High Five (23 page)

“No. This guy's alive.” I gave her the photo of the Shempsky family.

“Isn't this nice,” Irene said. “What a lovely family.”

“Do you recognize any of these people?”

“Not offhand. I might have seen the man somewhere, but I can't place him.”

“Could he have been the man Uncle Fred talked to in the parking lot?”

“I guess it's possible. If it wasn't this man, it was someone very much like him. He was just an ordinary man. I suppose that's why I can't remember him so good. There wasn't anything special to remember. Of course, he wasn't wearing a Mickey Mouse hat and Bermuda shorts.”

I retrieved the photo. “Thanks. You've been very helpful.”

“Anytime,” she said. “You always have such interesting pictures.”

I bypassed the street that led to my apartment building and continued down Hamilton to the Burg. I'd been thinking about the bombing, and I had a plan. Since I wasn't going anywhere tonight, I'd lock the Buick up in my parents' garage and bum a ride home from my dad. Not only would it keep the car safe, but it had the added advantage of getting me dinner.

I didn't have to worry about the garage being in use, because my father never put his car in the garage. The garage was used to store jugs of motor oil and old tires. My father had a workbench in there along one wall. He had a vise attached to the workbench, and little jars filled with nails and things lined the back of the workbench. I never saw him work at the workbench, but when he got really fed up with my grandmother, my father would hide in the garage and smoke a cigar.

“Uh-oh,” Grandma said when she saw me at the door. “This don't look good. Where's the black car?”

“It got stolen.”

“Already? You didn't even have it a whole day.”

I went into the kitchen and got the garage keys. “I'm going to put the Buick in the garage overnight,” I said to my mother. “Is that okay?”

My mother put her hand to her heart. “My God, you're going to get our garage blown up.”

“Nobody's going to blow up the garage.” Not unless they were sure I was in it.

“I have a ham,” my mother said. “Are you staying for supper?”

“Sure.”

I put the Buick in the garage, locked everything up nice and tight, and went into the house to have ham.

“It's gonna be two weeks tomorrow since Fred's been missing,” Grandma said at dinner. “I thought for sure he'd have turned up by now—one way or another. Even aliens don't keep people that long. Usually they just probe your insides and let you

My father hunkered down over his plate.

“Of course, maybe they started probing Fred and he croaked. What do you think they'd do then? You think they'd just pitch him out? Maybe their spaceship was over Afghanistan when they tossed Fred, and we'll never find him. Good thing he isn't a woman, what with landing in Afghanistan and all. I hear they don't treat women so good over there.”

My mother paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, and her eyes darted to the side window. She listened like that for a moment and then resumed eating.

“Nobody's going to bomb the garage,” I said
to
her. “I'm almost sure of it.”

“Boy, wouldn't it be something if someone
did
bomb our garage,” Grandma said. “That'd be a good story to tell at the beauty parlor.”

I was starting to wonder why I hadn't received a call from Ranger. It wasn't like him not to get back to me right away. I set my shoulder bag on my lap and pawed through the clutter, looking for my cell phone.

“What are you looking for?” Grandma asked.

“My cell phone. I've got so much junk in my bag I can never find anything.” I started pulling stuff out and setting it on the table. Can of hairspray, hairbrush, zippered makeup pouch, flashlight, mini-binoculars, Ranger's license plates, bottle of nail polish, stun gun . . .

Grandma leaned over the table to take a better look. “What's that thing?”

“Stun gun,” I said.

“What's it do?”

“It emits an electrical charge.”

My father forked in more ham, focusing his concentration on his plate.

Grandma got out of her seat and came around to examine the stun gun. “What do you do with this?” she wanted to know, picking it up and studying it. “How does it work?”

I was still rooting through my bag. “You press the metal prongs against someone and push the button,” I said.

“Stephanie,” my mother said, “take that away from your grandmother before she electrocutes herself.”

“Aha!” I said, finding my cell phone. I pulled it out and looked at it. Dead battery. No wonder Ranger hadn't called.

