“How did Fred come to owe you money?”
“Fred likes to play the ponies once in a while.”
“Are you telling me you're Fred's bookie?”
“Yeah, that's what I'm telling you.”
“I don't believe you. Fred didn't gamble.”
“How do you know?”
“Besides, you don't look like a bookie,” I said.
“How do bookies look?”
“Different.” More respectable.
“I figure you're looking for Fred, and I'm looking for Fred, and maybe we can look for Fred together.”
“Sure.”
“See, that wasn't so difficult.”
“Are you gonna go now?”
“Unless you want me to stay and watch television.”
“No.”
“I got a better television, anyway,” he said.
AT 12:30 I was downstairs, waiting for Tank. I'd taken a nap, and I was feeling halfway alert. I was dressed in black jeans, black T-?shirt, Ranger's SEALS hat, and the black SECURITY jacket. At Ranger's request, I had my gun clipped to my belt, and my shoulder bag held the other essentials—stun gun, pepper spray, flashlight, and cuffs.
The lot was eerie at this time of the night. The seniors' cars were fast asleep, their hoods and roofs reflecting light from the halogen floods. The macadam looked mercurial. The neighborhood of small single-?family houses behind my building was dark and quiet. Occasionally there was the whir of traffic on St. James. Headlights flashed at the corner and a car turned into my lot. I had a moment of stomach-?fluttering panic that this wasn't Tank, that this might be Benito Ramirez. I held my ground, thinking about the gun on my hip, telling myself I was cool, I was bad, I was a dangerous woman not to be messed with. Make my day, punk, I thought. Yeah, right. If it turned out to be Ramirez I'd wet my pants and run screaming back into the build
ing.
The car was black and shiny. An SUV. It rolled to a stop in front of me, and the driver's side window slid down.
Tank looked out. “Ready to rock and roll?”
I took the seat beside him and buckled up. “Do you expect a lot of rockin' and rollin' tonight?”
“I expect none. Working this shift is like watching grass grow.”
That was a relief. I had a lot to think about, and I didn't especially want to see Tank in action. Even more, I didn't want to see myself in action.
“I don't suppose you know a bookie named Bunchy, do you?”
“Bunchy? Nope. Never heard of him. He local?”
“Actually, I'm not sure.”
The ride across town was quiet. One vehicle was parked at the curb in front of the Sloane Street apartment building. It was another new black SUV. Tank parked behind it. Beyond the building on either side and across the street, cars lined the curb.
“One of the things we like to enforce is a no-?parking zone in front of the building,” Tank said. “Keeps things clean. The tenants have parking behind the building. Only security vehicles are allowed here at the door.”
“And if someone wants to park here?”