A/N: The characters belong to Janet Evanovich. She graciously allows us to play with them.
Some women enter a man's life to change it forever. Stephanie Plum did this to me - permanently.
Stephanie was born and raised in a blue-collar neighbourhood of Trenton called the Burg. The houses were attached and narrow, the yards were small, and the cars were American. Most of the residents are of Italian descent. There are enough Hungarians and Germans to offset inbreeding. Some say it was an excellent place to play the numbers or buy a calzone. It was an acceptable place to raise children if you had to live in Trenton anyway.
I grew up in Newark until I got into trouble as a teen. My parents sent me to live with my Abuela in Miami. "Stay away from those gangs," my mother had warned me. "They'll ruin your life by leaving you to pay for their crimes."
What did my mother know about gangs? From then on, I viewed gangs as a combination of fascination and rebellion. At age twelve, with an air of defiance, I let the gang recruiter approach me. I willingly joined their ranks with the promise of a large payday and security.
The recruiter had lied. It wasn't everything he promised. You had to follow the hierarchy. The newbies had to prove themselves to the junior guards. To become a junior, you got ordered to hot-wire a car without getting caught. First, you had to follow the seasoned guards to learn the ropes. Then, you had to prove your loyalty.
I willingly drove the getaway car whenever they robbed a convenience store. It excited me to participate in their activities. The leader's younger brother, Hector, liked to hang around. He was three years younger and skinnier than me. Hector worked hard to earn his brother's approval, hoping to rule another gang chapter in a new city.
The headquarters was in an abandoned warehouse. From the outside, you would never know it housed over thirty gangsters. Inside, it resembled a mansion. Two staircases were along the east and west side walls. They accessed the bedrooms on the second level. CCTV cameras allowed the leader to watch his men - especially the recruits. Hando Hernandez trusted no one, not even his brother.
"What am I supposed to do?" I had asked Hando. We were at the mall, sitting in his SUV a few rows away from a black Dodge Viper.
"Carjack," Hando had said, pointing to the black sports car in the mall parking lot. It was parked away from the others. "You need to prove your loyalty."
Hando passed me a slim jim and a screwdriver before I exited the car. Hector slipped from the SUV to be my lookout. We approached the car, watching for people to pay attention to our movements.
I slipped the slim jim between the glass and metal to unlock the door. Sweat moistened my forehead as I anticipated the alarm. It sounded as I opened the door. I had thirty seconds to deactivate it before people noticed. Popping the steering wheel, I found the wire and yanked until it broke. The alarm immediately silenced.
Before I could start the car, I heard the door open. Someone pulled me from the vehicle, pressed my chest against the side and handcuffed me. I failed my initiation into the ranks. "You messed with the wrong man, son," the man said. "How old are you?"
"Fourteen, sir," I replied.
"Have you stolen a vehicle before?" he asked.
"No, sir. I have never broken the law until today."
"Gang initiation?"
"Yes, sir," I replied.
"Do you have a place to live out of town?"
"Mi Abuela lives in Miami," I confessed.
"You should live with your grandmother to stay away from the gang before you land your ass in prison."
"Are you taking me to jail?"
"No. I'll pay for your flight to Miami," he offered.
"What's your name, sir?" I asked.
"Frank." He never offered a surname. "Don't do anything illegal unless you're willing to serve the time for the crime." I accepted his generosity and left for Miami a few hours later. Mama was disappointed I got involved with a gang, but happy a kind stranger had sent me away. I should have listened to Mama. She knew more than I did. Now, I had to live with the knowledge that she was right and I was no better than a gangster punk.
I supposed that ordeal said something about my personality. I'd follow instructions from men of authority. Or I knew when I got over my head. I knew it was about rebellion and boredom. Mama and Papa were too busy with my four sisters and younger brother to pay attention to whatever I was doing. It took much too long for me to realize I was screaming for attention. I broke my mother's heart, and it wouldn't be the first time I broke a woman's heart.
Six years later, I made another epic mistake. Or you can call it a lapse in judgment. I got a woman pregnant. Frank's words about serving time for my crime entered my mind. I had to make things right with the woman. Rachel was a one-night stand. I met her in a bar after my first tour in the Army. My surge of adrenaline and horniness overrode my judgment, and I had sex without protection. Rachel claimed to be on birth control, but I doubt she spoke the truth despite her arguments about it failing. I married Rachel to provide medical insurance for her and our daughter, Julie.
While Rachel used the washroom, my comrades warned me to stay away from her. Pierre Sherman, who preferred his nickname Tank, said, "You'll regret ever sleeping with her."
"She's desperate," Bobby Brown added. "The woman keeps approaching the attractive men." Rachel was gorgeous. She was exactly my type, with dark curly hair and blue eyes. Her curves were in all the right places. I had to have her.
"Don't come crawling to me if you knock her up. Remember to wear protection," Lester warned.
"Once you get her alone," Tank warned, "there's not going to be time for prophylactics. You're done for."
