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Hot Six, Page 21

Janet Evanovich


  “Did you hear that from Morelli?”

  “I heard it from everyone. My answering machine ran out of space. It's just too dangerous for you to stay on the case. I'm afraid Hannibal will put it together and come after you.”

  “This is depressing.”

  “Did you really sit him up in a lawn chair?”

  “Yes. And by the way, did you kill him?”

  “No. The Porsche wasn't in the garage when I went through the house. And neither was Macaroni.”

  “How did you get past the alarm system?”

  “Same way you did. The alarm wasn't set.” He looked at his watch. “I have to go.”

  I opened the passenger door and turned to leave.

  Ranger caught hold of my wrist. “You're not especially good at following instructions, but you're going to listen to me on this, right? You're going to walk away. And you're going to be careful.”

  I gave a sigh, heaved myself out the door, and extracted Bob from the backseat. “Just make sure you don't let Joyce catch you. That would really ruin my day.”

  I deposited Bob in the apartment, grabbed my car keys and my shoulder bag, and went back downstairs. I was going somewhere. Anywhere. I was too bummed to stay at home. Truth is, I wasn't all that upset about my employment being terminated. I just hated it being terminated for stupidity. I'd fallen out of a tree, for God's sake. And then I'd sat Junior Macaroni in a chair. I mean, how inept can a person get?

  I needed food, I thought. Ice cream. And hot fudge. Whipped cream. There was an ice cream parlor at the mall that constructed sundaes for four people. That's what I needed. A mega sundae.

  I got into Big Blue, and Mitchell got in with me.

  “Excuse me?” I said. “Is this a date?”

  “You wish,” Mitchell said. “Mr. Stolle wants to talk to you.”

  “Guess what. I'm not in the mood to talk to Mr. Stolle. I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone, you included. So I hope you don't take this personally, but get out of my car.”

  Mitchell drew his gun. “You should change your mood.”

  “You'd shoot me?”

  “Don't take it personally,” Mitchell said.

  Art's Carpets is in Hamilton Township, the land of the strip mall. It's on Route 33, not far from Five Points, and is indistinguishable from every other business on that road, save for its glowing chartreuse sign, which can be seen clearly from Rhode Island. The building is a single-story cinder-block with large storefront windows, heralding a year-round sale. I'd been to Art's Carpets many times, along with every other man, woman, and child in New Jersey. I'd never purchased anything, but I'd been tempted. Art's has good prices.

  I parked the Buick in front of the store. Habib pulled the Lincoln in alongside the Buick. And Joyce parked beside the Lincoln.

  “What does Stolle want?” I asked. “He doesn't want to kill me or anything, does he?”

  “Mr. Stolle don't kill people. He hires people to do that stuff. He just wants to talk to you. That's all he told me.”

  There were a couple women browsing in the store. Looked like mother and daughter. A salesman hovered over them. Mitchell and I walked in together, and Mitchell guided me through the stacks of carpet and displays of broadloom to the office at the back.

  Stolle was in his mid-fifties and built solid. He was barrel-chested and had begun to jowl. He was dressed in a flashy sweater and dress slacks. He extended his hand and smiled his best rug-merchant smile.

  “I'll be right outside,” Mitchell said, and closed the door, leaving me alone with Stolle.

  “You're supposed to be a pretty smart girl,” Stolle said. “I've heard some things about you.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “So how come you're not having any luck delivering Manoso?”

  “I'm not that smart. And Ranger's not going to come near me when Habib and Mitchell are around.”

  Stolle smiled. “To tell you the truth, I never expected you to hand us Manoso. But hell, nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?”

  I didn't say anything.

  “Unfortunately, since we couldn't do this the easy way, we're going to have to try something else. We're sending a message to your boyfriend. He doesn't want to talk to me? Fine. He wants to be in the wind? That's okay. You know why? Because we got you. When I run out of patience, and I'm just about there, we're gonna hurt you. And Manoso's gonna know he could have prevented it.”

  All of a sudden I didn't have any air in my lungs. I hadn't thought of this angle. “He's not my boyfriend,” I said. “You're overestimating my importance to him.”

  “Maybe, but he has a sense of chivalry. Latin temperament, you know.” Stolle sat in the chair behind his desk and rocked back. “You should encourage Manoso to talk to us. Mitchell and Habib look like nice guys, but they'll do whatever I tell them. In fact, in the past, they've done some very mean things. You have a dog, don't you?” Stolle leaned forward, hands on desk. “Mitchell's real good at killing dogs. Not that he'd kill your dog . . .”

  “He's not my dog. I'm baby-sitting.”

  “I was just giving an example.”

  “You're wasting your time,” I said. “Ranger is a mercenary. You can't get to him through me. We don't have that kind of relationship. Maybe no one has that kind of relationship with him.”

  Stolle smiled and shrugged. “Like I said before, nothing ventured, nothing gained. It's worth a try, right?”

