Smokin' Seventeen (Stephanie Plum 17)

“No. Did he have ties to Dugan?”

“He was Dugan’s banker. And they played poker together every Thursday night. Dugan, Lucarelli, Kulicki, Sam Grip, and a couple floaters.”

I watched the forensic photographer work around the Jeep. “Sam Grip should take a vacation far, far away.”

“Sam Grip hasn’t been seen in weeks,” Morelli said.

“Strangling someone and then breaking their neck seems like a lot of work,” I said. “Why doesn’t this guy just shoot his victims?”

“He could be leaving a calling card,” Morelli said. “Or Dave could have the answer. Shooting is messy. If your victim doesn’t bleed there’s not as much cleanup. Either way, these aren’t crimes of passion. These are planned executions.”

“And I’m involved.”

The line of Morelli’s mouth was tight. “Yeah.”

I looked over at Ranger. “Sorry about

your Jeep. Who won the pool?”

“Technically you didn’t destroy it,” Ranger said. “One of my men will bring you a replacement.”

Ranger left to go back to Rangeman, and Morelli was silent until Ranger was in his car.

“Before Nick Alpha got sent to prison he was in business with Lou Dugan,” Morelli finally said. “Mostly prostitution and running numbers. Nick was paroled the week before Dugan disappeared. I spoke to someone who knows Nick, and he said Nick never got over his brother’s death. He said Nick came out of prison a wack job.”

“So now what?”

“I’m going to do my cop thing, and I’m going to talk to Nick, but I have no reason to take any action. I don’t suppose you’d consider going on that vacation far far away?”

“I’ll think about it. Why did you wait for Ranger to leave before talking to me about Nick Alpha?”

“I was afraid Ranger would make Nick Alpha disappear and never be seen again.”

“Good thinking.”

A shiny black Shelby GT350 slid to a stop beside us, and a Rangeman guy got out, handed me the keys, and was picked up by another Rangeman vehicle.

Morelli shook his head. “I don’t believe he’s giving you a Shelby. Do you have any idea what this car costs?”

“It’s just a loaner,” I said.

“Someday I’m going to find out where all his cars come from. It has to be illegal.”

The M.E. whistled and waved at Morelli.

“I have to go,” Morelli said. “I’ll get back to you later. Try to stay safe.”

I got behind the wheel of the Shelby and cruised out of the lot. The car was sweet, and I was tempted to keep driving until I got to the Pacific Ocean, but I restrained myself and headed for Rangeman instead. I swung into the Burg to avoid bus traffic, exited onto Broad, and called Ranger to tell him I was on my way.

“I want to take another look at the video of the guy dumping the body,” I told him.

“Use your key fob to get into my apartment,” he said. “I’ll be away from Rangeman for most of the day. The video is on a disk in my right top drawer.”

I made my way through the center of town, turned right onto a side street, and fobbed my way into the Rangeman garage. I took the elevator to the seventh floor and let myself into Ranger’s lair. Entering his apartment is always a sensual experience. His masculine energy dominates the space. Ella maintains order and civility. Ranger regulates air pressure.

I found the disk and plugged it into Ranger’s computer. I took a relaxing breath, cleared my mind, and ran the video. The feeling of familiarity was so strong it was suffocating. This wasn’t someone from my distant past. This was someone I knew. I was hoping I’d watch the video, and it would clearly be Nick Alpha, but it wasn’t that simple. I just didn’t know. It didn’t feel any more like Alpha than a slew of men I frequently encountered.

I mentally plugged a variety of men into the video. Vinnie was too short. Albert Klaughn was too short. My father not athletic enough. Ranger and Morelli were possibilities, although not so much Ranger. Ranger’s movements were too fluid, his posture more military. Mooner was a possibility. Sally Sweet was a possibility. My friend Eddie Gazarra could fit. Tank was too big. There were several cops and members of Ranger’s team that might fit. Mooch Morelli. My cousin Kenny might fit. Joe Juniak was too big. I watched the tape one last time and ejected it. This doesn’t mean it isn’t Nick Alpha, I thought, but it doesn’t convince me it is.