“It was an accident,” I said. “It was an involuntary action. And I didn’t kick you hard.”
“I’m very sensitive to pain because of my PTSD.”
“PTSD is serious,” Grandma said. “Where were you stationed?”
“Newark,” Potts said.
Grandma nodded. “That explains it.”
My father was already at the table. “It’s after six o’clock,” he said. “What’s the holdup?”
“We were waiting for Stephanie and her guest,” Grandma said.
My father looked up. “Guest?”
“This is George Potts,” I said, seating him in the chair next to me, putting myself between him and my father.
My mother came in with two big bowls of spaghetti, and Grandma and I went to the kitchen to help with the rest of the food. Meatballs in red sauce, Italian bread from the bakery, a bowl of fresh grated Parmesan Reggiano, an antipasto platter, red wine.
Potts took a few pieces from the antipasto platter and passed on everything else. “I break out in hives if I eat tomatoes,” he said. “And I’m allergic to hard cheese and gluten.”
“Is that from the PTSD?” Grandma asked.
“No,” Potts said. “It’s genetic on my mother’s side of the family. We’re all allergy-prone.”
“That must be terrible,” Grandma said.
“It’s a cross to bear,” Potts said.
My mother poured herself a goblet of wine. “God bless,” she said.
Grandma filled her wineglass, Potts and I passed on the wine, and my father kept his head down, forking in spaghetti and meatballs.
“This is very good antipasto,” Potts said.
“You can take some home with you,” Grandma said. “Where do you live? Are you local?”
“I live with Stephanie,” Potts said.
Everyone stopped eating and looked at me.
“Pay no attention,” I said. “It’s the PTSD.”
My father accepted that as a decent explanation and returned to his meatballs. My mother poured herself more wine. My grandmother wouldn’t let it go.
“I understand some of those PTSD people are homeless,” she said. “Are you one of those?”
“Potts lives with his parents on Porter Street,” I said.
“That’s a nice neighborhood,” Grandma said.
My father picked his head up. “Cheese!”
I grabbed the bowl of cheese and passed it over to him.
“Have you had any luck getting the tunnels mapped?” Grandma asked me.
“I’m working on it,” I said. “It might take a while.”
“I don’t know if I got a while,” Grandma said. “I need us to find the treasure soon, so I can get to Hawaii during the whale season.”
My father perked up at that. Undoubtedly calculating if he had enough money to get her on a plane.
“What tunnels? What treasure are you talking about?” Potts asked.
“There are tunnels under Trenton,” Grandma said, “and we think there’s treasure in one of them.”
“I wouldn’t put treasure in a tunnel,” Potts said. “The tunnel could collapse and then you couldn’t get to the treasure. And besides, I don’t like tunnels. They don’t have windows.”
“That’s something to think about,” Grandma said. “Where would you hide treasure?”
“That’s an interesting question. If I was a pirate, I’d bury it on an island or put it in a cave that led out to the ocean. If I was a king, I’d put it somewhere in my castle.”
“Suppose you were a hit man for the mob?” Grandma said.
“In the old-time movies, it’s always in a big safe,” Potts said. “And the safe would be in the back room of a speakeasy or a strip club like the Mole Hole. I couldn’t figure out where the money was all the time in The Sopranos. I think it must have been in the strip club sometimes or it could have been offshore. Or the money could be in a mobster’s house. In the Godfather movie they had the house in Long Island, but it was in Staten Island in real life. Did you know that?”
“I didn’t know that,” Grandma said.
“110 Longfellow Avenue,” my father said. “Do we have dessert?”
* * *
I got Potts settled into the backseat at seven thirty and drove him home, taking a detour past Morelli’s house. Lights were on in the front room. His green SUV was still parked at the curb. The Mercedes was gone. I blew out a sigh and slumped in my seat a little.
“What?” Potts said. “When I sigh like that it always means something.”
“It’s my life,” I said. “It’s confusing.”
