Fortune and Glory (Stephanie Plum 27)

“I wouldn’t put treasure in a tunnel,” Potts said. “The tunnel could collapse and then you couldn’t get to the treasure. And besides, I don’t like tunnels. They don’t have windows.”

“That’s something to think about,” Grandma said. “Where would you hide treasure?”

“That’s an interesting question. If I was a pirate, I’d bury it on an island or put it in a cave that led out to the ocean. If I was a king, I’d put it somewhere in my castle.”

“Suppose you were a hit man for the mob?” Grandma said.

“In the old-time movies, it’s always in a big safe,” Potts said. “And the safe would be in the back room of a speakeasy or a strip club like the Mole Hole. I couldn’t figure out where the money was all the time in The Sopranos. I think it must have been in the strip club sometimes or it could have been offshore. Or the money could be in a mobster’s house. In the Godfather movie they had the house in Long Island, but it was in Staten Island in real life. Did you know that?”

“I didn’t know that,” Grandma said.

“110 Longfellow Avenue,” my father said. “Do we have dessert?”

* * *

I got Potts settled into the backseat at seven thirty and drove him home, taking a detour past Morelli’s house. Lights were on in the front room. His green SUV was still parked at the curb. The Mercedes was gone. I blew out a sigh and slumped in my seat a little.

“What?” Potts said. “When I sigh like that it always means something.”

“It’s my life,” I said. “It’s confusing.”

“You don’t look confused. You look like you have it all figured out. Except, and I don’t mean to be critical, but you don’t seem entirely suited to being a bounty hunter. You don’t have a gun or anything. And you don’t have a leather jacket. And bounty hunters on television are always kicking doors open, and I don’t think you could do that in your sneakers. You’d break a bone in your foot.”

“I guess I’m a bounty hunter by default. When I got out of college I worked in retail. I got laid off, and I couldn’t get another job, so I blackmailed my cousin Vinnie into hiring me.”

“What would you like to be? What’s your dream job?” Potts asked.

“I don’t know. I might want to be Indiana Jones.”

“That wouldn’t be my choice,” Potts said. “He was always getting beat up and shot at and once a monkey tried to poison him. Of course, that doesn’t sound too different than your current job, so I can see why you would find it appealing.”

“What’s your dream job?”

“I don’t want a job,” Potts said. “I had a couple jobs and I didn’t like them. I like where I’m at now. I live at home and play video games in my pajamas. And now I’m your bodyguard. I got the idea from Banger Race. It’s this video game about aliens disguised as geeks. And this one alien, Mugman, falls in love with a princess and realizes his life purpose is to be her bodyguard and protect her.”

“So, you’re Mugman?”

“I’m trying it on for size.”

“How’s it fitting so far?”

“It’s not perfect.”

“I’m not a princess,” I said.

“That’s okay. I’m not actually Mugman.”

I reached Porter Street and stopped in front of Potts’s house. “I’m staying with a friend tonight,” I told him. “Do not sleep in front of my door.”

“I could sleep in front of your friend’s door,” he said.

“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be safe with this friend.”

“It’s a boyfriend, isn’t it? I bet he’s really good looking and he has muscles.”

“He’s not a boyfriend. He’s just a friend.”

Truth is, I didn’t know how to categorize Ranger. He was more than just a friend, but he didn’t feel like a boyfriend. There were times when our relationship felt more like a marriage. There was an acceptance of personality that was sometimes lacking between Morelli and me. Maybe that was because Ranger and I had no illusions about a binding, long-term commitment. There wasn’t as much at stake between us.