"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded, furious they were trying to ruin my night of fun.
"It means you'll be too busy playing with her large breasts to think about condoms," Bobby replied.
They weren't wrong. I took Rachel to the shady hotel. She let me play with her breasts. Her body was covered in sweat as I suckled her nipple. I wasn't thinking, too distracted by her luscious body, and we had unprotected sex.
Rachel knew I was in the Army. I introduced myself as Ricardo. My buddies called me Mañoso. Six weeks later, Rachel contacted the local base, requesting they send me a message. Rachel was pregnant with my child. I took a weekend off to marry her.
"Is this a real marriage?" Rachel had asked.
"No. It's to give you medical insurance for our child. I'm divorcing you after our child is born. As my child, she will continue receiving medical coverage. Yours will end upon our divorce ruling," I had replied. She was sad but accepted her fate. I had kept my word. A month after Julie's birth, I petitioned for a divorce and demanded a paternity test, proving Julie was my daughter before agreeing to support payments. The judge dissolved our marriage after learning we had never consummated our vows. Julie would remain on my medical insurance until Rachel remarried. He ruled that Rachel should receive support payments and half of my Army pension. When or if Rachel remarried, she would lose rights to my retirement funds.
Aside from my marriage to Rachel, I never risked getting involved in a long-term relationship. I scratched the itch with women outside the towns where I had a Rangeman branch. They never knew anything about me other than my nickname, Ranger. I was careful to keep personal information from them. The women knew the deal before spending a night with me. I always left them satisfied.
Two years after Julie's birth, Rachel approached me to sign over my parental rights to our daughter. It wasn't an easy decision, but with the enemies I made in the Rangers special forces, I let her fiancé, Ron Martine, adopt Julie. I went drinking with my friends that night. They kept me from repeating my mistake with Rachel.
The next time I saw Julie was when I visited my Abuela in Miami. I took Abuela shopping at the local mall. Julie was with her parents. Rachel was pregnant, and Ron pushed a stroller with a baby covered in a blue blanket. Julie was a beautiful girl. She resembled me as a child. Mi Abuela and I went to Macy's, where they had reasonably priced items.
Rachel noticed me with my Abuela. To prevent Julie from asking questions, Rachel told Ron she was tired. He caught my eye and nodded. It devastated me that I wouldn't know the beautiful child I created. Maybe one day, Rachel would let me visit my daughter.
I paid for Abuela's household supplies and clothes. She patted my cheek in thanks. Abuela noticed the young girl resembling me but never said a word until we arrived at her house. "Tu hija es hermosa," she said. (Your daughter is beautiful.)
"Gracias, Abuela," I replied.
During the winter months in Trenton, the wind would whip up Hamilton Ave, whistling past the plate-glass windows and banking the trash against curbs and storefronts. I preferred the warmth of the Miami sun, but I was used to the winters in New Jersey, having grown up in Newark.
The Trenton summers are humid and saturated with hydrocarbons, which shimmered over the hot roads and sidewalks. A semi-permanent smog-like haze hovered overhead, promising polluted rain once the rain clouds decided to release the moisture they collected. It was part of the great adventure associated with living in New Jersey.
I had decided to ignore the August buildup of ozone, which caught people in the back of their throats. Their coughs to dislodge the sensation made everyone sound like they suffered from summer colds. I drove to Stark Street to meet my contact. The air conditioner in my car was set for a few degrees cooler than the temperature outside. Most people have too much of a difference between the internal and external temperatures, making their bodies go into a semi-shocked state.
My hair was pulled into a low ponytail, held in place with a leather tie or thong, whichever term people used. It kept my neck cooled. I could cut my hair, but I preferred the length. It added to my bad-boy persona. I had to cut my hair short for many years in the military. When I completed my full-time contract, I let my hair grow. The government often called on me to reprise a role or work as a mercenary for hire. Mostly, I worked for the American government. Sometimes, other nations recruited me to assist with their problems, which impacted their trade or peace agreements with America.
It was Sunday, and I had paperwork to process. I wanted to open a Rangeman branch in Trenton. Chasing skips had the potential to earn a significant profit. Vincent Plum and Les Sebring posted multimillion-dollar bonds. I would bring my men to Trenton to build revenue.
My buddy, Jason Orwell, found a commercial building. He worked with the county to zone the property for business with a few residential floors. I approved him to pay whatever fee was necessary to make it happen. Jason called me with a number. It wasn't as expensive as I had anticipated. "When does the sale close?" I asked.
"Thirty days," Jason replied. "I also purchased an empty lot. You can use it as your legal address." I grinned. It was the best way to keep people from locating me through internet searches. I had a few men working on keeping me safe by scrubbing my name from such internet websites.
"Have you prepared the contracts?" I asked. Jason assured me that he had it handled.
Six months ago, when I arrived in Trenton, I'd been scouting for another location to expand Rangeman. It was close to the town where I grew up. I wanted to be close enough to watch over my parents without residing in the same city.
