Page 80 of Now or Never

“Ranger knows what he’s doing… always.”

After an hour, I knew why the gun was perfect for me, right down to the red dot. I could take it apart and put it back together. I could insert a clip. I could hold it without fear of accidentally shooting myself.

I followed Skip downstairs to the shooting range. I’d been there before, and the results weren’t impressive. It turned out that I had a good eye and could hit a target, but I had a horrible attitude and couldn’t get comfortable carrying a gun. Especially if it was loaded. I decided to improve my attitude this time around.

When we broke for lunch I felt like the lame-brained kid who finally aced a math test. I found Ranger at his desk, in his office.

“Congratulations,” Ranger said. “I just talked to Skip, and he said you qualified. Ramon is up next for self-defense.”

“No! No self-defense. Last time I tried self-defense, I cracked a toenail and ruined my pedicure doing kickboxing. My toenail has never been the same.”

“Babe, it’s just a toenail.”

“It’s notjusta toenail. Toenails are important. They’re part of the pretty package. It goes with getting a good haircut and highlights and having a signature lipstick.”

“I missed that memo,” Ranger said.

“A girl has to have priorities.”

“Toenails over self-defense?”

“Any day of the week.”

“How about lunch. Is that a priority?”

“Yes. What’s on the menu today?”

“Ella made some hand pies. Chicken curry and steak and potatoes. And the usual salads and sandwiches. I need to finish reviewing a floor plan. Grab a bottle of water and a steak pie for me. We can eat here while I work and then we can check out the alley behind Stark.”

I filled a tray and brought it back to Ranger’s office. Egg salad sandwich, mac and cheese, and a water for me. Ranger’s water and steak pie.

The day of the week didn’t matter for Ranger, Morelli, or me. We were always on call. The job didn’t stop at five o’clock Friday. That would change for me if I had a baby. I might continue to work, but not in the field as a bounty hunter. Or, maybe not at all. I grew up with a full-time mom. Grandma was just down the street. There was always someone close by to put a Band-Aid on my bloody knee. It was a good childhood. With the exception of Morelli. He was the forbidden fruit of my childhood. He was the scourge of the neighborhood. He was the bad-boy heartthrob of my high school. And now I was engaged to him. And the thing is, he turned out to be a really good guy. Go figure.

Ranger finished his lunch and signed off on the floor plan. “Thanks for waiting. I’m still playing catch-up.”

“Not a problem,” I said. “Do you think Zoran will move away from Stark Street after this morning?”

“If he was sane and clean, yes, he’d move. Since he’s neither sane nor clean, no. He’s going to stay close to his drug supplier.”

“His drug supplier just got dead.”

Ranger stood and came out from behind his desk. “Even beforethey carted Tok’s body out of the alley, someone was waiting in the shadows to take his place.”

I followed Ranger to the garage and watched while he took another fleet SUV.

“You aren’t driving one of your personal cars,” I said, getting in next to him.

“The fleet SUVs are recognized as Rangeman vehicles and most of the gang members on Stark know not to touch them.”

Ranger pulled out of the garage and drove the short distance to Stark. We cruised three blocks on Stark, and Ranger turned onto a cross street and parked. We got out of the car and walked back to Stark.

I was wearing my new gun in its new holster, and I was concealing it with my hoodie. Ranger was in black Rangeman fatigues, and his holstered gun was concealed by a black windbreaker. He also was carrying an ankle gun, a knife, self-defense spray, cuffs, and a collapsible baton. I had a few extras in my bag, too. Lip gloss, hairbrush, self-defense spray, cuffs, and another bagel from the Rangeman buffet.

It was Sunday, early afternoon, and people were out enjoying the nice weather. Hookers strutted their stuff on the corners, gangbangers slouched against graffiti-covered buildings, druggies were curled in doorways and sprawled on sidewalks. A steady stream of cars rolled down the street, looking to buy whatever was for sale. No one bothered us. Ranger had the tight-ass walk of a kid with street cred, and the rest of him said he wasn’t a kid and he wasn’t someone you’d want to mess with.

We walked three blocks, taking the temperature of the street, cataloging details, keeping a watch for Zoran. We walked past Lucky Linda’s and the bar with the mop guy. We crossed the alley where Tok had been shot. No yellow crime scene tape. Somebloodstains waiting for rain to wash everything clean. We went to the end of the first block, crossed the street, and walked back toward our SUV.

“This feels pointless,” I said to Ranger.

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