“This is the deal,” Ranger said to me. “We strip the apartment of everything not nailed down. Tomorrow the landlord will bring someone in to clean and do repairs.”
“What's to stop the tenant from returning?”
Ranger just stared at me.
“Right,” I said. “Stupid question.”
IT WAS MIDMORNING when we went through with the broom. Santos and Brown had positioned themselves on folding chairs in the small vestibule downstairs. They were to take the first security shift. Tank was on his way to the landfill with the mattresses and bags of garbage. Ranger and I were left to lock up the apartment.
Ranger angled the brim of a Navy SEALS ball cap to shade his eyes. “So,” he said, “what do you think of security work? You want to be on the team? I can let you take the graveyard shift with Tank.”
“He isn't going to throw any more people out windows, is he?”
“Hard to say, Babe.”
“I don't know if I'm cut out for this.”
Ranger took his SEALS hat off and put it on me, tucking my hair behind my ears, letting his hands linger a moment too long. “You have to believe in what you're doing.”
That could be a problem. And Ranger could be a problem. I was feeling much too attracted to him. Ranger wasn't listed under potential boyfriends in my Rolodex. Ranger was listed under crazed mercenaries. An attraction to Ranger would be like chasing after the doomsday orgasm.
I took a steadying breath. “I guess I could try a shift,” I said. “See how it goes.”
I WAS STILL wearing the hat when Ranger dropped me off at my apartment. I removed the cap and held it out to him. “Don't forget your SEALS hat.”
Ranger looked at me from behind dark glasses. His eyes hidden. His thoughts unreadable. His voice soft. “Keep it. Looks good on you.”
“It's a righteous hat.”
He smiled. “Live up to it, Babe.”
I pushed through the double glass doors into the lobby. I was about to take the stairs when the elevator opened and Mrs. Bestler leaned out. “Going up,” she said. “Step to the rear of the car.”
Mrs. Bestler was eighty-?three and had an apartment on the third floor. When things got boring she played elevator operator.
“Morning, Mrs. Bestler,” I said. “Second floor.”
She hit the two button and eyeballed me. “Looks like you've been working. Catch any bad guys today?”
“Helped a friend clean an apartment.”
Mrs. Bestler smiled. “What a good girl.” The elevator stopped and the doors opened. “Second floor,” Mrs. Bestler sang out. “Better dresses. Designer suits. Ladies' lounge.”
I let myself into my apartment and went straight to the phone machine and its blinking red light.
I had two messages. The first was from Morelli, and it was for dinner. Miss Popularity, that's me.
“Meet you at Pino's at six,” Morelli said.
Morelli's invitations always produced mixed emotions. The initial reaction was a sexual rush at the sound of his voice, the rush was followed by a queasy stomach while I considered his motives, and the queasy stomach eventually gave way to curiosity and anticipation. Ever the optimist.
The second message was from Mabel. “A man just came asking about Fred,” Mabel said. “Something about a business deal, and he needed to find Fred right away. I explained how I couldn't help him, but I said you were on the job, so he shouldn't worry. I thought you might want to know.”
I called Mabel back and asked who the man was and what he looked like.
“He was about my height,” she said. “And he had brown hair.”
“Caucasian?”