“You don’t look confused. You look like you have it all figured out. Except, and I don’t mean to be critical, but you don’t seem entirely suited to being a bounty hunter. You don’t have a gun or anything. And you don’t have a leather jacket. And bounty hunters on television are always kicking doors open, and I don’t think you could do that in your sneakers. You’d break a bone in your foot.”
“I guess I’m a bounty hunter by default. When I got out of college I worked in retail. I got laid off, and I couldn’t get another job, so I blackmailed my cousin Vinnie into hiring me.”
“What would you like to be? What’s your dream job?” Potts asked.
“I don’t know. I might want to be Indiana Jones.”
“That wouldn’t be my choice,” Potts said. “He was always getting beat up and shot at and once a monkey tried to poison him. Of course, that doesn’t sound too different than your current job, so I can see why you would find it appealing.”
“What’s your dream job?”
“I don’t want a job,” Potts said. “I had a couple jobs and I didn’t like them. I like where I’m at now. I live at home and play video games in my pajamas. And now I’m your bodyguard. I got the idea from Banger Race. It’s this video game about aliens disguised as geeks. And this one alien, Mugman, falls in love with a princess and realizes his life purpose is to be her bodyguard and protect her.”
“So, you’re Mugman?”
“I’m trying it on for size.”
“How’s it fitting so far?”
“It’s not perfect.”
“I’m not a princess,” I said.
“That’s okay. I’m not actually Mugman.”
I reached Porter Street and stopped in front of Potts’s house. “I’m staying with a friend tonight,” I told him. “Do not sleep in front of my door.”
“I could sleep in front of your friend’s door,” he said.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’ll be safe with this friend.”
“It’s a boyfriend, isn’t it? I bet he’s really good looking and he has muscles.”
“He’s not a boyfriend. He’s just a friend.”
Truth is, I didn’t know how to categorize Ranger. He was more than just a friend, but he didn’t feel like a boyfriend. There were times when our relationship felt more like a marriage. There was an acceptance of personality that was sometimes lacking between Morelli and me. Maybe that was because Ranger and I had no illusions about a binding, long-term commitment. There wasn’t as much at stake between us.
I waited until Potts disappeared inside his house before I drove off. I returned to Hamilton, cruised past the bail bonds office on my way to State Street, and I picked up a tail. It looked like a dark-colored SUV. I couldn’t see the occupants. I called Rangeman control and asked if it was one of their cars. I was told that it wasn’t, and I was patched over to Ranger.
“I’m pretty sure I’m being followed,” I told him. “It’s not like they’re being subtle about it. They’re right on my bumper.”
“I can see you on my screen,” he said. “You’re about a half mile away. Go straight into the garage.”
The car disappeared a block before Rangeman. The gate was already open for me. A Rangeman car was idling nearby. I slipped into the garage and parked in one of Ranger’s spaces. I took the elevator to the seventh floor and let myself into Ranger’s apartment.
He was waiting for me in the kitchen.
“Calvin said you didn’t have a tail when you pulled in,” Ranger said.
“They cut away at Monroe Street.”
“Any idea who they were?”
“Yes. That’s why I’m here.”
“I thought you were here for my sheets and my shower.”
I smiled. “I’ve been found out.”
“I’m having a late dinner. Ella left me a salad that would feed four people, if you want to join me.”
“Thanks, but I had dinner with my parents.”
“Wine?”
“Yes.”
I sat across from him at his dining room table and sipped my wine while he ate.
“Talk to me,” Ranger said.
“Charlie Shine’s brought in some muscle from Florida. I ran across some of the new goons today. Apparently, I’m on their to-snatch list. Two of them had Grandma and me at gunpoint but Potts bumbled in and we were able to escape. I imagine they were the ones following me.”
“Potts?”
“Long story short, he’s sort of a sad sack that I captured and then bailed out. It was a small bond and I put it on my credit card. Anyway, he’s latched on to me. Says it’s his job to be my lifelong protector.”