  I looked at him for a beat, giving him my inscrutable Plum glare, and then I turned and left.

  Mitchell and Habib and Joyce were idling when I walked out of the store.

  I got in the Buick and discreetly felt my crotch to make sure I hadn't wet my pants. I took a deep breath and put my hands on the wheel. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out. I wanted to put the key in the ignition, but I couldn't get my hands to unclench the wheel. I did some more breathing. I told myself Arturo Stolle was a big bag of wind. But I didn't believe it. What I believed was that Arturo Stolle was a real piece of crapola. And it didn't look like Habib and Mitchell were all that great, either.

  Everyone was watching, waiting to see what I'd do next. I didn't want anyone to know I was scared, so I forced myself to release the wheel and start the car. I very carefully backed out of the parking place, put the car in gear, and drove away. I concentrated on my driving, slow and steady.

  While I drove I dialed every number I had for Ranger, leaving a terse message: Call me. Now. After I ran through Ranger's numbers I called Carol Zabo.

  “I need a favor,” I said.

  “Anything.”

  “I'm being followed by Joyce Barnhardt—”

  “Evil bitch,” Carol said.

  “And I'm also being followed by two guys in a Lincoln.”

  “Hmm.”

  “Not to worry—they've been following me for days, and so far they haven't shot anybody.” So far. “Anyway, I need to discourage them from following me, and I have a plan.”

  I was about five minutes away from Carol. She lived in the Burg, not far from my parents. She and Lubie had bought a house with their wedding money and had immediately set to work building a family. They'd decided to call it quits after two boys. Good thing for the world. Carol's kids were the scourge of the neighborhood. When they grew up they'd probably be cops.

  Burg backyards are long and narrow. Many are enclosed in fencing of some sort. Most back up to an alley. All alleys are one lane wide. The alley servicing the houses on Reed Street, between Beal and Cedar, was especially long. I asked Carol to idle at the juncture of Cedar and the Reed Street alley. The plan was that I'd lead Joyce and the Boobie Boys down the alley, and then as soon as I turned onto Cedar, Carol would ease up and block the alley, feigning car trouble.

  I got to the Burg and wandered around for another five minutes, giving Carol some extra time to get into position. Then I turned into the Reed Street alley, sucking Joyce and the goons right along with me. I got to Cedar and sure enough, there was Carol. I wheeled around
her, she moved forward and stopped, and everyone was trapped. I glanced back to see what was happening and saw Carol and three other women get out of Carol's car. Monica Kajewski, Gail Wojohowitz, and Angie Bono. Every one of them hated Joyce Barnhardt. Rumble in the Burg!

  I went straight to Broad and headed for the shore. I wasn't going to sit around and wait for Mitchell to kill Bob to make a point. Bob today . . . me tomorrow.

  I rolled into Deal and slowly drove past the Ramos compound. I tried again to reach Ranger by cell phone. No response. I continued to cruise the street. Come on, Ranger. Look out the window, wherever the hell you are. I was a block past the pink house, getting ready to make a U-turn, when the passenger door was yanked open and Alexander Ramos jumped in.

  “Hey, cutie,” he said. “Just can't stay away, huh?”

  Shit! I didn't want him in my car now!

  “Good thing I saw you. I was going nuts in there,” he said.

  “Jesus,” I said. “Why don't you get a patch?”

  “I don't want a goddamn patch. I want a cigarette. Drive me to the store. And hurry up, I'm dying.”

  “There are cigarettes in the glove compartment. You left them here last time.”

  He pulled the pack out and stuck a cigarette in his mouth.

  “Not in the car!”

  “Christ, this is like being married without the sex. Go to Sal's.”

  I didn't want to go to Sal's. I wanted to talk to Ranger. “Aren't you afraid you'll be missed at the house? Are you sure it's safe to go to Sal's?”

  “Yeah. There's this problem in Trenton, and everybody's busy trying to fix it.”

  Like, could the problem be a dead guy in Hannibal's garage? “Must be some problem,” I said. “Maybe you should be helping.”

  “I already helped. I'm putting the problem on a boat next week. With any luck, the boat will sink.”

  Okay, now I'm stumped. I don't know how they're going to get the dead guy on a boat. I don't know why they'd want to put the dead guy on a boat.

  Since I wasn't having any luck getting Ramos out of my car, I drove the short distance to Sal's, and we went inside and took a table. Ramos slugged back a shot and lit up. “I'm going back to Greece next week,” he said. “You want to go back with me? We could get married.”

  “I thought you were through with marriage.”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “I'm flattered, but I don't think so.”

  He shrugged and poured out another shot. “Suit yourself.”

  “This problem in Trenton—is it business?”

  “Business. Personal. It's all the same for me. Let me give you some advice. Don't have kids. And if you want to make a good living, guns are the way to go. That's all my advice.”

  My cell phone rang.

  “What's going on?” Ranger said.

