“A what?”
“I work for Vincent Plum, your bond agent. You missed your trial date, and Mr. Plum would like you to reschedule.”
“Fuck that. I'm not rescheduling nothing,.”
The rain was running off my jacket in sheets, soaking my jeans and shoes. “It would only take a few minutes. I'd be happy to drive you.”
“Plum doesn't have no limo service. Plum only hires two kinds of people . . . women with big pointy tits and scumbag bounty hunters. Nothing personal, and it's hard to see with that raincoat on, but you don't look like you got big pointy tits. That leaves scumbag bounty hunter.”
Without warning he reached out into the rain, grabbed my pocketbook off my shoulder, and tossed the contents onto the tan shag carpet behind him. The gun landed with a thunk.
“You could get into a lot of crap carrying concealed in this state,” he said.
I narrowed my eyes. “Are you going to cooperate here?”
“What do you think?”
“I think if you're smart you'll get a shirt and some shoes and come downtown with me.”
“Guess I'm not that smart.”
“Fine. Then just give me my stuff, and I'll be more than happy to leave.” Truer words were never spoken.
“I'm not giving you nothing. This here stuff looks like my stuff now.”
I was debating kicking him in the nuts when he gave me a shove to the chest, knocking me backward off the small cement pad. I came down hard on my ass in the mud.
“Take a hike,” he said, “or I'll shoot you with your own fucking gun.”
The door slammed shut and the bolt clicked into place. I got up and wiped my hands on my jacket. I couldn't believe I'd just stood there flat-footed and let him take my shoulder bag. What had I been thinking?
I'd been thinking about Clarence Sampson and not about Lonnie Dodd. Lonnie Dodd wasn't a fat drunk. I should have approached him with a much more defensive posture. I should have stood farther back, out of his reach. And I should have had my defense spray in my hand, not in my pocketbook.
I had a lot to learn as a bounty hunter. I lacked skills, but even more problematic, I lacked attitude. Ranger had tried to tell me, but it hadn't taken hold. Never let your guard down, he'd said. When you walk the street, you have to see everything, every second. You let your mind wander, and you could be dead. When you go after your FTA, always be prepared for the worst.
It had seemed overly dramatic at the time. Looking at it in retrospect, it had been good advice.
&n
bsp; I stomped back to the Jeep and stood there fuming, swearing at myself and Dodd and E.E. Martin. I threw in a few choice thoughts about Ramirez and Morelli and kicked a tire.
“Now what?” I yelled in the rain. “Now what are you going to do, girl genius?”
Well, I sure as hell wasn't going to leave without Lonnie Dodd shackled and stuffed into my back seat. As I saw it, I needed help, and I had two choices. The police or Ranger. If I called the police I might be in trouble with the gun. It'd have to be Ranger.
I closed my eyes. I really didn't want to call Ranger. I'd wanted to do this myself. I'd wanted to show everyone I was capable.
“Pride goeth before the fall,” I said. I wasn't sure exactly what that meant, but it felt right.
I took a deep groaning breath, shucked the muddy, drippingwet raincoat, slid behind the wheel, and called Ranger.
“Yo,” he said.
“I have a problem.”
“Are you naked?”
“No, I'm not naked.”