Ranger had stopped eating, with the fork halfway to his mouth.
“Is that a grimace I just saw on your face?” I asked him. “I’ve never seen you grimace before. This is a first.”
“Why was he arrested?”
“It’s not important.”
“I think it’s important.”
“He had an accident in front of Tasty Bakery.”
“What kind of accident?”
“It was personal.”
Ranger leaned forward a little. “And?”
“He pooped! He pooped in front of Tasty Bakery. He’s the pooper.”
Ranger pressed his lips together and looked down at his plate.
“Now you’re trying not to laugh,” I said. “Go ahead and laugh. I know it’s absurd. I’m stuck with the pooper.”
Ranger grinned. “You said you needed help. Do you need me to get rid of Potts?”
“No. I have bigger problems than Potts. I was told the goons have orders to bring Grandma and me to Shine. The only way we’ll be safe is if the treasure is found, Shine and Salgusta are dead or behind bars, and the hired help goes back to Florida.”
Ranger nodded. “I agree. Are you making progress with the treasure hunt?”
“Grandma thinks the treasure is in one of the tunnels, and we should check them all out.”
“I can send someone into the tunnels to make sure we aren’t missing something, but I would be surprised to find the treasure there. There were four tunnel entrances years ago, and I don’t know if the system has been enlarged since then. From what I saw when we were underground, the maintenance has been minimal.”
“Where’s the fourth entrance?”
“Cannon Street. The building used to be owned by Bobby Ragucci. He sold it and I’m not sure who took it over, but it’s always been a deli on the ground floor and an apartment above it.”
“Could the deli or the apartment contain a safe?”
Ranger took his plate into the kitchen, rinsed it, and put it in the dishwasher. “We can take a look.”
“Now?”
“No. I want to send Rodriguez into the tunnel first. And I’ll find out who bought the building from Ragucci.”
“That leaves Shine, Salgusta, and Benny the Skootch. I need their clues. I can handle Benny but Shine and Salgusta are a problem. With Grandma’s life on the line, I don’t have time for dogged perseverance to get the job done. I could use some help taking them down and persuading them to hand over their clues. And I know you can be very persuasive.”
“Babe,” Ranger said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ranger was standing alongside the bed when I opened my eyes.
“You’ve got ten minutes in the bathroom and ten minutes to eat,” Ranger said. “I want to be on the road in half an hour.”
“Where are we going? What time is it?”
“It’s seven o’clock. I’ve got Rodriguez in the tunnel. He went in at the Margo site and that’s where he’s supposed to exit. I have Tank waiting for him there. We’re going to Ewing Township. Shine brought four guys in from Miami. Two are cheap labor and two are seasoned soldiers. They’re staying in a house in Ewing. My source thinks Shine might be there, too. I want to take a look. I’ll meet you in the garage.”
I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled into the bathroom. By the time I stepped out of the shower I’d lost fifteen minutes. I towel-dried my hair, got dressed in the clothes I’d dropped on the floor the night before, and went to the kitchen. I shoved a bagel into my messenger bag, found a to-go mug and filled it with coffee, black, and took off for the garage.
Ranger was waiting by his Porsche Cayenne SUV. “I’m guessing from the wet hair that you needed more time.”
“It doesn’t dry in three minutes.”
“Did you get breakfast?”
I pulled the bagel out of my bag and took a bite.
We got into his Cayenne and rolled out of the garage.
“I didn’t see the Buick in your garage just now,” I said.
“I had it returned to your parents’ house. I’ll give you a less conspicuous car. You’re too easy to spot in the Buick. I could also run some security on your parents’ house, but last time your father declined.”
“And he would probably decline again, so let’s concentrate on finding the treasure.”
I ate my bagel and drank my coffee while Ranger drove. It was a beautiful fall day with the promise of blue skies and a warm afternoon. Not a lot of traffic on the road yet, but in fifteen minutes, there would be an explosion of people heading off to work and kids going to school.
