Hot Six (Stephanie Plum 6)

“None at all.” Ranger handed me a card with an address on it. “I want you to do some part-time surveillance for me. Hannibal Ramos. He's the firstborn son and the second in command of the Ramos empire. He lists California as his residence, but he's spending more and more time here in Jersey.”

“Is he here now?”

“He's been here for three weeks. Has a condo in a complex off Route 29.”

“You don't think he killed his brother, do you?”

“He's not at the top of my list,” Ranger said. “I'll have one of my men drop off a car for you.”

Ranger loosely employed a small army of men to help with his various enterprises. Most were ex-military and most were even crazier than Ranger.

“No! Not necessary.” I have bad luck with cars. Their demise frequently results in police intervention, and Ranger's cars have unexplainable origins.

Ranger stepped back into the elevator. “Don't get too close to Ramos,” he said. “He's not a nice guy.” The doors closed. And he was gone.

I EMERGED FROM the bathroom, dressed in my usual uniform of jeans and boots and T-shirt, fresh out of the shower, ready to start the day. Grandma was at the dining room table, reading the paper, and Moon was across from her, eating pancakes. “Hey, dude,” he said, “your granny fixed me some pancakes. You're, like, so lucky to have your granny living with you. She's totally the bomb, dude.”

Grandma smiled. “Isn't he the one,” she said.

“I felt real bad about yesterday,” Moon said, “so I brought you a car. It's, like, a loaner. Remember I was telling you about this friend of mine who's the Dealer? Well, he was ragged when I told him about the fire, and he said it'd be cool if you used one of his cars until you got new wheels.”

“This isn't a stolen car, is it?”

“Hey, dude, what do I look like?”

“You look like a guy who'd steal a car.”

“Well, yeah, but not all the time. This here's a genuine loaner.”

I really did need a car. “It would only be for a couple days,” I said. “Just until I get my insurance money.”

Moon pushed back from his empty plate and dropped a set of keys into my hand. “Knock yourself out. It's a cosmic car, dude. I picked it out myself so it'd complement your aura.”

“What kind of car is it?”

“It's a Rollswagen. A silver wind machine.”

Uh-huh. “Okay, well, thanks. Can I give you a ride home?”

He ambled out into the hall. “Gonna walk. Need to convene.”

“I've got my whole day lined up,” Grandma said. “Driving lesson this morning. Then this afternoon Melvina is going to take me around to look at some apartments.”

“Can you afford your own apartment?”

“I've got some money put aside from when I sold the house. I was saving it to go into one of them nursing homes in my old age but maybe I'll just use my gun instead.”

I grimaced.

“Well, it isn't like I'm gonna eat lead tomorrow,” Grandma said. “I've got a whole lot of years left. And besides, I've got it figured out. See, if you put the gun in your mouth, then you blow the back of your head off. That way Stiva don't have to work so hard to make you look good when he lays you out on account of no one sees the back of your head anyway. You just got to be careful not to jiggle the gun so you don't botch the job and take your ear off.” She put the paper aside. “I'll stop at the store on the way home and get some pork chops for supper. I gotta go get ready for my driving lesson now.”

And I had to go to work. Problem was, I didn't want to do any of the things that were sitting in front of me. I didn't want to snoop on Hannibal Ramos. And I definitely didn't want to meet Morris Munson. I could go back to bed, but that wouldn't get the rent money. And besides, I didn't have a bed anymore. Grandma had the bed.

Okay, might as well take a look at the Munson file. I hauled the paperwork out and thumbed through it. Aside from the beating, the rape, and the attempted cremation Munson didn't seem so bad. No priors. No swastikas carved into his forehead. He'd listed his address as Rockwell Street. I knew Rockwell. It was down by the button factory. Not the best part of town. Not the worst. Mostly small single-family bungalows and row houses. Mostly blue-collar or no-collar.

Rex was asleep in his soup can, and Grandma was in the bathroom, so I left without ceremony. When I got to the lot I searched for a silver wind machine. And sure enough, I found one. And it was a Rollswagen, too. The body of the car was an ancient Volkswagen Beetle, and the front end was vintage Rolls-Royce. It was iridescent silver with celestial blue swirls sweeping the length of it, the swirls dotted with stars.

I closed my eyes and hoped that when I opened them the car would be gone. I counted to three and opened my eyes. The car was still there.