Notorious Nineteen(48)
I dropped Lula at the office and cruised around the block, trying to decide what to do next. For the better part of the day I’d forgotten about the gruesome note, but now that it was time to go home I had a hollow feeling in my stomach. It was the stretch of pavement between my car and the door to my apartment building that bothered me most. I felt vulnerable when I walked that stretch of pavement. I could delay the experience by eating dinner with my parents, visiting Morelli, or dropping in on Ranger, but eventually I had to get from my car to my door. Better to do it sooner than later, I decided. It would be more dangerous when it was dark.
I drove home, parked, and retrieved Ranger’s small Ruger from under the driver’s seat. I walked into my building with the gun in my hand and hoped I wouldn’t run into any of my fellow tenants. I had a reputation for being the building’s Calamity Jane, and I didn’t want to enhance that image. I made it safely to my door, slipped inside, and threw all the bolts.
My apartment is mostly furnished with relatives’ discards. It won’t get a spread in Architectural Digest, but it’s comfortable in a secondhand kind of way. I can’t cook, and I never have dinner parties, so my dining room table serves as a computer desk. I have a couch and coffee table positioned in front of the television, and that’s about it for interior decorating.
I said hello to Rex and gave him a baby carrot. I took a half-empty box of Frosted Flakes out of the cupboard, settled in front of the television, and snacked my way through dinner. I was channel surfing, looking for a nine o’clock show, and I noticed a red glow coming from the parking lot. I went to the window and saw that Ranger’s car was on fire. A second later my cellphone rang.
“Now what?” Ranger asked.
“Someone toasted your car. I imagine we know who did it. I don’t mean to be ungrateful, but personally I think I was safer in the Buick.”
Ranger disconnected, and I stayed at the window to watch the fire trucks arrive. Two Rangeman SUVs and a cop car followed the fire trucks. No need for me to go out. Rangeman would take care of it. I pulled my curtains closed, double checked the locks on my door, and went back to the Frosted Flakes and television, wishing I had a bottle of wine to help make it all go away.
SEVENTEEN
I COAXED MYSELF out of bed, shuffled into the bathroom, and stood under the shower, trying to get energized. It hadn’t been a totally restful night. I’d had nightmares about fire and difficulty getting back to sleep. I ended the shower when I ran out of hot water.
I got dressed, went to the window, and looked down at the lot. Ranger’s Mercedes SUV was gone. Uncle Sandor’s Buick was back. I slogged into the kitchen. No more cereal. Ate it all last night. No point making coffee since there wasn’t any cereal or milk. I filled Rex’s bowl with hamster kibble, gave him fresh water, and hung my messenger bag on my shoulder. I opened my door and found another note. Be prepared to die. Crap. I returned to the kitchen and got Ranger’s gun.
Twenty minutes later I reached the bonds office. My first stop was the coffeemaker. The box of donuts on Connie’s desk was the second stop.
“You look like you need to visit the makeup counter at Macy’s and get some industrial strength concealer,” Lula said to me. “I’m hoping there’s a good story that goes with the bags under your eyes.”
“Someone torched Ranger’s Mercedes last night when it was parked in my lot.”
“It should be illegal to do that to a Mercedes,” Lula said.
“It is illegal,” I said.
“Well, yeah, but you know what I mean. Did Mr. Tall Dark and Sexy come by to watch his car burn and console you?”
“No. I haven’t seen him. He sent a couple guys to take care of it.”
I finished off a Boston Kreme and went to the box for another donut.
“Any new skips come in?” I asked Connie.
“Arthur Beasley missed his court date. He’s charged with indecent exposure. It’s a small bond but he should be easy to find. He works at the nudie beach in Atlantic City.”
This got Lula’s attention. “There’s a nudie beach in Atlantic City? I never heard of it.”
“I have an address,” Connie said. “I think it’s new. It’s attached to a casino.”
“Is the casino nude too?” Lula asked.
“I don’t know,” Connie said. “And I don’t want to know. Have you seen the people who go to Atlantic City? Would you really like to see them naked?”
“Anybody else?” I asked.
“Lauren Lazar. She got high on one of those new designer drugs and tried to sell her little sister to the night manager of the convenience store on Hyland. Apparently she had the munchies and wanted a bunch of Little Debbie snack cakes.”