21 - Carry Me Through No Man's Land
The sinking feeling in her gut felt like a warning as Steph parked the Miata a block down from the gym on Stark Street and cut the engine. Almost immediately, the heat from outside began roasting her through the windshield, no longer kept at bay by the blast of the air conditioning. At this rate she'd be a sweaty mess by the time she reached the gym. Not to mention her hair - freshly washed and styled from the Deb Deluxe she'd been treated to last night once they'd finished constructing the bed frame that had been delivered - would be a puffball with all the humidity.
Sitting in the car and lamenting the weather wasn't going to catch Morelli or pay the rent on her new apartment, though. So with a sigh, she threw open the door and dragged herself out into the sun.
She kept her eyes peeled for any unsavoury characters as she made her way down the sidewalk, but for a neighbourhood renowned for its crime, the streets were oddly quiet. A fact that did nothing to settle the ill-feeling in her stomach.
A shadowy figure caught her eye in an alleyway on the next block as she flicked a frizzy lock of hair that had escaped her ponytail out of her face. But when she returned her gaze to see if she could make out any features, it was gone. Probably, she'd imagined the presence, her mind already overreacting to every little hint of movement, primed for something to jump out at her at a moment's notice. She couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched though
If she didn't already feel out of place wandering around Stark Street, she would have known it when she passed through the small reception area and stepped inside the gym. The clank of equipment, along with all conversation, ceased as all heads turned her way. The testosterone threatened to gag her, not to mention the expressions on some of the men's faces. Anyone with eyes could tell she didn't belong here.
Straightening her spine, Steph planted her feet firmly and gripped the strap of her handbag like a lifeline. Fake it till you make it, Honey, Deb's voice instructed in the back of her mind. "I'm looking for Benito Ramirez," she announced, marvelling at the lack of tremble in her voice as she swallowed hard and looked around.
This morning, when she'd dropped into the bond's office, Connie had mentioned that Ziggy Kuleska, the guy Morelli had supposedly shot dead, worked for Ramirez, Trenton's pride and joy of the boxing ring. A heavyweight that humbly went by 'the Champ'. Steph thought it likely that Ramirez would know something about whatever was going down the night Ziggy was killed, so here she was in an area of town she would normally have avoided like the plague, about thirty seconds from wetting herself if any of these men made a move towards her.
"I'm Ramirez," a silky smooth voice called from a workout bench as the hulking, six foot body the voice was attached to rose to its full height. There was something unsettling about the way his voice and his smile contrast the cool calculation in his gaze as he approached.
"I'm Stephanie Plum," Steph introduced, holding out her hand, against every instinct inside her screaming at her to run in the opposite direction, for him to shake.
A shiver ran down her spine and her skin crawled as they made contact, his hand caressing and gentle and far too sensual. This man was a predator, she realised, and not just in the boxing ring.
"How can I help you, Stephanie?" Ramirez enquired, not letting go of her hand. If anything, his grip tightened when she tried to pull it from his grasp.
"You can start by giving me back my hand," Steph said pointedly. She attempted to raise an eyebrow at him in that haughty way Deb always did when she was doing something he didn't approve of, but she'd never achieved it before, so she didn't like her chances now. Luckily though, whatever Ramirez saw was enough for him to let go with a polite nod.
"I work for Vincent Plum Bail Bonds as a Fugitive Apprehension Agent," she started, reciting the introduction she'd rehearsed in the car on the drive over. She explained that she was looking for Joe Morelli, and the information Connie had passed on about Ziggy and Carmen Sanchez. As she spoke, though, she watched Ramirez's expression darken, the creepy smile turning into something more sinister.
"I can see you got a curious mind," Ramirez said, inclining his head like he thought it was an admiral trait even as his eyes flashed a dangerous warning to the contrary. "You like coke? We got a coke machine over here, why don't I buy you a can and we can talk?"
It really did feel like she was being made an offer she couldn't refuse, but Steph had spent too many of her formative years bowing to the expectations of her mother and the Burh, and too much of her adult life breaking free of the lingering effects of that programming to allow this man to bully her into doing something her mind was screaming at her not to do. For all she knew there was a special button on that soda machine to dispense pre-roofied drinks.
"That's okay," Steph said, taking a step backwards as she started to turn away. "I need to get on with my search, so I'll just leave my phone number at the front desk and you can -"
Her words were cut off on a scream when Ramirez grabbed her by the back of the neck, dragging her forward with such force that her shoulders hunched. And suddenly, his face was right there.
"The Champ doesn't take no for an answer," he intoned, that sickly sweet quietly edging back in. "A good little girl like you needs to learn her place." He continued to apply pressure to the back of her neck, while his other hand came up to caress the side of her face, sliding his slimy hand down her throat and over her collar bone, dipping down to settle over her breast on the outside of her t-shirt.
Steph's reaction was pure instinct as she jerked out of his grapes and swung her purse up to slam into the side of his head. It knocked him off balance long enough for her to make a quick retreat towards the door, but not long enough for her to escape. You don't become a heavyweight champion without learning how to take a blow to the head and keep going, afterall.
Just as she reached for the door handle, a hand snagged in her hair, reefing her backwards with a yelp and knocking her to the floor. She didn't have a chance to scramble away before she was pinned down, as the Champ straddled her back and locked her arms to her sides.
"You better learn how to behave, Stephanie," Ramirez sneered in her ear, letting out a laugh as she tried to buck him off of her. "It's a good thing the Champ likes it rough.
Ice slid through her veins at his words and the corresponding realisation of his meaning. She needed to get out of here. She needed to put as much distance between herself and Benito Ramirez as she could and never look back. Problem was, neither her one training session with Tim at the gym yesterday, nor the occasional self defense classes Deb had dragged her to over the years had covered how to get out of this particular situation.
