Sizzling Sixteen

FIFTEEN

THE WHITE TAURUS was parked at the curb in front of Butch’s row house. Originally, these were company houses for a company that made porcelain pipe. They were single-story, twelve units hooked together, maroon asbestos shingle roof and siding. No yard. No porch, front or back. Street parking. A little bleak, but the plumbing worked in almost all of them.

“We need a plan,” Lula said. “I don’t want to get knocked on my ass again.”

“The stun gun doesn’t work on him, so I’ll ring the bell, and when he answers, I’ll give him a blast with pepper spray. We’ll both step back to let the spray settle, and then we’ll wrap the FlexiCuffs on him.”

“If I have to shoot him, I’ll shoot him in the foot,” Lula said.

“No shooting!”

“You always say that.”

“Shooting isn’t good. It hurts people. It could get you in jail.”

Lula had her lower lip stuck out. Eyes narrowed. “He made me smudge my skirt.”

“You don’t shoot someone over a smudged skirt.”

“I was only gonna shoot him in the foot.”

The pain was back in my chest. I burped and it went away.

“You got a digestive issue,” Lula said.

“I never had this problem before.”

“It’s probably that you’re gettin’ old,” Lula said. “Things like that happen to you when you get old. Or maybe you’re pregnant. Oops, hold on, you’re not pregnant, on account of you’re not gettin’ any.”

“Could we please concentrate on the problem at hand, which is capturing Sasquatch?”

“Sure,” Lula said. “I could do that.”

We walked to the door, and I rang the bell. I had pepper spray in hand, ready to use. Lula was positioned behind me. After a moment, the door opened and Butch stared out at us, looking like a giant in his tiny house.

“Shit!” he said.

I gave him a face full of spray and jumped back. He bellowed and thrashed around, flailing his arms, his eyes squinched shut. “Ow!” he yelled. “Owwww!”

I was jumping around, trying to grab a wrist. “Get hold of him,” I said to Lula. “Get an arm.”

“I can’t fuckin’ get an arm,” Lula said. “He won’t stand still.”

Butch lashed out, his eyes still closed, knocked Lula back about ten feet, and charged past me like a raging bull.

“Arrrrrgh!” he screamed. “Gaaaaah!”

His nose was running and his eyes were streaming tears, but nothing was stopping him. He ran out the door, down the sidewalk, and took off. I ran flat out after him, yelling for Lula to help. I chased him half a block, and he turned the corner, crossed the street, and cut through a backyard. I could hear Lula pounding behind me, breathing hard. I wasn’t exactly breathing easy, either, and I was thinking it might have been better to let Lula shoot him in the foot, because I had no idea what I was going to do if I caught him.

He came to a privacy fence, stopped dead in his tracks, and I slammed into him and held fast. Lula came up behind me and grabbed him, and we all toppled over and went to the ground. My fear now was that Butch and Lula would roll on top of me and I’d be crushed flat as a pancake. We scrabbled around, with Butch struggling to get to his feet and Lula and me hanging on for dear life.

“Cuff ’im!” Lula was yelling. “Kick ’im in the nuts. Poke out his eyeball.”

I was trying, but I wasn’t having a lot of luck. He was too big, too heavy, too strong, too freaked out over jail. I made an attempt to slip the plastic FlexiCuffs on him, and he flicked me away like I was a bug. I was thrown a couple feet and landed on black court shoes attached to long legs clad in black cargo pants. Ranger. He gave me a hand and pulled me up. “We need to talk,” he said.

“Help,” Lula said. “Get this clown off me. I can’t breathe.”

“Let go,” Butch said to Lula. “Let go of me.”

Ranger waded in and separated them. Butch scrambled to his feet and was ready to run.

“Stay,” Ranger said to him.

Butch immediately went still. Ranger took the cuffs from me and secured Butch.

“How do you do that?” I asked Ranger.

“I speak with authority.”

“Can you teach me to do that?”

“No,” Ranger said.

He called for backup on his cell phone, took Butch by the arm, and walked him to the street. Ranger’s Porsche Turbo was parked at the curb.

“How did you find me?” I asked him.

“I called Connie, and she gave me Goodey’s address. I was on the street, and you ran past me.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“You had your eye on the prize.”

Lula was following behind us, adjusting her skirt and rearranging her boobs. “This must be Knock Lula On Her Ass Day,” she said. “I don’t know why I try to look professional. I’m either fallin’ down stairs, or rollin’ around with cows, or wrestlin’ with idiots, getting my nice clothes all wrecked. I might just as well come to work wearin’ a garbage bag.”

Ranger smiled but didn’t say anything.

“And I saw that smile,” Lula said to Ranger. “You better not be laughin’ at me.”

“It would be a crime against humanity to see you dressed in a garbage bag,” Ranger said.

“Hunh,” Lula said. “Are you tryin’ to sweet talk me?”

“Yes,” Ranger said.

“I guess it’s working,” Lula told him.

“I assume you need a car,” Ranger said to me. “I can have one of my men bring Goodey downtown for you, and you can come back to Rangeman and pick something out… again.”

“I’m happy to hear that,” Lula said. “Because I need to go home and make a wardrobe adjustment.”

Five minutes later, the Rangeman SUV pulled to the curb and collected Goodey. I got into the Turbo next to Ranger and relaxed back in the seat.

“Word on the street is that Bobby Sunflower scammed money from the wrong man,” Ranger said.

“Some other bad guy?”

“That’s the vibe I’m getting. Sunflower makes a lot of his money by blackmailing and extorting honest businessmen into stealing from their clients. The owners get involved with him and are forced to cook their books. When the business finally collapses and their creditors and clients come looking, Bobby’s evaporated. It’s standard Mob procedure. All money is drained from the legitimate business, and the original owners are left holding the bag. They’re the guys who go to jail, jump off bridges, or blow their brains out. It sounds like this time Sunflower bulldozed the wrong company and stepped on some powerful toes.”