“Look, Frank,” my grandmother said to my father, “did you ever see anything like this? Stephanie says you just stick it against someone and push the button . . .”

My mother and I both jumped out of our seats. “No!”

Too late. Grandma had the prongs pressed against my father's arm.
Zzzzzt.

My father's eyes glazed over, a piece of ham fell out of his mouth, and he crashed to the floor.

“He must have had a heart attack,” Grandma said, looking down at my father. “I told him and told him, he uses too much gravy.”

“It's the stun gun!” I yelled at her. “That's what happens when you use a stun gun on someone!”

Grandma bent down for a closer look. “Did I kill him?”

My mother was on her knees alongside my grandmother. “Frank?” she shouted. “Can you hear me, Frank?”

I took his pulse. “He's okay,” I said. “Grandma just scrambled some brain cells. It's not permanent. He'll be good as new in a couple minutes.”

My father opened an eye and farted.

“Oops,” Grandma said. “Someone must have stepped on a duck.”

We all backed away and fanned the air.

“I have a nice chocolate cake for dessert,” my mother said.

I used my parents' phone in the kitchen and left a new message on Ranger's machine. “Sorry about my cell phone. The battery conked out. I'll be home in about a half-hour. I need to talk to you.” Then I called Mary Lou and asked her to give me a lift home. I didn't think it was such a good idea to ask my dad to drive so soon after getting zapped. And I didn't want my mom to take me and leave my grandmother and father alone in the house together. And first and foremost, I didn't want to be there when my father went nuts at Grandma Mazur.

“I've been
dying
to hear from you,” Mary Lou said when she picked me up. “What happened with Morelli last night?”

“Not a lot. We talked about the case he's working on, and then he took me home.”

“That's it?”

“Pretty much.”

“No fooling around?”

“Nope.”

“So let me get this straight. Last night you were with the two sexiest men in the entire world, and you didn't score with either one of them?”

“There are other things in this life besides scoring with men,” I said.

“Like what?”

“I could score with myself.”

“You could go blind doing that.”

“No! I mean, I could feel good about myself. You know, like when you do a job and it turns out excellent. Or when you set a moral standard for yourself and stick to it.”

Mary Lou gave me the open-mouth, wrinkled-nose, this-is-a-load-of-bullshit look. “What?”

“Well, okay, so I've never had any of those things happen, but they could!”

“And pigs could fly,” Mary Lou said, “but personally, I'd rather have an orgasm.”

Mary Lou swung into the lot and stopped short, jerking both of us against the shoulder harness. “Omigod,” she said. “Do you see what I think I see?”

Ranger's Mercedes was parked in shadow just beyond the door.

“Damn,” Mary Lou said, “if he was waiting for me, I'd need Depends.”

Ranger was leaning against the car, arms folded across his chest, not moving. Very foreboding in the dark. Definitely Depends material.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said to Mary Lou, my eyes on Ranger, wondering about his mood.

“You going to be okay? He looks so . . .dangerous.”

“It's the hair.”

“It's more than the hair.”

It was the hair, the eyes, the mouth, the body, the gun on his hip . . .

“I'll call you tomorrow,” I told Mary Lou. “Don't worry about Ranger. He's not as bad as he looks.” Okay, so I fib now and then, but it's always for a good cause. No point Mary Lou spending the night in a state.

Mary Lou gave Ranger one last look and whipped out of the lot. I took a deep breath and ambled over.

“Where's the BMW?” Ranger asked.

I pulled the plates and the piece of dashboard out of my bag and gave them to him. “I sort of had a problem . . .”

His eyebrows raised, and a smile started to twitch at the corners of his mouth. “This is what's left of the car?”

I nodded my head and swallowed. “It got stolen.”

The smile widened. “And they left you the plates and registration tag. Nice touch.”

I didn't think it was a nice touch. I thought it was very crappy. In fact, I was thinking my
life
was crappy. The bomb, Ramirez, Uncle Fred—and just when I thought I'd succeeded at something and made a capture, someone stole my car. The whole crappy world was thumbing its nose at me. “Life sucks,” I said to Ranger. A tear popped out of my eye and slid down my cheek. Damn.