Hector appeared in my rearview mirror. I waited for him to slip into my car. "Jefe," Hector said.
"¿Dónde está?" (Where is he?)
"Stark," Hector replied. "Casa funeraria." (Funeral home)
"Gracias," I replied. Hector slipped from the car at the next red light. He disappeared into the shadows like smoke.
I checked the mirror before driving to the alley behind the funeral home. My skip, Jose Riviera, was hiding inside the building. It didn't take long to pick the lock to the back door. I found Riviera hiding in the morgue. He had crawled into a drawer and pulled the access hatch nearly closed. It was a ridiculous hiding spot. A dangerous one if someone latched the door.
"Let me out," Riviera screamed when I pushed the door closed. Once the seal engaged, the cooling unit turned on. After noticing the temperature had been set to thirty-eight degrees Fahrenheit, I set my watch for fifteen minutes. It would be enough time for him to be compliant.
I leaned against the wall until my timer beeped. My gun was cocked and in my left hand as I pulled open the door. Riviera was shivering from the cold. I smiled as I pulled him out by the collar. He fell to the floor, unable to pull his legs beneath him.
"Don't even think about it," I snarled.
"Y…y…yes, sir," he replied. I cuffed Riviera's hands behind his back and dragged him to my car. Riviera shifted during the trip to the Trenton Police Department. He was picking the cuffs. As I entered the parking lot behind the station, Riviera grinned. "This is where I leave you."
He tried to open the door, but it wouldn't budge. I had engaged the child safety locks after securing him in the seat. "You were saying?" I asked. Riviera's face paled as I opened the door and dropped him to the ground. I attached another set of handcuffs and flex cuffs to his wrists.
Eddie Gazarra watched in amusement as I dragged Riviera into the precinct. "Did he try to escape?" Eddie asked.
"Yes," I replied without further explanation.
Robin Russell was at the intake desk for the evening. Eddie cuffed Riviera to the bench and returned my cuffs. After confirming my permission to capture Riviera, I waited until Robin entered the details into the computer. Robin smiled and flirted while she processed the paperwork. I had slammed my blank face into place. She passed me the body receipt and wished me a good day.
I was on my way home when I saw her. She got stuck at a light. The woman with wild, tightly curled hair got out of her red Miata and ran past to speak to the man in the car behind mine. I rolled my window down to hear the conversation.
"Let me keep the car tonight, and I'll drive it to the lot first thing tomorrow morning," the feisty woman said.
"No way. You're damn sneaky. I've been chasing after this car for five days," Lenny Gruber replied. I smiled at the woman's tenacity. To outmaneuver Gruber for five days was impressive. It never took him more than twenty-four hours to repossess a car.
"So, one more day won't matter," she replied. I grinned at her spunk. The woman amused me, which I had never felt before. She was special and attractive.
"I'd expect you to be grateful, you know what I mean?" I wanted to jump out of my car and pound my fist into Gruber's face for suggesting she trade sex to keep her car for another day.
"Forget it. Take the car. In fact, you can take it right now. I'll walk to my parents," she snapped. I was proud of the woman. She was wearing black spandex shorts and an oversized hockey jersey. When she raised her arms, I could see her round ass. My body instantly reacted.
I could see Gruber checking her out before he smiled. "I guess I could wait for tomorrow. After all, we did go to high school together."
"Uh-huh," she replied. I gently tapped the horn when the light turned green. The woman ran to her car and got inside.
"Proud of you, Babe," I said as I rolled up the window.
I followed her for several minutes. She turned off Hamilton onto Roosevelt, driving into the Chambersburg community. I shook my head in disappointment. The sexy woman lived in the Burg. She would want love, stability, and the comfort of ritual, which was everything I couldn't offer to anyone.
In the morning, I stopped by Vincent Plum Bail Bonding Company to pick up my files from Connie Rosolli. "I have a new file for you," Connie said. I held out my hand for the paperwork, then passed it back.
"No," I replied. "Get Morty to do it."
"He's in the hospital from an emergency appendectomy," Connie said. "We could use your help."
"No," I repeated, then left. I climbed into my car and started the ignition.
A rusted-out piece of crap Nova parked in the parking space at the corner of Hamilton and Olden. I cringed when the car thrashed until it turned off. However, I was curious about who drove the car. I thought I saw black heels when the door opened, but I couldn't possibly be right. Who would want to drive that piece of crap? It wasn't safe.
After thumbing through the files, I checked my mirrors. The gorgeous curly-haired brunette walked up the street. She wore a button-down red silk shirt, black pencil skirt, pantyhose and black heels. Dios! The red silk against her creamy skin appealed to me.
My alarm chimed, reminding me I had a tight schedule to follow. I couldn't afford to get distracted by the woman. It was time to get to work. I had to capture more scofflaws to pay for the building. Carrying a mortgage or loan wasn't part of the Rangeman directive.