Fortune and Glory

by Janet Evanovich

  We reached the lobby and I saw Ranger watching from across the room. He nodded at me and I nodded back. Obviously, no one snagged Shine tonight. I moved out of the building with the mass of humanity, onto the porch and down the stairs. I searched the area for Potts but didn’t see him.

  “We have to walk around the block to Lena’s house,” Grandma said. “Good thing it’s a nice night for a walk.”

  “We can give you a ride,” Connie said. “I’m parked across the street in Mo Bernardi’s driveway.”

  A text message buzzed on my phone and I checked the screen. It was a picture of Potts with his eyes as big as saucers and a gag in his mouth. He was in a fetal position, hands cuffed behind his back. It looked to me like he was in the trunk of a car. The message attached was that we might want to trade some information and items of interest for Potts’s safe return. It was suggested that they would start chopping off minor body parts in twelve hours if I didn’t cooperate.

  “Bad news?” Connie asked me.

  This wasn’t anything I wanted to share with Grandma. And I for sure didn’t want it getting back to my mom.

  “Not bad,” I said. “Just unexpected. Ranger would like to talk to me about something. Can you take Grandma home for me?”

  “Sure,” Connie said. “No problem.”

  I texted Ranger and told him to meet me in front of the funeral home. Grandma, Connie, and Connie’s mom crossed the street, and minutes later, Ranger pulled to the curb in his Porsche 911.

  “Drive around the corner so you can park for a moment,” I said. “I want to show you something.”

  He made a right turn into the Burg and parked in the middle of the block. I accessed the text message and passed my phone to him.

  “George Potts,” he said.

  “Yes. He has allergies so he couldn’t come inside, but Lula said he was outside in case I needed protection.”

  “And he got snatched.”

  “Yes. I imagine Gruman and Rizer ran into him when they left the viewing. He would have been an easy mark.”

  “And you would prefer that they don’t use a bolt cutter on his fingers and toes.”

  “Yes.”

  Ranger called his control room, requested two backup cars, and gave them the address of the house in Ewing. He called his second in command, Tank, and told him to take a couple of men to the Mole Hole.

  “Since we’re going to Ewing, I’m guessing you think Potts has been taken there,” I said.

  “It’s a place to start looking,” Ranger said.

  Even under these circumstances, or maybe especially under these circumstances, riding next to Ranger in his Porsche, in the dark, is a provocative, sensual experience. The 911 is a sexy, powerful, perfectly engineered machine. The same is true for Ranger. When you put the two of them together there’s a good potential for orgasm… or, at the very least, teeth-gnashing desire. It was hard to judge my current level of desire because it was mingled with an adrenaline surge over concern for Potts and the fear that we were about to be involved in a shootout.

  * * *

  The Rangeman cars were already in place when we reached the house in Ewing. They were parked one house down, across the street. Ranger parked behind them, removed a gun from the glove compartment, and handed it to me.

  Lights were on in the house, but the shades were drawn. The faint flicker of a television could be seen through the front room shade. The blue pickup and the Escalade were in the driveway.

  The four men in the Rangeman cars met us on the sidewalk. They were in Rangeman black uniforms, wearing full utility belts, sidearms strapped to their legs.

  “There are at least four men and possibly one hostage in the house,” Ranger told them. “I’ll take point. We don’t want to use excessive force. I want Baker, Sanchez, and Stephanie behind me and Rodriguez and Jake at the back door. My team will go in at nine fifty-five. Rodriguez and Jake will enter one minute later.”

  I trailed behind Ranger and his two backups when we crossed the street at nine fifty-three. Ranger went to the door, tried the doorknob, found it to be locked, and crashed the door open with a single kick. Obviously kicking a door down didn’t count as excessive force.

  Gruman, Rizer, Kenny Farmer, and a fourth guy were in the living room, watching television. They all jumped to their feet when the door flew open. Gruman lunged at Ranger. Ranger grabbed him and threw him halfway across the room. Gruman hit the wall and slid to the floor like a sack of sand. Rizer spun around, ran for the back door, and slammed into Rodriguez. Rodriguez stands six feet six inches tall and looks like he could pull a freight train. Rizer bounced back a couple of feet, went for his gun, and thought better of it. He was late to the party.

