I SHOWERED AND dressed in clean clothes that Ella had left for me. A Rangeman black T-shirt and cargo pants that were in my size. There was hot coffee, fresh fruit, and croissants in the small kitchen. No sign of Ranger. When you own your own security business and live on the premises, every day is a work day.
Morelli called at nine-thirty to tell me he was in the lobby. I took the elevator down and texted Ranger that I was leaving.
“What’s the plan for the day?” I asked when I was settled into Morelli’s SUV.
“Grocery shopping. Pick up Grandma Bella and drop her off at the church for potluck brunch. She’s bringing lasagna and a cake.”
This sent a chill down my spine. Grandma Bella scared the heck out of me.
“Maybe you could leave me home when you get Bella,” I said. “Give me a loaded gun and lock all the doors when you leave. I’ll be fine.”
“No.”
“She scares me.”
“She scares everybody,” Morelli said. “It’s her thing.”
“Can we go out to lunch after we drop Bella off?”
“Yeah. As long as we’re home in time for the game.”
Shopping with Morelli is a whole different experience from shopping with Ranger. Morelli shops for a few staples for the week and for game food. Chips, dip, beer, M& M’s, hot spicy wings, pepperoni pizza rolls.
“That’s a lot of snacks,” I said.
“Anthony, Big Wanger, and Mooch always come over for the Giants’ game. It’s tradition.”
So here are some of the reasons I’m not married to Morelli. His job. His family. His friends. And the remaining reason is my inability to commit. The reason I’m not married to Ranger is much simpler. His life path doesn’t include marriage. End of story.
We took the groceries back to Morelli’s house, let Bob out to tinkle, and picked up Grandma Bella.
Grandma Bella squinted at me from the back seat. “What she doing here?” she said to Morelli.
“We’re spending the afternoon together,” Morelli said.
“You could do better,” Bella said. “I don’t like this one. I might give her the eye.”
“You give her the eye, and I’ll tell my mother on you.”
“I’ll give her the eye too.”
“You can’t give the eye to your daughter,” Morelli said.
“I do what I want,” Bella said.
Morelli was smiling. He thought this was amusing. He was the only one who was never threatened with the eye. He was Bella’s favorite.
“What kind of cake are you bringing?” Morelli asked Bella.
“Chocolate. If you come to church you get some.”
“I’ll have to see how the day goes,” Morelli said.
“You going to hell,” Bella said. “You never go to church, and you got this slut in your car. Her grandma cheats at bingo. God don’t like bingo cheats and sluts.”
Morelli pulled up to the church and helped Bella into the building. She carried the cake, and he carried the fifteen-pound lasagna. He walked back to the car and got behind the wheel.
“That wasn’t so bad,” he said.
“She called me a slut.”
“You made out better than I did. She said I was going to hell.”
“Are you worried?” I asked him.
“Maybe a little,” Morelli said. “Is Pino’s okay for lunch?”
“Pino’s is perfect. Were you able to learn anything from the apartment last night?”
“I don’t have anything back from CSI,” Morelli said. “There were a lot of prints. I’m sure some of them belonged to Ranger. I’ll get a report on them today. The DNA stuff takes longer. The shoes were all men’s. The apartment was rented to Robert Smith. The information on his rental form was bogus. All transactions were by mail. The owner of the building didn’t care. He was happy to rent the unit. He collected six months’ rent in advance.”
“It’s like these people are professional kidnappers. They plan ahead, and they don’t leave any evidence behind.”
“They leave evidence,” Morelli said. “Everyone leaves evidence. We haven’t found the evidence yet, but it’s there.”
“Were you able to find out who owned the security cameras?”
“They were placed after the unit was rented. We couldn’t trace them. We shut them down but left them in place, so Ranger could send his tech over to take a look. His guy is better than my guy.”
Big Wanger, Anthony, and Mooch were lined up on the couch, eyes glued to the television. Morelli was in the leather recliner. Bob was sitting next to Morelli, waiting for food to fall onto the floor. The coffee table was littered with takeout pizza boxes, empty beer cans, bowls of chips, and whatever.
“Do you want to sit?” Mooch asked me. “There’s room on the couch.”
“No, thanks,” I said. “I just came in to gather up some of the trash. I don’t want to encroach on your male-bonding experience.”
“That happened in seventh grade,” Big Wanger said. “We just tolerate each other now.”