We entered a neighborhood of moderately priced homes. Some older single-level ranches and some larger colonials. Ranger idled in front of a single-level ranch. Two vehicles were in the driveway. A blue pickup and a black Escalade. Shades were drawn in the house. Ranger drove to the end of the block, made a U-turn, and parked on the opposite side of the street, two houses down.
Ranger can go into a surveillance mode where I swear his heart rate drops to 20 beats per minute but he’s still alert and focused. My heart rate was considerably higher, and I had a problem with focus. I was watching the house, but I was wishing I was wearing clean clothes. That led me to wishing I was wearing new clothes. And from that point I went to wondering what sort of clothes I should buy. I had no clue.
After a half hour of mind-numbing surveillance, the front door opened, and the two suits came out and got into the Escalade. No sign of the lesser wise guys.
Ranger let them get a sizable lead before following. They cruised through town, turned just before the train station, and continued on to the Mole Hole. They parked in the lot and went inside. There were no other cars in the lot.
We watched from a distance for a while. No one went in or out. No other cars entered the lot. I pulled the visor mirror down and checked out my hair. I was freak girl. I found a brush and a scrunchie in my bag and pulled my hair back into a ponytail.
“What do you think they’re doing in there?” I asked.
“Playing cards, watching reruns of Friends, checking in with their wives back in Miami.”
“Do you think they’re coming out anytime soon?”
“Babe,” Ranger said.
“Just sayin’.”
Ranger called the Escalade plate and location in to his control room and requested that someone place a tracking device on the SUV. He turned the ignition key on the Porsche and put it in gear.
“Let’s check back on the Ewing house.”
* * *
No pickup in the driveway of the Ewing house. Shades were still down. No sign of activity. No street traffic. We were parked one house away, in front of a white colonial with black shutters.
“Let�
��s take a closer look,” Ranger said.
We went to the door and rang the bell. No answer. Ranger knocked. No answer. He picked the lock, and we were in. He closed and locked the door behind us.
“Bail bond enforcement!” he shouted. “Anyone here?”
Nothing.
We went room by room, looking for information that might lead us to Shine. The furnishings were basic and beige. It didn’t feel like a house that had ever been a home. Possibly a safe house for the mob. Or maybe a rental property. There was very little in the fridge. Half-and-half for coffee. A loaf of white bread. Some provolone cheese slices and deli ham. Mustard. Leftover pizza. A six-pack of beer. Two tubs of ice cream in the freezer, coffee and chocolate.
There were four bedrooms. Two with bathrooms en suite. The other two were small and shared a bathroom. Suitcases and duffel bags were mostly unpacked and open on the floor. Beds were unmade in three rooms. The third room had a perfectly made bed.
“Military,” Ranger said.
“It looks like they’ve only been here a couple days.”
“My source told me they flew in on Monday. It wasn’t clear if they were making a permanent move. The suits have families and houses in Miami. The other two guys are free agents. One of them is Shine’s nephew.”
We returned to the car and I buckled in. “Now what?”
“Now we wait to see where the suits take us,” Ranger said.
“Do you think they wear suits all the time?”
“No. I think they didn’t take a lot of clothes with them.”
“My old friends Chick and Ed. Do they have last names?”
“Ed Gruman and Chick Rizer,” Ranger said. “The nephew is Kenny Farmer. I don’t have a name for the fourth.” He pulled away from the curb. “Do you have any other leads you’d like to run down?”
“No. But I could use some backup bringing in an FTA. Last time I tried to apprehend him he stuck a syringe in Potts’s leg. He lives on Stiller Street.”
Ranger drove down Stiller Street and parked behind Trotter’s van. I gave him the paperwork and he paged through it.
“This reads like bad fiction,” Ranger said. “Who would be dumb enough to let this guy inject them?”
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