Margaret nodded, like she understood completely what Grandma was saying.
I dropped Grandma off and continued on home to my apartment. Bunchy followed me the whole way and parked behind me.
“Now what?” Bunchy said. “What are you going to do now?”
“I don't know. You have any ideas?”
“I'm thinking there's something going on with the garbage company.”
I considered telling him about Laura Lipinski but decided against it.
“Why did you want to see Margaret's canceled checks?” I asked.
“No special reason. Just thought they'd be interesting.”
“Uh-?huh.”
Bunchy rocked back on his heels with his hands in his pockets. “How about the checks from the garbage company? You ever get any of them?”
“Why? You think they'd be interesting, too?”
“Might be. You never know about stuff.” His eyes focused on something behind me, and his face changed expression. Wariness, maybe.
I felt a body move so close it was skimming my own, and a warm hand protectively settled at the base of my neck. Without turning I knew it was Ranger.
“This is Bunchy,” I said to Ranger, by way of introduction. “Bunchy the bookie.”
Ranger didn't move. Bunchy didn't move. And I wasn't moving, held in a kind of suspended animation by Ranger's force field.
Finally Bunchy took a couple steps backward. It was the sort of maneuver a man might make when confronted with a grizzly. “I'll be in touch,” Bunchy said, pivoting on his heel, walking to his car.
We watched Bunchy drive out of the lot.
“He's not a bookie,” Ranger said, his hand still holding me captive.
I stepped away and turned to face him, putting space between us.
“What was with the intimidation routine you just did?”
Ranger smiled. “You think I intimidated him?”
“Not a whole lot.”
“I don't think so, either. He's got a few face-?offs behind him.”
“Am I right in assuming you didn't like him?”
“Just being cautious. He was carrying and he was lying. And he's a cop.”
I already knew all those things. “He's been following me for days. So far he's been harmless.”
“What's he after?”
“I don't know. Something to do with Fred. Right now he knows more than I do. So I figure it's worthwhile to play along with him. He's probably a Fed. I think he has a tracking device on my car. Jersey cops can't usually afford to do stuff like that. And I think he must be working with a partner to be able to pick me up, but I haven't spotted the partner yet.”
“Does he know you've made him?”
“Yeah, but he doesn't want to talk about it.”