An old story, again dragged off my hard drive. Written after Book 8. I did so love the post-Book 8 angst.
Ranger drove around the block once before he found an acceptable parking space for his truck, one he would be able to see from inside the diner and that would allow him to get out quickly if he had to. He wasn't expecting trouble, just heading in for a quick breakfast before a meeting with a potential informant, but the habit was too ingrained to ignore. He locked the truck and set the alarm with a quick click of the remote as he headed in.
The truck wasn't his favorite vehicle, but it served a purpose, blending in with the surroundings on stake-outs, unlike the rest of his fleet. He'd liked the big BMW the best, but that one had been on loan and eventually the Feds had wanted it back. His current flash ride, the Porsche Carrera, had been selected with an eye toward annoying Steph - and, by extension, Morelli. With the slightest of grins at that thought, he crossed the street and entered the diner.
He'd called ahead, and Pablo had a booth waiting for him, so that he sat next to the rear exit with his back to a wall and a view out the front windows, although far enough away from the window that he couldn't be seen from outside. It was one of Steph's favorite rants, the topic of his luck in always finding the back booth of any restaurant empty, and she'd never seemed to catch on to the fact that, like everything else he did, it was strategy, planning and effort that got him what he wanted, not luck.
Except, he thought, when it came to her. He wasn't willing to make her a campaign, to plot out tactical moves, wage careful battles and then accept her surrender. If she came to him, it had to be her decision; she would come on her own, freely, because she wanted to, not because he had manipulated her into it. He'd already pushed her once and he wouldn't do it again, no matter how much he had enjoyed their time together.
His musings were cut short by a dull thud that shook the booth. He looked up, annoyed with himself for letting his thoughts drift enough to be caught unaware. He'd been on a stake-out all night, but fatigue was no excuse for inattention.
The diner was three-quarters full, most of the early-morning patrons from the Greyhound Bus station around the corner, either waiting to get on a bus for somewhere else or recently arrived; either way he hadn't sensed any threat when he'd done a quick scan of the diner.
The booth rocked again as a boy in the next booth over thumped his head on the seat back, harder this time. "Kid," Ranger growled, in a low voice that didn't carry any farther than the boy's ears, "knock it off."
The small dark head swiveled around, startled. The boy was six or seven, with short brown hair and wide, dark eyes. The eyes studied him for a moment and Ranger upped his age estimate; the body was small, but the eyes were older.
He turned his best glare on the boy, the one he'd learned from the first top kick he'd ever served under in the Army. The boy stared back, unimpressed.
It was Steph's fault, he decided, with a small shake of his head. The glare had always worked before he had met her - but it never really worked on her and now it was failing to work on a kid.
The waitress brought his food - coffee, orange juice, dry toast, huevos rancheros, and potatoes with peppers and onions. He watched as the boy's nostrils flared at the scent of the food and his eyes opened a little bit wider. A quick glance over the boy's head showed the boy's mother, sitting opposite him, occupied with the boy's two much-younger sisters. All four of them were wearing coats too thin for the late fall weather.
The boy had already finished his breakfast of cold cereal and milk and his mother was helping the two younger ones finish a shared bowl. Ranger ate his breakfast and the boy, now still and silent, watched him eat every bite. Finally, Ranger put a small portion of eggs and potatoes and a piece of toast on a small plate and pushed it across the table, toward the boy.
Immediately the boy's head vanished below the top of the booth.
Ranger had a clear view of the boy's mother. She had the weary look common to a lot of the women where Ranger had grown up; time and circumstances were often not kind in that part of town. She was wearing her dark hair down, falling forward over her face, but Ranger could see a faded bruise high on her cheek - that was also common where he had grown up. In the aisle lay a small duffel, heavily packed; one of her feet was protectively curled around the pack. The edge of several bus tickets were visible in the top pocket of the duffel. He turned his head slightly and read her destination – Cleveland, Ohio. Leaving town with her children on a one-way ticket.
As he put his hand in his pocket to get money to pay his bill, his hand closed on a coin and he pulled it out. It was an old gold coin, about a half an ounce of gold, worn enough that it had value only for the gold weight rather than any numismatic value. Ranger fingered the smoothed, worn edges. The coin had belonged to Arturo Bonelli, who had been Abruzzi's number one street lieutenant and the first person Ranger had gone after on his furious hunt to find and shut down Abruzzi. Bonelli had liked to flip the coin in the air in a gesture of studied nonchalance; Ranger had taken the coin away from him, removed his nonchalant attitude, gotten Abruzzi's location and then convinced Bonelli that an immediate relocation to another state, maybe even another country, was a good idea. Since then he'd been carrying the coin in his pocket.
Ranger looked up to find the boy studying him again. With a small smile, he flipped the coin in the air, toward the boy. The wide dark eyes got bigger, and then, at the last second, a small hand grabbed the spinning coin out of the air and the boy disappeared below the top of the booth again.
"Better luck, kid," Ranger softly wished the boy, hoping that the coin would be luckier for the boy than it had been for the last owner.
A quick glance at his watch showed him it was time to leave, and as he stood and walked past the booth he looked down at the boy. He was holding the coin in his hand below the line of the table, where his mother couldn't see it, running his fingers over the edges exactly the way Ranger had been, examining his new treasure. As Ranger opened the door to leave, he heard the boy speak for the first time.
"Ma, look what I... found."
He smiled as he walked out in the chill morning air.