“Borrowed?”
“Commandeered, actually. You know, about us having the law and all?”
“Un huh.”
“Well, I commandeered his car, and he found out.”
Ranger smiled and handed me a towel. “He understand about commandeering?”
“Let's just say he wasn't pleased. Anyway, I parked the car in the lot out here and removed the distributor cap as a safety precaution.”
“Bet that went over big.”
I got out of the tub and had to squelch a scream when I saw my reflection in the vanity mirror. My hair looked like it had taken 2,000 volts and been spray starched. “I need to install an alarm system in his car, but I haven't got the money.”
Ranger laughed soft and low in his chest. “An alarm system. Morelli'll love that.” He took a pen from the floor and wrote an address on a piece of toilet paper. “I know a garage that'll give you a price.”
I padded past him into the bedroom and exchanged the towel for a long terrycloth robe. “I heard you come in through the door.”
“Picked the lock. Didn't think it prudent to wake up the super.” He looked over at my window. Rain was spattering on the dark pane, and a piece of torn screening draped over the sill. “I only do the Spiderman shit in nice weather.”
“Morelli wrecked my screen.”
“Guess he in a hurry.”
“I've noticed you only talk ghetto half of the time.”
“I'm multi-lingual,” Ranger said.
I followed him to the door, feeling jealous, wishing I knew a second language.
* * * * *
MY SLEEP WAS DEEP AND DREAMLESS, and I might have slept until November if it weren't for the relentless pounding on my front door. I squinted at my beside clock. The display read 8:35. Used to be I loved company. Now I cringed when someone knocked on my door. My first fear was of Ramirez. My second was that the police had come to haul me away for auto theft.
I picked the Sure Guard off my night table, stuffed my arms into my robe, and dragged myself to the door. I closed one eye and looked through the peephole with the other. Eddie Gazarra looked back at me. He was in uniform, holding two Dunkin' Donuts bags. I opened the door and sniffed the air like a hound on a scent. “Yum,” I breathed.
“Hello to you, too,” Gazarra said, squeezing past me in the little hallway, heading for the dining room table. “Where's your furniture?”
“I'm remodeling.”
“Un huh.”
We sat opposite each other, and I waited while he took two cardboard cups of coffee out of one of the bags. We uncapped the coffee, spread napkins, and dug into the donuts.
We were good enough friends that we didn't have to talk while we ate. We ate the Boston creams first. Then we divided up the remaining four jelly donuts. At two donuts down he still hadn't noticed my hair, and I was left to wonder what my hair usually looked like. He also hadn't said anything about the mess Morelli had created while searching my apartment, w
hich gave me pause to consider my housekeeping habits.
He ate his third donut more slowly, sipping his coffee, savoring his donut, sipping his coffee, savoring his donut. “I hear you made a recovery yesterday,” he said between savors.
He was left with just his coffee. He eyed my donut, and I protectively drew it closer to my edge of the table.
“Don't suppose you'd want to share that,” Gazarra said.
“Don't suppose I would,” I replied. “How did you find out about my recovery?”
“Locker room talk. You're prime conversation these days. The boys have a pool going on when you'll get boinked by Morelli.”