Morelli grinned. “You're right. And, you could be right about the Buick business, too. I probably deserved to get run over.”
“Was that an apology?”
“No. But you can hold the flashlight next time we play train.”
* * * * *
IT WAS ALMOST ONE when I returned to Vinnie's office. I slouched in a chair by Connie's desk and tipped my head back to get maximum benefit from the air-conditioning.
“You been out jogging?” Connie asked. “I haven't seen that much sweat since Nixon.”
“My car doesn't have air.”
“Bummer. How's it going with Morelli? You get any leads?”
“That's why I'm here. I need help. This capturing stuff isn't as easy as it sounds. I need to talk to someone who's an expert at this job.”
“I know just the guy. Ranger. His full name is Ricardo Carlos Mañoso. Second generation Cuban-American. Was Special Forces. Works for Vinnie now. He makes apprehensions other agents only dream about. He gets a little creative sometimes, but hey, that's the way it is with a genius, right?”
“Creative?”
“Doesn't always play by the rules.”
“Oh.”
“Like Clint Eastwood in that Dirty Harry movie,” Connie said. “You don't have a problem with Clint Eastwood, do you?”
She punched a number on her speed dial, connected with Mañoso's pager, and left a call-back message. “Not to worry,” she said, smiling. “This guy'll tell you everything you need to know.”
An hour later, I sat across from Mañoso in a downtown cafe. His straight black hair was slicked back in a ponytail. His biceps looked like they'd been carved out of granite and buffed up with Armour-all. He was around 5'10" with a muscular neck and a don't-mess-with-me body. I placed him in his late twenties.
He leaned b
ack and grinned. “Sooooo, Connie says I'm supposed to make you into a badass fugitive apprehension agent. She says you need to get the crash course. What's the rush?”
“You see the brown Nova at the curb?”
His eyes swiveled to the front window. “Un huh.”
“That's my car.”
He gave an almost imperceptible nod. “So you need money. Anything else?”
“Personal reasons.”
“Bond enforcement is dangerous business. Those personal reasons better be pretty fucking good.”
“What are your reasons for doing this?”
He did a palms up gesture. “It's what I do best.”
Good answer, I thought. More eloquent than mine. “Maybe someday I'll be good at this too. Right now my motive is steady employment.”
“Vinnie give you a skip?”
“Joseph Morelli.”
He tipped his head back and laughed, and the sound boomed off the walls of the little sandwich shop. “Oh, man! Are you kidding me? You aren't gonna get that dude. This isn't some street punk you're going after. This guy's smart. And he's good. You know what I'm telling you?”