  “Piece-of-shit safe house,” Rizer said. “Busted in less than an hour.”

  “Uncle Charlie is going to be pissed,” Farmer said.

  Ranger dragged Gruman to his feet and cuffed him. “Uncle Charlie is the least of your worries,” Ranger said. “We have your text message, and this takedown on body cam. You can face jail time for kidnapping, or you can return to Miami and never come back.”

  “I miss my girlfriend anyway,” Farmer said.

  “Where’s Potts,” I asked Gruman.

  “Who?”

  “The guy you kidnapped.”

  “He’s not in the house,” Jake said. “I just did a run-through.”

  Gruman looked at Farmer. “You were supposed to put him in the back bedroom.”

  “You said we would put him in the back bedroom,” Farmer said. “I didn’t know you meant me. You didn’t specifically say that I should put him there.”

  Gruman cut his eyes to Ranger. “The nephew is an idiot. I’m guessing Potts is still in the car.”

  “You have a pickup and an Escalade in the driveway,” Ranger said. “He wasn’t in either of those.”

  “There’s a white Taurus in the garage,” Gruman said.

  Ranger and I went to the garage and flipped the light on. Ranger popped the trunk and Potts looked up at us. He was red and sweating and his eyes were huge. His hands and feet were bound with duct tape. He had duct tape across his mouth. I ripped the duct tape off his mouth, and Ranger cut the tape binding his hands and ankles. We hauled him out of the trunk and got him standing. He was shaking and gasping for air. He pulled an emergency inhaler out of his pocket and took a hit.

  “F-f-f-fudge,” he said.

  Ranger and I walked Potts out of the garage and through the house to the living room. All four men were cuffed and standing by the front door.

  “Take these four to the airport,” Ranger said to Rodriguez. “Take both cars. Make sure they get on a flight to Miami. I’ll tend to the hostage.”

  “I was k-k-kidnapped,” Potts said to Ranger. “They put me in their t-t-trunk. I guess you already know that.”

  “You were in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Ranger said. “I want to make a more thorough search of the house and the car in the garage. Stay here.”

  “Did they hurt you?” I asked Potts.

  “No. They just scared me.”

  “We’ll take you home after Ranger searches the house.”

  “Is he the guy you sleep with sometimes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Wow,” Potts said.

  I nodded in agreement.

  Ranger returned after five minutes. “The house is empty,” he said. “Tank is on his way. He’ll take George home.”

  “What about the doors?” I asked.

  “They’ll close, but they won’t lock. Not my problem.”

  “I was surprised they both got knocked open so easily.”

  “I checked out the locks when I was here last time. I knew they wouldn’t hold,” Ranger said. “They didn’t put a lot of quality into these ranches when this neighborhood was developed. And this one hasn’t been renovated beyond carpet and a couple appliances.”

  “Boy,” Potts said to Ranger, “you know a lot of stuff. I know a lot of stuff, too, but none of it
is useful. For instance, I can whistle like a canary.”

  “Something to remember,” Ranger said.

  “And I can hum just about anything, but it all comes out sounding the same.”

  Tank arrived shortly after the cars left. We loaded Potts into Tank’s SUV. And Ranger and I drove off in the Porsche.

  Ranger stopped at a cross street, then leaned over and kissed me. His hand slipped under my sweater and found my breast. His thumb brushed across my nipple and the kiss deepened.

  Nothing like a semi-violent takedown to put a person in the mood.

  “Maybe we should get a room,” I said.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  What seemed like a good idea in the middle of the night now was a logistical nightmare. My car was still in front of Lena Kriswicki’s house. My funeral clothes were in my apartment. And thanks to my new short hair I needed at least a half hour, probably more, with a hair dryer. Not to mention hair product and makeup. I was supposed to pick Grandma up at eight thirty to take her to the church for the service. It was now seven o’clock and I was still in Ranger’s bed. Ranger was long gone.

  I grabbed my phone and called him. “Hey!” I said. “Where are you?”