I put a bunch of empty beer cans in one of the empty pizza boxes and carted it all out to the kitchen. I stopped short at the kitchen door when I realized Wulf was lounging against the counter. He was wearing black slacks and a black cashmere sweater with the sleeves pushed up. No visible bat wings.
“We need to talk,” Wulf said.
“Okay.”
“As a courtesy to a friend, I’m looking for a man who is associated with the deli. I believe he’s also involved in the kidnappings.”
“Ernie Sitz? Harry the Hammer?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. I’m telling you this because I want you to persuade Ranger to remove his men from their surveillance positions. They’re making my job difficult.”
“You should talk to Ranger directly.”
Wulf’s mouth curved into a smile, but his eyes were cold. “Ranger and I have an adversarial history.”
“I’ll pass the message along, but I can’t guarantee he’ll listen to me.”
“Understood.”
“What were you doing in the apartment above the KitKat?”
“Tracking my prey.”
“You left through the window,” I said.
“There were people in the hall, fumbling for their apartment key. It seemed expedient to exit directly to the alley.”
“The shoes are a mystery,” Wulf said. He looked toward the living room. “I have to leave.”
“Are you going to do the smoke thing?”
This time the smile was genuine. “Would you like me to do the smoke thing?”
“Yes.”
BANG! Smoke swirled around Wulf, and he was gone.
Ranger picked me up in his sporty Porsche 911 Turbo at four o’clock. No Ella scrunched into the back seat.
“Where’s Ella?” I asked.
“Tank is bringing her over. He’s taking a shift on deli patrol tonight.”
Tank is second-in-command at Rangeman. He’s the guy who watches Ranger’s back. He’s a year younger than Ranger. He’s twice Ranger’s size. There’s good reason he’s called Tank.
“Do you think the deli patrol is necessary? Hard to believe the kidnappers would try to snatch someone after their apartment has been discovered.”
Ranger drove away from Morelli’s house and turned onto Hamilton Avenue. “There are problems with the apartment. These kidnappings are professionally executed. Very little forensic evidence is left behind. No time is wasted. Someone who meticulously planned out these crimes wouldn’t have chosen a third-floor walk-up to play a role in the abduction. If the victims are unconscious, someone has to carry them up three flights of stairs. Not easy with someone like Hal. If they’re conscious you have to walk them up the stairs at gunpoint. Too conspicuous. And then there are the shoes. Neatly piled in a corner of the otherwise empty apartment. They were purposely brought there. And there were more shoes than known kidnap victims.”
“You think they were staged.”
“The better question is why were they staged?”
This is why Ranger has his own security firm, and I’m barely able to pay my rent. He’s observant. He connects the dots. He knows how to use his unique talents. I’m sure I have unique talents, but they haven’t surfaced yet.
“Morelli said he asked you to send your tech over to check out the security cameras.”
“The apartment didn’t have an alarm system, so the cameras were strictly for surveillance. They had the ability to record and send to a separate location.”
“Do you know the location? Were you able to see what it recorded?”
“The record function wasn’t active. The cameras were sending to a location that’s since been shut down. Sometimes we can still find the location, but not in this case.”
“I had a surprise visit from Wulf this afternoon,” I said. “He told me he was doing a favor for a friend, tracking down a man who was associated with the deli. He said you were making his job more difficult with your surveillance people.”
“And he asked you to pass this on to me?”
“Yes. He said you had an adversarial history with him.”
“We’ve crossed paths,” Ranger said.
“Are you going to pull back on the surveillance?”
“No.”
“Am I taking the garbage out tonight?”
“No. I’m taking it out tonight,” Ranger said.
He pulled up to the deli. A Rangeman guy came out of the shadows and took Ranger’s place behind the wheel.
“Valet parking?” I said to Ranger.
“Sometimes it’s good to be me,” Ranger said.
It was Sunday, and the area around the train station was quiet. There was only sporadic traffic on the road in front of the deli, and no pedestrian traffic. Raymond and Stretch weren’t waiting at the door, and I had a stab of panic that they weren’t going to show up for work.
I unlocked the deli, and Ranger and I went in. The room smelled like fry grease and dill pickle and felt lonely without Raymond and Stretch.
“Do you hear that?” I asked Ranger. “There’s something making scratching sounds.”
“Mice in the walls,” Ranger said. “You can’t hear them when the fan is going over the fry station.”