  “I can't talk now.”

  His voice was unusually tight. “Tell me you're not with Ramos.”

  “I can't tell you that. Why didn't you return my call?”

  “I had to turn my phone off for a while. I just got back, and Tank said he saw you pick Ramos up.”

  “It wasn't my fault! I was down here looking for you.”

  “Well, you'd better be well hidden, because three cars just left the compound, and my guess is they're looking for Alexander.”

  I flipped the phone shut and dropped it into my purse. “I have to go,” I told Ramos.

  “That was your boyfriend, right? He sounds like a real asshole. I could have him taken care of, if you know what I mean.”

  I flipped a twenty onto the table and grabbed the bottle of booze. “Come on,” I said, “we can take this with us.”

  Ramos looked over my shoulder to the door. “Oh Christ, look who's here.”

  I was afraid to look.

  “It's my baby-sitters,” Alexander said. “Can't even wipe my ass without an audience.”

  I turned and almost passed out with relief that it wasn't Hannibal. They were both in their late forties, dressed in suits. They looked like they ate a lot of pasta, and probably didn't refuse dessert either.

  “They need you back at the house,” one of the men said.

  “I'm with my lady friend,” Alexander said.

  “Yeah, but maybe you could see her some other time. We still can't find that cargo that's going on the boat.”

  One of them walked Alexander out the door, and the other stayed behind to talk to me.

  “Listen,” he said, “it's not nice to take advantage of an old man like this. Don't you have any friends your own age?”

  “I'm not taking advantage of him. He jumped into my car.”

  “I know. He does that sometimes.” The guy pulled a money clip out of his pocket and peeled off a hundred. “Here, this is for your inconvenience.”

  I took a step back. “You've got this all wrong.”

  “Okay, what'll it take?” He peeled off nine more hundreds, folded them together, and dropped them into my bag. “I don't want to hear nothing more from you. And you gotta promise to leave the old man alone. Understand?”

  “Hold on here—”

  He swept his jacket aside to show me his gun.

  “Now I understand,” I said.

  He turned and walked out the door and got into the Town Car idling at curbside. The car took off.

  “Life can be pretty strange,” I said to the bartender. Then I left, too. When I was sufficiently far away from Deal to feel safe, I redialed Ranger and told him about Stolle.

  “I want you to go home and lock yourself in your apartment,” Ranger said. “I'm going to send Tank to pick you up.”

  “And then what?”

  “Then I'm putting you someplace safe until I can straighten this out.”

  “I don't think so.”

  “Don't give me a hard time on this,” Ranger said. “I've got enough problems.”

  “Well, solve your damn problems. And solve them fast!” And I disconnected. Okay, so I lost it. I'd had a stressful day.

  MITCHELL AND HABIB were waiting for me when I pulled into my parking lot. I gave them a wave, but I didn't get a wave back. I didn't get a smile. No remarks, either. Not a good sign.

  I took the stairs to the second floor and hurried to my door. My stomach was uneasy, and my heart felt fluttery. I stepped into my apartment and felt relief wash over me when Bob bounced over. I locked the door behind me and checked Rex to make sure he was okay, too. I had twelve messages on my machine. One was silence. It felt like Ranger's silence. Ten were for Grandma. The last one was from my mother.

  “We're having fried chicken tonight,” she said. “Your grandmother thought you might want to come over, since you don't have any food in your house because Bob ate your groceries while your grandmother was cleaning your cupboards. And your grandmother says you might want to walk him when you get home, because he ate two boxes of prunes she'd just bought.”

  I looked at Bob. His nose was running and his stomach looked like he'd swallowed a beach ball.

  “Jeez, Bob,” I said, “you don't look too good.”

  Bob burped and passed gas.

  “Maybe we should go for a walk.”

  Bob started to pant. Drool dripped onto the floor and thunder rumbled in his stomach. He lurched forward and hunched over.

  “No!” I shouted. “Not here!” I grabbed his leash and my shoulder bag and dragged him out of the apartment and down the hall. We didn't wait for the elevator. We took the stairs and ran through the lobby. I got him outside and was about to cross the lot when the Lincoln suddenly screeched to a halt in front of us. Mitchell jumped out of the car, shoved me to the ground, and grabbed Bob.

  By the time I'd scrambled to my feet, the Lincoln was in motion. I shrieked and ran after it, but the car was already out of the lot, onto St. James Street. Suddenly it stopped short. The doors were thrown open and Habib and Mitchell jumped out.

  “Jesus Christ!” Mitchell yelled. “Goddamn! Son of a bitch!”

  Habib had his
hand to his mouth. “I am going to be sick. Not even in Pakistan have I seen such a thing as this.”

  Bob leaped out of the car, tail wagging, and ran to me. His stomach looked nice and slim again, and he wasn't drooling and panting. “Feel better now, fella?” I said, scratching behind his ears just the way he liked it. “Good boy. Good Bob!”