  “In my office on the fifth floor.”

  “I need help. I overslept and it’s all your fault. I should have gone home last night. I have a funeral this morning. I’m supposed to take Grandma.”

  “Babe, you were the one who said we should get a room.”

  “Yes, but that was all because of your thumb and your tongue and other things.”

  “Where are we going with this?”

  “My car is at Lena’s house. I’m sure you already know this because you can track it. My clothes are in my apartment along with my hair stuff and my makeup.”

  “Do you really need the hair stuff and makeup?”

  “Yes! This short hair doesn’t happen all by itself.”

  “Take my 911. The keys are in it. I’ll take your Honda to the service and funeral. We can swap later.”

  I picked my clothes up off the floor, put them on, and ran through Ranger’s apartment to the elevator. Half an hour later I was in my apartment. I rushed through the shower and hair and did an abbreviated makeup job. I looked at my hair in the mirror and decided it was lacking. I spritzed it with styling lotion that was supposed to be a de-frizzer and wrapped my hair around big Velcro rollers. I blasted it all with the hair dryer and brushed it out. Better. I was going to be late for Grandma but that was okay. The church was only ten minutes from my parents’ house. I got dressed in black flats, a slim gray skirt, and an orange and gray striped sweater. I grabbed my little purse and ran to Ranger’s Porsche 911.

  Grandma was waiting at the curb when I got to my parents’ house.

  “You shouldn’t be standing out here,” I said. “It’s dangerous.”

  Although the danger level was temporarily diminished now that Shine’s goons were on a plane flying back to Florida.

  “I’m good,” Grandma said. “I’m packing and I got pepper spray as a backup. How about you?”

  My little purse was lying on the console. “Lipstick, a comb, keys, phone, and a credit card holder.”

  I also had Ranger’s gun in a compartment under my seat, plus God knows what else was stashed in the car.

  “This is a hot car,” Grandma said. “I bet Ranger gave it to you.”

  “It’s a loaner for this morning.”

  “I’m going to be the talk of the Burg riding in the funeral procession in this car. I’m glad I got a new dress.”

  I parked in the car line and Grandma and I went inside the church and found seats. I did a fast scan and found Gabriela sitting four rows behind me and to the left. Morelli was close to the front on the aisle. Ranger was standing behind the last pew.

  “It looks like they’re doing a Requiem Mass,” Grandma said.

  A Requiem Mass was long, and it included Holy Communion. I didn’t usually take communion, but I was starving, and communion would get me a cracker. Something to look forward to.

  Forty minutes later I inched my way down the aisle in the communion line and caught Morelli’s attention. He shook his head at me, and looked down at the missal in his lap, making an effort not to laugh out loud. He knew I was only after the cracker.

  When the ceremony was over, Benny moved down the aisle with impressive speed for a man of his size. I figured the single communion cracker wasn’t doing it for him and he was on a mission to get home to the buffet and booze.

  The graveside ceremony was relatively short and without incident. No one was shot, punched, cursed out, or stabbed. The police in attendance looked disappointed. The local TV sat-news truck packed up and rolled to Benny’s house, hoping for better luck with the reception. The mourners scrambled to their cars.

  “I always wanted to drive a Porsche,” Grandma said. “Would it be okay if I just drove it to the gate?”

  “You don’t have a license.”

  “Yes, but this is private property. I could drive here. And everyone’s only going two miles an hour. And you could take a picture of me behind the wheel.”

  “Okay,” I said, “but only to the gate.”

  Grandma got behind the wheel, I took her picture, and we joined the traffic jam slowly making its way to the cemetery exit. It was a large cemetery with gentle sloping hills. The newer section had acres of flat headstones and easy-to-mow grass. The older section where Carla had been laid to rest had large elaborate headstones. Some family plots had life-size marble sculptures and aboveground crypts. There was the occasional mature tree, clump of shrubs, and cluster of colorful plastic flowers.

  We were creeping along through the older section when I caught a glimpse of Lou Salgusta. He was partially hidden behind a large winged angel. He was easy to spot because he was holding his flamethrower.