“Does this connect to me?”

Ranger crossed Hamilton and rolled into the center of the city. “It might. If Sunflower had a grip on Vinnie’s business to the extent that there’s nothing left but bleached bones, someone could end up going to jail, and it wouldn’t be Sunflower.”

“Is there a way out for Vinnie?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how involved he is with the bad guys. I think he was snatched because Sunflower is desperate for money, and he thought Vinnie was a golden goose. He was counting on Harry to pony up.”

“But Harry wouldn’t do it.”

“No. Now Sunflower’s stuck in a bad spot. If he doesn’t get the money, not only does he lose respect, but he probably dies.”

Ranger turned a corner, drove half a block, pulled into Rangeman’s underground garage, and he parked in his reserved spot in front of the elevator. Ranger had four spots for his personal vehicles. He currently had the Porsche Turbo, a Porsche Cayenne, and a customized F150 truck. A shiny black Mercedes SUV with fancy wheels was in the fourth space. I was hoping it was mine.

Ranger shut the Porsche down. “If you looked at me with half as much longing as you’re looking at that Mercedes, I’d take you upstairs and make you wish you never had to leave my bed.”

“Is the Mercedes for me?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“And the bed… I’d have to leave eventually, wouldn’t I?”

“Yes,” Ranger said.

“Why do you give me cars?”

“It’s fun,” Ranger said. “And it keeps you safe. Do you want to know why keeping you safe is important to me?”

“You love me?”

“Yes.”

A sigh inadvertently escaped. “We’re really screwed up, aren’t we?”

“In a very large way,” Ranger said.

He slid his arm across my seat back, leaned forward, and kissed me. He ended the kiss, and our eyes held. And I was pretty sure he knew he’d smoked the Mercedes he’d given me.

I PARKED MY new car in front of the bonds office and went inside.

“Where’s Lula?” Connie asked.

“She went home to change. The little skirt wasn’t working.”

“Looks like you got a new car.”

“It’s a loaner from Ranger.”

“I hope you thanked him.”

“I’m running a tab,” I told her.

My cell phone rang, and I picked it up to Ranger.

“Bad news,” Ranger said. “Goodey didn’t make it to the station. He got carsick on the way, and when the guys stopped to help him, he managed to get loose from the FlexiCuffs, hijack the SUV, and take off.”

“You’re kidding.”

“I wish,” Ranger said. “We got the SUV back, but no Goodey.” And he disconnected.

A shadow slid over the office when the afternoon sun was blotted out by the hulking carcass of Mooner’s RV parking behind my Mercedes.

“Greetings, Hobbits Primula Boffin and Ysellyra Thorney,” Mooner said, ambling in. “How fare thee?”

Mooner was dressed in a T-shirt advertising beer, red capris pants, flip-flops, and a brown cape. Looked to me like a cross between a stoner and a Hobbit.

“It fares good,” I said. “How fares it with you?”

“It’s faring excellent. Doderick Bracegirdle was, like, mucho helpful with Hobbit Con.”

“Doderick Bracegirdle?”

“Formerly known as Vinnie,” Mooner said. “The dude is genius. He, like, came up with this awesome game. Toss the Cockring over the Dildo. It’ll be a wowser with all the Hobbit lovers. The problem is maintaining an authenticity level. Being that Hobbits are, like… little, the dildo would have to be size appropriate.”

Lula pushed the front door open. “What about a dildo?”

“Mooner wants to have a cockring toss at Hobbit Con, and he’s thinking the dildo would have to be Hobbit-size.”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” Lula said. “You need a Hobbit dildo store.”

“I looked in the Yellow Pages,” Mooner said. “Nada.”

“I imagine it’s a specialty item,” Lula said. “You probably have to Google it. Or maybe you could look on eBay.”

“Whoa,” Mooner said. “Brilliant.”

“Probably, you don’t want to leave the RV in front of the office for too long with Vinnie in it,” Connie said to Mooner.

“No problemo,” Mooner said. “Vinnie isn’t in it.”

My breath caught in my chest. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” Mooner said. “My man took off. I thought we were groovin’, you know? And then next thing, I turn around and no Doderick. Heck, I guess that’s genius for you, right? In the wind, man.”

“Back up. Where were you when he disappeared?”

“I was at the bakery on Nottingway. I was leaving fliers for Hobbit Con, and I got to talking with the pastry lady. They’ve got, like, some serious treats in there. Anyway, when I came out of the bakery, the mobile mansion was without the duder.”

“Did he leave a note? Was anything out of place? Was there blood?”

“Negative, negative, negative.”

“Did you see anyone in the parking lot? Any cars?”

“I think there was an SUV and a really cool sports car.”

“A Ferrari?”

“Yeah, or it might have been a Corvette.”

“Which?”

“I had a lot on my mind. I was thinking about the ring toss, and I was entering the sugar zone. I’m not sure about the car. I mean, all that frosting…”

I felt sick inside. I was trying to help Vinnie, and I was completely inept. I should have insisted we go to the police. I should have told Morelli. I should have asked Ranger for help. I should have shipped Vinnie off to Miami.

“This don’t sound good,” Lula said. “Sunflower drives a Ferrari.” She looked at Mooner. “Did the SUV have a bashed-in roof?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Let’s not panic,” Connie said. “Lots of people drive an SUV.”

“Yeah,” Lula said. “And lots of people drive fancy sports cars that might look like a Ferrari.”

“Are you sure he’s not in the RV?” I asked Mooner. “Maybe he decided to take a nap in a closet or something.”

“I thought of that,” Mooner said, “but I couldn’t find him.”