Ranger gave me a slow stare. “None. But Morelli must have had a good reason. Morelli's a cool guy, and if a cop wants to pop someone, there are ways.”
“Even cool cops make mistakes.”
“Not like this, babe. Not Morelli.”
“So what are you telling me?”
“I'm telling you to be careful.”
All of a sudden I had a sick feeling in my stomach. This wasn't just some slick adventure I was embarking upon to make a fast buck. Catching Morelli would be difficult. And turning him back in to the court would feel mean. He wasn't my favorite person, but I didn't hate him enough to want to see him spend the rest of his life in prison.
“You still want to tag him?” Ranger asked.
I was silent.
“If you don't do it, someone else will,” Ranger said. “That's something you got to learn. And, you got no business making judgments. You just do your job, and bring the man in. Got to trust in the system.”
“Do you trust in the system?”
“Beats the shit out of anarchy.”
“There's a lot of money involved here. If you're so good, why didn't Vinnie give Morelli to you? Why did he originally give him to Morty Beyers?”
“Vinnie moves in mysterious ways.”
“Anything else I should know about Morelli?”
“If you want your money, you better find your man fast. Rumor has it the judicial system is the least of his problems.”
“Are you telling me there's a contract out on him?”
Ranger made a gun sign with his hand. “Bang.”
“You sure about this rumor?”
He shrugged. “Just repeating what I heard.”
“The plot thickens,” I said to Ranger.
“Like I said before, you don't care about the plot. Your job is simple. Find the man, bring him in.”
“Do you think I can do it?”
“No.”
If he was trying to discourage me, that was the wrong answer. “Will you help me anyway?”
“Long as you don't tell nobody. Wouldn't want to tarnish my image by looking like a good guy.”
I nodded. “Okay, where do I begin?”
“First thing we need to do is get you outfitted. And while we collect your hardware, I'm gonna tell you about the law.”
“This isn't going to be expensive, is it?”
“My time and knowledge are coming to you free of charge because I like you, and I always wanted to be Professor Higgins, but handcuffs cost $40 a pair. You got plastic?”
I was all out of plastic. I'd hocked my few pieces of good jewelry and sold my living room sleep sofa to one of my neighbors to make my charge card payments. My major appliances had gone for the Nova. The only thing left was a small cache of emergency money which I'd steadfastly refused to touch. I'd been saving it to use on orthopedic reconstruction after the bill collectors broke my knees.