  Grandma saw him, too. “It’s Lou!” she said. “He’s behind the angel on the Rigollini plot.”

  The car line to the road was dotted with police, including Morelli. Plus, Ranger was somewhere behind me. I got my phone out to call Ranger, and Grandma jerked the wheel to the right and stomped on the gas pedal.

  “I got him in my sights,” she said, leaving the road and bumping over the grass. “He’s thrown his last flame.”

  “No!” I yelled. “No, no, no! Stop. Let Ranger go after him.”

  “No time,” Grandma said, dodging headstones, hurtling down a small hill. “I’m gonna run over that little weasel. Get my gun out of my purse just in case we have to shoot him.”

  Salgusta had moved from behind the angel and taken up a position behind a granite crypt. I looked over my shoulder and saw a couple of cars peel off the road after us. One looked like it might be Ranger in the Honda.

  “This is an expensive sports car,” I said to Grandma. “It doesn’t do off-road.”

  “It does now,” Grandma said. “Get ready to shoot him when I come around the crypt.”

  I powered the window down and two-handed the long-barrel, but we were bouncing around so much that chances of me hitting Salgusta were zero to none. Even without the bouncing they weren’t all that good. I wasn’t exactly a marksman.

  We came around the corner of the crypt and Grandma shouted, “Shoot him! Shoot him!”

  Salgusta launched a forty-foot stream of fire that swept across the hood of the 911, and I answered with a shot that hit nothing. Grandma clipped a headstone and the Porsche jerked to a stop. Another burst of fire hit the car.

  Morelli’s SUV slid to a stop on the driver’s side of the flaming Porsche. He hit the ground running and pulled Grandma out and away from the 911. I was out on my side and sprinting for cover. Ranger roared past me in the Honda. He stopped, jumped out of the car, and ran Salgusta down on foot. The Porsche was engulfed in flames and my vision was obscured by clouds of black smoke. I moved away from the fire and saw that Morelli had pulled his car to a safe distance and Grandma was sitting in it. A couple of unmarked cop cars had driven up
and the guys were standing hands on hips, watching the bonfire. Two of them had fire extinguishers in case the fire started to spread.

  Morelli crossed over to where I was standing and hugged me hard against him. Neither of us said anything for a full minute. He was the first to speak.

  “Thank God you’re okay,” he said. “I saw that car go up in flames and my heart stopped.”

  I was beyond words. I had my eyes closed and I was pressed against his chest.

  “I have to tell you, I was surprised to find Grandma behind the wheel,” Morelli said.

  “I’ll tell you about it when we do the thank-you dinner,” I said. “Right now, I’m trying to erase the last five minutes from my brain. Why do these things keep happening to me?”

  “You have a knack,” Morelli said.

  Ranger walked through the smoke, tugging Salgusta after him. He turned him over to the plainclothes guys and joined Morelli and me. He did a guy fist-bump thing with Morelli and turned his attention to what was left of the Porsche. Mostly a smoldering lump of blackened twisted metal and charred, melted car guts.

  “Babe,” Ranger said. “You never disappoint.”

  I blew out a sigh. “Sorry about your car.”

  “This might rival the time you got my Porsche flattened by a garbage truck.”

  I nodded. “Hard to top that one.”

  “While you two are walking down memory lane I’m going to check on Salgusta,” Morelli said.

  I looked over at Grandma, waiting in Morelli’s SUV. “And then we need to get to the reception,” I said to Morelli.

  * * *

  Grandma had a few black smudges on her dress, but aside from that she was fine. I’d exited the car through fire and smoke. I had some singed hair, and soot smudges everywhere. Fortunately, I had no burns.

  Morelli dropped us off at the house and went in search of parking. Grandma and I worked our way through the crush of people and found Benny hiding in his den.

  “Get in,” he said. “Close the door behind you. It’s a mob scene out there. I got some meatballs in red sauce and pasta, and I got a couple casseroles in here. I don’t know what’s in them. And there’s potato salad and those little hot dogs in tiny dough wrappers. They didn’t fit on the dining room table, so they stuck them in here. Help yourself.”