a car here. I'll drive you to the station, and we can handle the paperwork."
"I don't know," Sampson said as he looked behind me to his house. I had to turn on the charm while squeezing my breasts together with my arms. Sampson got distracted by the swell of my chest peeking through the opening of my shirt. Why did I wear a skirt and button-down top? I should have dressed more like Ranger with a dark t-shirt and comfortable black pants.
Feeling brave, I linked arms with him and nudged him toward the Cherokee. "This won't take long. I really appreciate this," I said, opening the passenger side door.
"All I have to do is set a new court date, right?" Sampson balked.
"Yeah. Right," I replied without mentioning it may take up to three weeks for the judge to arrange the date. A TPD officer caught Sampson driving drunk. Returning him to the precinct would protect the innocent from his actions for another night. It was fortunate that he didn't kill someone while intoxicated.
I convinced him to get inside the car. After I fastened his seat belt, I ran to the driver's side and took off before he could escape. Hopefully, Sampson was too stupid to realize I was a bond enforcement apprehension agent. I pushed the doubts from my mind and prayed Sampson would cooperate once we arrived at the TPD. Within a few blocks, he was sleeping, slumped in his seat with his face pressed against the window. I prayed he wouldn't vomit or defecate before I delivered him to the precinct. Morelli would kill me if Sampson's bodily fluids soiled his Cherokee.
When I stopped at the next light, I glanced sideways to ensure Sampson was still asleep, feeling relieved when he was still in dreamland. I hoped my luck would continue until I arrived at the precinct to exchange my skip for a body receipt.
An Econoline van was on the other side of the intersection. Looking past the three antennae and more equipment necessary on the junky old faded blue van, I squinted and made out the form of Joe Morelli behind the wheel. He was staring in astonishment because I was driving his vehicle. My heart jumped into my throat as the eerie feeling crept along my spine. Shit!
I ensured the vehicle was locked and resisted the urge to crouch below the dash. Morelli jumped the curb after completing an illegal U-turn at midblock. The brakes squealed as he stopped five cars behind me. Joe followed until we hit another red light. A muted scream passed through my lips. He jumped from the van, running toward me as I gripped the canister of Sure Guard. I prayed for the light to change before Morelli was at the door. God listened, and the traffic moved. Morelli had no choice but to return to his vehicle.
Thankfully, my scream didn't awaken Clarence Sampson, who was sleeping soundly. I turned left on North Clinton when the car phone rang. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Morelli yelled.
I smirked as I replied, "I'm returning Mr. Sampson to the police station. It would make everything easier for me if you want to follow us."
Panic set in when Joe yelled, "That's my car you're driving!"
"That's because I commandeered it," I snapped.
"You've what? What the fuck does that mean?" Joe demanded.
I turned off the phone with a flip of the switch. It sucked to be Joseph Morelli. He followed me until I drove within two blocks of the precinct, where he turned the corner. Thankfully, my skip was still asleep. His visit to dreamland posed another problem I never anticipated. How was I supposed to get him inside?
A flash of brilliance entered my mind. I turned the phone back on and dialled dispatch to request assistance with custody transfer. The man snootily replied, "Go to the rear security door, where a uniform will await your arrival." He hung up before I could thank him for helping me. Nobody was waiting when I reached the back door, so I called again. The man snapped, "Don't get your panties in a knot."
I waited a few minutes. My anxiety built to dangerous levels as I stressed about Sampson waking up and snapping my neck like a twig with his large hands. Crazy Carl Costanza peeked out the door. Carl and I attended the same parish as children. We shared our baptisms, first communion and confirmations. Our first kiss, too, if that counted for anything. I never felt a spark; neither did he, and we agreed to be friends.
Squinting past Clarence, Carl caught my eye. "Stephanie Plum?"
"Hey, Carl," I replied.
Grinning, Carl teased, "They told me there was a pain in the ass out here."
"That sounds like me," I joked. Talking to Carl was natural. I haven't seen him in years. That was what happened when you didn't live in the same city. I never realized he had joined the police force. It shouldn't have surprised me that he followed in his father's footsteps.
"Sleeping beauty?" Carl questioned, pointing to Sampson.
"FTA," I replied.
"He smells dead. Is he dead?" Carl queried.
I rolled my eyes and joked, "I don't think so, but he could use a good hose down." After pointlessly shaking Clarence, I yelled in his ear, "Time to wake up. We have to go."
Clarence was startled as my voice pierced his eardrums. "Where are we?" he sleepily asked.
"At the police station," I replied.
"Oh," Clarence replied before falling back asleep. I silently pleaded with Carl to assist as I unbuckled him.
Carl grinned as he pulled Clarence from the vehicle. "Yup. I joined the force for the entertainment and glamour of pulling smelly fat people from cars."
I grabbed the right to apprehend paperwork from my bag before hooking it over my shoulder. Carl led the way inside the precinct. Within fifteen minutes, I had my body receipt to submit to Connie in the morning. After waving to Carl, I left the station to go home. A drizzle started, and I welcomed the rain, though it smelled like smog.
While driving, I planned to remove the distributor cap when I got home. That way, Morelli couldn't retrieve the Jeep from my house. I found Hector waiting for me. He laughed when I removed the distributor cap. Hector tugged it from my hands and stashed it in the trunk of his car. "Where are you going?" Hector asked.
"I need a shower," I replied. Hector nodded and followed me into my apartment. I was relieved to have someone watching my back while I was vulnerable. After unlocking my window, I opened it wide, attempting to draw the barely existent wind inside to cool my bedroom. I grabbed my pyjamas and went to the bathroom to shower.
The water was hot. I let it beat on my shoulders to release the tightness of the muscles in my upper back. It felt refreshing, and I relaxed. Unwilling to stay vulnerable for long, I turned off the water, dried off, and dressed for bed. My spidey sense warned me of danger, but I wasn't afraid because Hector was here to protect me.
Hector pressed a finger against his lips when I exited the washroom. He pointed toward my bedroom, where I heard the telltale sound of someone ripping my screen.