She put all her energy into trying to get him off, but rather than a bucking bull at the rodeo, she felt more like a fish out of water, flopping around on the deck of the boat. Her actions were futile. And even as she grit her teeth and doubled down, Ramirez laughed and trailed a hand down her sides in a caress that would probably be sensual if he wasn't insane and perverted.
Steph's mind was racing, trying to figure out an alternative plan to get out from under him before the hand sliding down her back could reach the waistband of her jeans and make the situation that much worse. It was hard to think, though, as panic started to set in. Without the use of her hands and with her legs firmly pinned down, she didn't have a chance in hell of gathering enough power to push him off her.
Just when she thought things were about to go from bad to worse, the door from the reception area crashed open, stomping boots hurried into her field of vision, and in the next second she was floating weightless as Ramirez was forcibly removed from her back.
She lay there stunned for a moment as shouts, grunts and the sound of fists meeting solid flesh cascaded over her. Her instincts were stuck firmly between urging her to make a run for it while the chaos distracted them all, and screaming at her not to move a muscle lest she trigger some automatic defense response in the men fighting at her back. So instead, she focused on trying to get her breathing under control as the floor beneath her shuddered with the impact of what were surely bodies hitting the ground.
After about thirty seconds though, the gym fell deathly silent and Steph chanced a look at the scene over her shoulder, curling to the side to see.
Her jaw dropped.
Three bodies were, indeed, sprawled on the floor, two more men stood with their hands up in the classic sign of surrender over the by wall and in the centre of the gym, Carlos Fucking Manoso stood over the prone form of Benito Ramirez. He'd disabled him with a foot on his back and a meaty arm twisted up behind him. Not to mention the gun pressed to his temple.
As Steph watched, Carlos leaned down and spoke to Ramirez too quietly for her to make out over the rushing in her ears, but the menacing expression was enough for her to understand that whatever he said was intended as a threat. He seemed to be waiting for some kind of response from the boxer, because the second Ramirez uttered a word, Carlos spun the gun around in his hand and used the butt to issue an efficient tap to the temple.
He didn't turn his back on the ment still standing near the wall, but he did, turn the gun back the right way around, pointing it at them in a kind of warning as he backed away quickly, his path leading him straight for the spot where Steph still lay on the floor, gaping.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, stepping deftly over her legs without so much as glancing backwards, and crouching down beside her. The words, the tenderness of his town, and the hint of worry behind his carefully schooled expression brought flashes of memories to her mind. The day they first met, the fight in the courtyard, taking the punch meant for him. He'd hauled Morelli off her just as he'd hauled Ramirez off her today. And just like that day she found herself staring up at him dazedly.
Carlos offered her his hand, taking his eyes off the men on the other side of the room to meet her gaze. When she didn't move, his brows furrowed and he leaned down wrapping his free arm under her arms and hauling her to her feet, bracing her to his side with a hand on her waist the moment she was upright. "Can you walk?" he asked insistently. "Are you hurt?"
"No." The single word came out as a croak, but she wasn't sure which of his questions she was answering. She didn't think she was hurt, but she also didn't think her legs were much up to supporting her with how wobbly they felt. Or perhaps she was just trying to remind herself that she was not in a position to accept the help this man had to offer.
His gaze roved over her face for a second, drifting down to assess the rest of her before he tightened his grip on her waist. "Come on," he uttered, and swiftly led her back through the small reception area, through the plate glass doors and out into the blazing sun, never stopping until he'd half carried her all the way back to her car. He muttered something under his breath as he cast his gaze over her little red Mazda and kept them moving straight on past it.
"What are you doing?" she demanded, snapping out of her stupor and stumbling out of his grasp. The second she'd resisted the hold he had on her, he let her go, but after the show of force he'd just displayed in the gym, she hadn't been expecting it and almost tripped over her own feet as she struggled to regain her balance. She started back toward her car, already digging her keys out of the handbag that was, miraculously, still slung over her shoulder - or perhaps Carlos had scooped it up as they were leaving? It was all a bit hazy. When she looked up to beep the car unlocked, though, she stopped dead in her tracks, mouth hanging agape for the second time in ten minutes as she took in the bold spray-painted letters scrawled across the previously immaculately maintained exterior.
Pussy.
"My car!" she cried for lack of anything more constructive to do or say.
"I'll give you a lift," Carlos said, his voice terse. He was scanning the street, his gaze catching on various details that Steph thought were of little significance, before it returned to her face. "I'm just down here." He tipped his head in the direction he'd been taking her before she broke free, but Steph shook her head.
"It's just a little spray-paint," she pointed out, hobbling forward again and reefing open the door. "It's fine to drive."
"The tyres are slashed, and I'm pretty sure someone stole your engine, Babe."
A glance down confirmed that the tyres had, indeed, been slashed, but there was no outward indication of Carlos's engine claims. She cut narrowed eyes to the man as she leaned down to pop the hood, then gritted her teeth against the pain that was starting to make itself known in her knee and hip as she limped around the open car door to peer into the empty hole where the engine used to be.
"How could you possibly tell that from just looking at the car?" Steph challenged, throwing her hands in the air.
Carlos's expression didn't change as he watched her out of the corner of his eye while also keeping an eye on the rest of their surroundings. "They were lifting it out when I passed on my way to the gym."
"And you didn't think to maybe stop them?!"
He turned his full attention to her for the first time since they stepped outside and Steph blanched at the haunted expression hovering behind his eyes, obscured by something unreadable. "I was a little preoccupied with sprinting towards the sound of your screams," he informed her flatly.