Smokin’ Seventeen(47)
A Trenton police car rolled to a stop and two uniforms got out and looked down at the guy in the road.
“Hey Eddie,” one of the cops said. “How’s it going?”
“I got robbed. This neighborhood is a crap hole.”
The old man reappeared. “He got robbed of my money. This is the fourth time this week. I hate this man. He’s a dog turd.”
Lula gave Eddie a flyer. “Call Vinnie and he’ll have you out in no time. And if you save your flyer I’ll autograph it for you.”
We covered two more blocks with flyers and returned to my car. It still had wheels, but someone had spray painted DIE BITCH on it. I looked across the street, and saw Nick Alpha standing in a doorway. He was staring at me, unsmiling, smoking a cigarette. He made his hand into a gun, pointed it at me and mouthed bang. Then he turned and walked away.
“Holy crap,” I said to Lula. “Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“Nick Alpha!”
“Where?”
“He’s gone.”
“I’m feeling funny,” Lula said, looking at herself in the visor mirror. “I think my teeth are growing. Look at my teeth. Are my fang teeth getting pointy? I know they’re longer than they were yesterday. I think the vampire cooties are taking hold of me.”
“I think the nut cooties are taking hold of you.”
“Okay, but I told you about this. I’m not gonna be responsible if I leap on you all of a sudden and suck your blood out. And this is a terrible time for this to be happening. Just now when I might get a modeling contract from all these signs we’re putting up.”
We left Stark Street and drove to the public housing projects. Lots of potential customers there.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Lula stapled flyers all over, and we left a stack at an open-air drug market.
“This is going better than I thought,” Lula said. “People are even thanking me for giving them the flyer. And you got some nice compliments on your picture.”
“A pimp and a drunk told me I looked better in the photo than in real life. That’s not a compliment.”
“They were liking your enhanced chest. You even got a job offer.”
“From the pimp!”
“Yeah, but he’s a pretty good one. His girls work some excellent corners.”
When we were done wallpapering the projects we covered the area around the police station. I was holding the last five flyers while Lula stapled.
I felt the air pressure change and desire rippled through me. I turned and bumped into Ranger.
“Babe.”
“Jeez!” I took two steps back. “I didn’t hear you sneak up on me. Are you picking up police reports?”
“I was doing a background check.” Ranger looked at the flyer Lula had just attached to a building. “Are you putting this up or tearing it down?”
“It’s Vinnie’s idea to bring in more business.”
Lula opened the staple gun and looked inside. “I’m out of staples. I’m tired of this anyway. I got a blister on my thumb from stapling, and I broke off one of my nails. My friend Shirleene has a nail salon on the next block. I’m gonna walk over there and get a manicure. Do you want to come with me?”
“I’ll pass.”
“Well I can’t walk around with a broken nail. I’ve got a reputation. I’ll figure my transportation out, and if I get stuck I’ll make Vinnie come get me. This is a work-related emergency.”
Lula powered off down the street, and I stuffed the last of the flyers into my bag.
“Where did you park?” Ranger asked.
“Around the corner on Leeder.”
“I parked on Leeder, but I didn’t see your car.”
We walked to Leeder and Ranger was right … no Escort. I felt my shoulders sag. “Someone stole my car.”
“Are you sure you parked here?”
“Yes. There’s a fresh oil stain from my transmission.”
Ranger slung an arm around my shoulders and kissed me on the top of my head. “Someday I need to talk to you about car care.”
“I know about car care. I kept a case of motor oil in the back.”
“That’s my girl.”
His Porsche 911 turbo was parked a couple cars away. We got in, buckled our seat belts, and the vordo took over. There was a subtle hint of Bulgari Green shower gel when Ranger moved. His brown hair was silky clean and perfectly cut. His dark Latino skin was smooth and kissable. He was dressed in a Rangeman black T-shirt and cargo pants. The T-shirt spanned his biceps as if it had been painted on. The cargo pants were filled out in all the right places.
“Have you ever done it in a 911?” I asked him.