“Now what?” I asked.
“You can drop me at Twelfth and Major.”
No one knew where Ranger lived. I had Norma run a check on him once at the DMV and his address turned out to be an empty lot.
“You aren't really going to kill him, are you?” I asked, nosing the Buick toward Twelfth.
“You steal an eight-fifty Ci, you should be killed.”
“It's Uncle Mo.”
“Uncle Mo is wacko,” Ranger said.
“Yes, but he's my wacko. I'd appreciate it if you didn't kill him until after I log him in and straighten a few things out.” Like who killed Ronald Anders.
“Professional courtesy.”
“Yeah.”
“You have any leads?”
“No.”
“We'll work together on this one,” Ranger said. “I'll pick you up tomorrow at five.”
“Five in the morning?”
“You got a problem with that?”
“Nope. No problem.”
Trenton is creepy at three in the morning. Forlorn and subterranean, the pulse of the city checked behind black glass and acid-etched brick. Even the night people, the drunks and the kiddie crews, were tucked away, leaving the occasional fluorescent wash of light to derelict pigeons, walking the sidewalks, pecking at fool's food.
What sort of person would cruise these streets at this hour? Cops, shift workers, evildoers, bounty hunters.
I swung into my lot and cut the engine. Chunks of yellow dotted the big block building in front of me. Mrs. Karwatt, Mrs. Bestler, the DeKune apartment, Mr. Paglionne. Seniors don't waste a lot of time sleeping. Mr. Walesky, across the hall from me, was probably watching TV.
I stepped away from the Buick and heard a car door open and close behind me. My heart did a little tap dance at the sound. I looked to the building entrance and saw two figures move from the shadows. My gun was still in my pocket. I hauled it out and spun around, almost smacking a wiry little guy in the nose with it.
He immediately jumped back a step, hands in the air. “Take it easy,” he said.
I had the other two in my peripheral vision. They'd stopped and raised their hands. All three men were wearing ski masks and brown coveralls over their street clothes.
“Who are you?” I asked. “What's going on?”
“We're concerned citizens,” the wiry little guy said. “We don't want to hurt you, but if you keep after Mo we're going to have to take action.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out an envelope. “You're a businesswoman. We understand that. So here's the deal. The money in this envelope represents your fee for bringing Mo in to Vinnie, plus a two-hundred-dollar bonus. Take the money and hop a plane for Barbados.”
“Number one, I don't want your money. Number two, I want some answers.”
The wiry guy made a come-on signal with his hand, and car lights blinked on behind him. The car rolled forward and the back door opened.
“Get in that car, and I'll shoot,” I said.
“I'm unarmed. You wouldn't want to shoot an unarmed man.”
He was right there. Not that it mattered. It had been an empty threat to begin with.
I'd set my alarm for four fifty-five and was so startled when it rang that I fell out of bed. I hadn't allowed myself time for a shower, so I brushed my teeth, dressed myself in some clothes I found on the floor from the previous day and staggered downstairs.