Finger Lickin' Fifteen (Stephanie Plum 15)

“Do you think he’ll be all right?” Grandma asked.

“Don’t know. Don’t care.”

The door to the funeral home opened, and Lula and a mountain of a guy came out carrying a bundle of what looked like aluminum poles partially wrapped in faded green canvas. They threw the bundle into the back of the truck, and the guy returned to the funeral home. Lula said something to Grandma and me, but I couldn’t hear.

“What?” I said.

“HOME!” Grandma yelled.

I followed Lula to my parents’ house and dropped Grandma off. I think Grandma said they were going to put the truck in the garage, so no one would steal the grill. Personally, I didn’t think she had to worry about anyone wanting the grill.

I drove through town to Rangeman and went straight to Ranger’s apartment. I kicked my shoes off and flopped onto his bed. When I woke up, I was covered with a light blanket, and I could see Ranger at his desk in the den. The ringing wasn’t nearly so loud in my head. It was down to mosquito level.

I rolled out of bed and went into the den.

“Tough day?” Ranger asked.

“You don’t even want to know. How was your day?”

“Interesting. I showed your maintenance man Mike file pictures of all Rangeman employees remotely fitting his description, and he couldn’t identify any of them. Our bad guy wears a Rangeman uniform but doesn’t work here.”

“Could he be a former employee?”

“There were only two possibilities, and I got a negative on them.”

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“Now what?”

“I have someone checking all the accounts for evidence of touch-pad surveillance. He’s also cataloguing Rangeman visits on those accounts.”

“It wouldn’t be difficult to duplicate a Rangeman uniform. Black cargo pants and a black T-shirt with Rangeman embroidered on it.”

“My men all know to show their ID when entering a house, but the accounts are lax at asking. Most people see the uniform and are satisfied.”

I was suddenly starving, and there was a wonderful smell drifting in from the kitchen. “What’s that smell?”

Ella brought dinner up a half hour ago, but I didn’t want to wake you. I think we’ve got some kind of stew.”

We went to the kitchen and dished out the stew.

“I’ve got a fix on Cameron Manfred,” Ranger said. “During the day, he works for a trucking company that’s a front for a hijacking operation. It would be awkward to make an apprehension there. Lots of paranoid people with guns. Manfred leaves the trucking company at five, goes to a neighborhood strip bar with his fellow workers until around seven, and then heads for his girl’s apartment. He gives his address as the projects, but he’s never there. It’s actually his mother’s address. We’re going to have to hit him at the girl’s place tonight. If there isn’t enough cover to tag him on the street, we’ll have to let him settle and then go in after him. I have to take a shift at eleven, but we should have this wrapped up by then.”

_______

WE WERE IN a Rangeman-issue black Explorer. Ranger was behind the wheel, and we were parked across from a slum apartment building one block over from Stark Street, where Cameron Manfred was holed up with his girlfriend. It was a little after nine at night, and the street was dark. Businesses were closed, steel grates rolled down over entrances and plate-glass windows. There was a streetlight overhead, but the bulb had been shot out.

We’d been sitting at the curb for ten minutes, not saying anything, Ranger in hunt mode. He was watching the building and the street, taking the pulse of the area, his own heart rate probably somewhere around reptilian.

He punched a number into his phone. A man answered, and Ranger disconnected. “He’s there,” Ranger said. “Let’s go.”

We crossed the street, entered the building, and silently climbed to the third floor. The air was stale. The walls were covered with graffiti. The light was dim. A small rat scuttled across Ranger’s foot and disappeared into the shadows. I shuddered and grabbed the back of his shirt.

“Babe,” Ranger said, his voice barely audible.

There were two apartments on the third floor. Maureen Gonzales, Manfred’s girlfriend, lived in 3A. I stood flat to the wall on one side of her door. Ranger stood on the other side and knocked. His other hand was on his holstered gun.

A pretty Hispanic woman opened the door and smiled at Ranger. She was wearing a man’s shirt, unbuttoned, and nothing else. “Yes?” she said.