“This place should be demolished.”
“Not until we find Hal,” Ranger said. “And it’s not that bad. Stretch makes an effort to keep things clean, but it’s an old building in a rat-infested neighborhood.”
I switched all the lights on, and Raymond walked in.
“I would not be here on a Sunday if I could find someone to sell me a green card,” Raymond said. “I would find work at a superior establishment.”
“I thought you had a green card, but you lost it,” I said.
“Yes. That is what I meant. I lost my green card and I cannot find someone to sell me another. Soon I fear I will not even be able to buy the recreational drugs that are flowing freely from Mexico. I will pay much more for them when they must come from Colorado.”
Stretch ambled through the door. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “I had a hard time convincing myself to come to work.”
“That is exactly my point of view,” Raymond said.
A little before five Lula and Ella arrived.
“I was torn between being an Internet sensation and taking a day off from the limelight today,” Lula said. “Being a celebrity has its downsides. I can’t be a bitch without it showing up on somebody’s Twitter feed. What’s with that? Maybe I was tired of standing in line at the checkout while some moron couldn’t figure out how to find a barcode.”
“So, you decided to be an Internet sensation anyway?” I said.
“Hell, no. I’m in my looking-normal clothes.”
“They have a lot of sequins, and your hair is purple and green,” I said.
“Yeah, but the sequins are on a tank top. That’s like dressing down. It’s not even like I’m wearing my going-to-church clothes.”
“Hell, yes. You go to hell if you don’t go to church. Everybody knows that. I’ve been born again a bunch of times. I don’t take no chances. I believe in getting saved. I’m like a big Jesus fan.”
“I’m sort of a Catholic.”
“That’s okay,” Lula said. “It’s not as good as being a Baptist, but it’s better than nothing. Us Baptists got better music. We got a relationship with Jesus on account of he gets down with us.”
“I have heard this,” Raymond said. “I personally am Hindu on occasion, but I have heard Jesus is a cool dude.”
Customers began straggling in around six o’clock. Not the numbers we’d seen for the last two days, but the tables and booths were filled. We’d recorded a message that the deli was no longer taking phone orders, so Lula was able to help wait tables.
“I got a number eighteen up,” Stretch yelled.
“Not me,” I said.
“Not me neither,” Lula said.
Stretch leaned out, over the counter. “This looks like Lula writing.”
“Yeah, but I don’t need a number eighteen,” Lula said. “I need a number sixteen.”
“You wrote eighteen,” Stretch said.
“I wrote sixteen,” Lula said. “You need glasses.”
“You need to learn to write,” Stretch said.
Lula snatched the eighteen from the service counter and held it out to the room. “Who wants this number eighteen, half price?”
A hand went up at one of the front tables.
“Sold to the bald idiot with big ears,” Lula said.
By nine o’clock it had become obvious that Lula and I were even worse at waiting tables than we were at being bounty hunters.
“This has been a demoralizing experience,” Lula said. “Tomorrow I’m going back to making sandwiches, where I know I excel. Ella can be the waitress. And while we’re discussing tomorrow . . . how many tomorrows are we going to have to work here? I got an image to uphold as a bounty hunter. And I don’t want my bounty hunter skills to go rusty.”
I wasn’t worried about my image or my skills. I knew they both sucked.
We did the evening cleanup and Ranger took the garbage to the dumpster while I watched on the monitor. He walked out, threw the bag in, and took a moment to check his iPhone. He looked around and returned to the deli.
“This isn’t working,” I said to Ranger.
“It’s only been two days,” Ranger said. “Have patience.”
I locked up, and Ranger drove me to Morelli’s house.
“You’re the deli manager,” Ranger said, idling at the curb, behind Morelli’s SUV. “You need to hire a waitress.”
“Are you making a comment on my waitressing skills?”
“Babe,” Ranger said. “You have no waitressing skills.”
Morelli was asleep on the couch when I walked in. Bob was curled up in the recliner. He lifted his head, gave a single bark, and went back to sleep.
“Hey,” I said to Morelli. “I’m home.”
He sat up and blinked at me. “How’d it go? Were you kidnapped?”
“Nope. No one was kidnapped. I think between Ranger’s surveillance and the police presence, this guy has been driven underground.”
“He’s not underground,” Morelli said. “He’s just moving in a different direction. He’s playing with us.”
Damn, I thought. I wish I’d said that.