Ranger took off and I headed for home to degrease before questioning Singh's boss. I live in a three-?story brick apartment building that houses the newly wed and the nearly dead. . . and me. The building lacks a lot of amenities, but the price is right and I can get pizza delivered. I parked in the lot, took the stairs to the second floor, and was surprised to find my apartment door unlocked. I stuck my head in and yelled, “Anybody home?”
“Yeah, it's me,” Morelli yelled back from the bedroom. “I'm missing a set of keys. I thought maybe I left them here last night.”
“I put them in the cookie jar for safekeeping.”
Morelli walked into the kitchen, lifted the lid on the cookie jar, and removed his keys. Morelli looked like a real badass . . . lean and hard in a black T-?shirt, washed-?out jeans that fit him great across the butt, and new running shoes. He wore his gun at his hip, out of sight under a lightweight jacket. His hair was dark and his eyes were dark and he looked like he frequently traveled through places where men's hearts were dark.
“I'm not surprised to find the thirty-?eight in here,” he said.
“But what's with the box of condoms?”
“They're for an emergency. Like the gun.”
He pocketed the keys and looked me over. “You get into a fight with the guy who owns the lube gun at Midas?”
“Punky Balog. He thought if he was greased up and naked I wouldn't take him in.”
“Hah,” Morelli said. “Greased up and naked is your specialty. Are you done for the day?”
“No. I came home to get cleaned. Did you see the article about Vinnie and the visa bond?”
“Yeah.”
“Samuel Singh, the bondee, is missing.”
Morelli grinned. “That's fun.”
No one wanted to see Vinnie selling used cars in Scotts-?dale, but we all enjoyed watching him sweat. Vinnie sat on a rotting branch of my family tree. Only a couple roaches from my Aunt Tootle's kitchen sat lower than Vinnie. He was a pervert, a con man, and a paranoid grouch. And in spite of all that (or maybe because of it) he was liked. He was Jersey. How can you not like Jersey?
“As soon as I change my clothes I'm going out to talk to Singh's boss,” I told Morelli.
“I'm surprised Vinnie didn't give this to Ranger.”
Our eyes locked for a long moment while I searched for a reply, thinking a fib might be the way to go.
“Shit, Stephanie,” Morelli finally said, hands on hips, hard set to his mouth. “Don't tell me you're working with Ranger again.”
Morelli and I were legitimately separated when I slept with Ranger. When Morelli and I got back together, he never asked and I never told. Still, the suspicion was there and the association rankled. And beyond the suspicion, there was a very real concern that Ranger sometimes operated a tad too far left of the law. “It's my job,” I told Morelli.
“The guy's nuts. He doesn't have an address. The address on his driver's license is an empty lot. And I think he kills people.”
“I'm pretty sure he only kills bad guys.”
“That makes me feel a lot better.”
I didn't actually know if Ranger killed people. Truth is, no one knows much about Ranger. The only thing I know for sure is that he's a primo bounty hunter. And he's the sort of lover who could make a woman forget she values commitment.
“I have to take a shower,” I told Morelli.
“Need help?”
“No! I want to talk to Singh's employer, TriBro Tech. It's on the other side of Route One and I want to get there before the workday ends.”
“I think I'm getting turned on by the Vaseline,” Morelli said.
Everything turns Morelli on. “Go to work! Catch a drug dealer or something.”
“I'll hold the thought for tonight,” Morelli said. “Maybe you should come home and take a nap after TriBro.” And he left.