Ranger studied me for a moment, turned, and dropped the plates in his backseat. “It was a car, Babe. It wasn't important.”

“It's not just the car. It's
everything”
Another tear squeezed out. “I have all these problems.”

He was very close. I could feel the heat from his body. And I could see that his eyes were dilated black in the dark parking lot.

“Here's something else to worry about,” he said. And he kissed me—his hand at the nape of my neck and his mouth on mine, soft at first, then serious and demanding. He drew me closer and kissed me again and desire washed over me, hot and liquid and scary.

“Oh boy,” I whispered.

“Yeah,” he said. “Think about it.”

“What I think . . . is that it's a bad idea.”

“Of course it's a bad idea,” Ranger said. “If it was a good idea I'd have been in your bed a long time ago.” He took a notecard from his jacket pocket. “I have a job for you tomorrow. The young sheik is going home and needs a ride to the airport.”

“No! No way am I driving that little jerk.”

“Look at it this way, Steph. He deserves you.”

He had a point. “Okay,” I said. “I haven't got anything else to do.”

“Instructions are on the card. Tank will bring the car around for you.”

And he was gone.

“Omigod,” I said. “What did I just do?”

I rushed into the lobby and pushed the elevator button, still talking to myself. “He kissed me and I kissed him,” I said. “What was I thinking?” I rolled my eyes. “I was thinking . . .
yes!”

The elevator door opened and Ramirez stepped out at me. “Hello, Stephanie,” he said. “The champ's been waiting for you.”

I shrieked and jumped away, but I'd had my mind on Ranger and not Ramirez, and I didn't move fast enough. Ramirez grabbed a handful of hair and yanked me toward the door. “It's time,” he said. “Time to see what it's like to be with a real man. And then when the champ is done with you, you'll be ready for God.”

I stumbled and went down to one knee, and he dragged me forward. I had my hand in my bag, but I couldn't find my gun or the stun gun. Too much junk. I swung the bag as hard as I could and caught him in the face. He paused, but he didn't go down.

“That wasn't nice, Stephanie,” he said. “You're gonna have to pay for that. You're gonna have to get punished before you go to God.”

I dug my heels in and screamed as loud as I could.

Two doors opened on the first floor.

“What's going on here?” Mr. Sanders said.

Mrs. Keene stuck her head out. “Yeah, what's the racket?”

“Call the police,” I yelled. “Help! Call the police.”

“Don't worry, dear,” Mrs. Keene said, “I've got my gun.” She fired two off and took out an overhead light. “Did I get him?” she asked. “Would you like me to shoot again?”

Mrs. Keene had cataracts and wore glasses as thick as the bottom of a beer glass.

Ramirez had bolted for the door at the first shot.

“You missed him, Mrs. Keene, but that's okay. You scared him off.”

“Do you still want us to call the police?”

“I'll take care of it,” I told them. “Thanks.”

Everyone thought I was a big professional bounty hunter, and I didn't want to ruin that image, so I calmly walked to the stairs. I climbed one step at a time, and I told myself to stay focused. Get yourself into your apartment, I thought. Lock the door, call the police. I should have found my gun and gone into the lot after Ramirez. But the truth is, I was too scared. And if I was being really honest here, I wasn't such a good shot. Better to leave it to the police.

By the time I got to my door, I had my key in my hand. I took a deep breath and got the key in on the first try. The apartment was dark and quiet. Too early for Briggs to be asleep. He must have gone out. Rex was silently running on his wheel. The red light was lit on my answering machine. Two messages. I suspected one was from Ranger, left early afternoon. I flipped the light on, dropped my bag on the kitchen counter, and played the messages.

The first was from Ranger, just as I'd thought, telling me to page him again.

The second was from Morelli. “This is important,” he said. “I have to talk to you.”

I dialed Morelli at home. “Come on,” I said. “Pick up the phone.” No answer, so I started working my way down the speed dial. Next on the list was Morelli's car phone. No answer there either. Try his cell phone. I took the phone into my bedroom, but only got as far as the bedroom door.