Turbo Twenty-Three

by Janet Evanovich

  Morelli got up and sniffed at my hair. “It still smells a little like bacon, but it’s not bad. Especially if you like bacon.”

  I went back behind the shower curtain and shampooed my hair again. I stuck my head out. “How is it now?”

  “It’s fine,” Morelli said. “If you scrub it any more it’s all going to fall out.” He pushed the shower curtain aside and did a slow appraisal. “Anything else smell like bacon? I’m getting hungry.”

  TWENTY-SIX

  IT WAS DARK when Morelli left my bed at five o’clock. I opened my eyes, thanked him for his help with the bacon problem, and went back to sleep. When I woke up again the room was still dark, but there was something off. The fog of sleep cleared, and I realized someone was moving in the living room. I heard the rustle of clothing and the soft scuff of a shoe. I called out to Morelli, but there was no answer.

  I was wide awake now, trying to steady my heartbeat. I lay absolutely still, straining to hear another footfall. The red LED on the light switch by my bedroom door suddenly disappeared, and I knew someone was in my room, blocking the LED with his body. I was paralyzed with terror. Completely scrambled brain. I think my mouth was open, but I didn’t hear any screams coming out of it.

  I heard him move toward me, saw the glint of a knife as it reflected the light from my bedside clock. I rolled to the other side of the bed and grabbed the table lamp on the nightstand. He lunged at me and I swung the lamp, smashing it against his face. I saw the knife fly out of his hand, heard it clatter against my dresser. He was very close, and I could see that it was the clown. I could smell the greasepaint on his nose and feel his breath hot against my face. He grabbed my throat, and I kicked out and must have caught him in a strategic spot because he doubled over on a gush of expelled air. I jumped away, and ran out of the room, through my apartment, and into the hall. I took the stairs two at a time to the third floor and rapped on Mrs. Delgado’s door. She lived directly above me and was an early riser. I knew she’d be up watching the morning news on television.

  She came to the door, all smiles, lipstick on, dressed for the day.

  “How nice,” she said. “Would you like some breakfast? Some tea?”

  I was wearing bed hair, an oversized T-shirt, and panties, but Mrs. Delgado took it all in stride. She’d been through an apartment bombing, a kitchen fire, and an explosion with me, and I suppose nothing surprised her. Still, I didn’t want to start her day with a description of my near-death experience. And I especially didn’t want it to get back to my mother, who saw Mrs. Delgado in church every Sunday.

  “I was h-h-hoping I could use your phone,” I said. “I have…a m-m-mouse in my apartment. I need to call an exterminator.”

  “Of course,” she said. “There’s a phone in the kitchen. Let me make some fresh coffee.”

  I called Ranger and asked if he could come clear my apartment of rodents.

  There was a beat of silence. “Do these rodents have names?”

  “Clowny.”

  The line went dead, and I knew he was on his way.

  I kept my eye on the parking lot while Mrs. Delgado made coffee. A Rangeman SUV drove into the lot four minutes later. Not Ranger’s car. The SUV pulled up to the back door, and two men in Rangeman black fatigues got out and entered my building.

  “My exterminator is here,” I said to Mrs. Delgado. “I should go downstairs to let them in.”

  “Would you like a robe?”

  “Yes. Thank you. That would be great. I got so excited about the mouse that I just ran out of my apartment.”

  “Understandable,” she said.

  She went to her bedroom and returned with a pink robe. “This should do,” she said. “You wouldn’t want the exterminator to get the wrong idea.”

  I shrugged into the robe and padded barefoot down the stairs to the second floor. Ranger’s men were standing at my open door. I knew one of them. His name was Calvin, and he was fairly new. I didn’t know the other.

  “Ranger is on his way,” Calvin said. “Would you like us to clear your apartment of the…clown?”

  I peeked into my apartment. No clown in sight.

  “The clown has probably left,” I said, “but it would be great if you’d take a look around.”

  They both drew their sidearms and moved into my apartment. I followed them in and checked to make sure Rex was unharmed. I didn’t care what else happened to my apartment as long as Rex was okay.

  They moved through the dining area, the living room, the bedroom, and the bath. It didn’t take long.

  “We didn’t see any clowns,” Calvin said, coming back to the kitchen. “Your bedroom window was open, and I noticed you have a fire escape balcony and ladder. The clown might have left through the window.”

  “As long as it’s gone,” I said. “I appreciate that you got here so quickly. The clown was scary.”

  “We’ll wait outside your door until Ranger gets here,” Calvin said. “If the clown returns just yell. And for what it’s worth, I’m not crazy about clowns either.”

  I left the door open and started coffee brewing. The panic was beginning to leave me, but I was shaky from adrenaline letdown. I put my hands to the counter and told myself to breathe. You’re good, I thought. You’re not dead or hurt or anything. Ranger will be here soon, and he’ll take you out to breakfast. Think about that. Pancakes and bacon. Hash browns. Scrambled eggs. Real maple syrup on the pancakes. I was still shaking. Adrenaline, I told myself. It’ll burn off. Hang on.

  Rex came out of his can and looked at me, whiskers twitching.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “I’m fine.”

  Rex thought about it and went back into his can.

  Animals have instincts, I thought. They know when people are okay. Rex decided I was okay, so I must be okay.

  I heard the guys in the hall shuffle around, and I knew Ranger was there. Not that I needed him, because I was okay, but still it would be nice to see him.

  He came into the apartment and closed the door behind him, and I burst into tears.

  “Babe,” he said.

  He wrapped me in his arms, put his face against mine, and kissed my neck. I was sobbing and sniffling and felt like an idiot.

  “It’s the adrenaline,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Just breathe. It’s okay now. You aren’t hurt, right?”

  “Right.”

  “My men tell me your apartment is clean.”

  “Right.”

  His hand was on my wrist, and I realized he was taking my pulse.

  “How am I doing?” I asked him.

  “You’ll live. I wish I could get your heartbeat up this high.”

  I relaxed into him. “Morelli left at five, and I fell back to sleep. I’m not sure why I woke up. I guess I sensed something was wrong. I heard the rustle of cloth and a footstep, and I knew someone was in my room and it wasn’t you or Morelli. He came at me and it’s all a jumble after that. He had a knife. I hit him in the face with the lamp on the nightstand. He was close. He had his hands on my neck, and I could see that it was the clown. I could smell him. I could feel his breath on my face. I kicked out and was able to get away and run. I ran up to Mrs. Delgado.”

  “She’s the one with the cat,” Ranger said.

  “Yes. I can’t believe you remember that.”

  He had me cuddled close, and he felt warm and strong and safe.

  “I’m okay,” I said. “I was scared, but I feel better now.”

  “Too bad. I like this.”

  “Me too, but my nose is running. I need a tissue.”

  I got a tissue and followed Ranger into the bedroom.

  “I don’t see a knife,” Ranger said. “What kind of knife did he have?”

  “It was big. The sort of knife you’d use to stab someone.”

  He went to the window and looked out. “I assume this is how he left.”

  “I wasn’t here at the time, but that makes sense. The window was closed and locked when I went to bed
.”

  Ranger closed and locked the window again. “Do you have any idea who was in the clown suit?”

  “No. It was dark, and everything happened fast. He didn’t say anything.”

  Ranger picked my lamp up from the floor, set it on my nightstand, and plugged it in. It had a smear of blood on it. I soaked a paper towel with rubbing alcohol and wiped the blood off.

  “New bathrobe?” Ranger asked.

  I looked down at myself. “It belongs to Mrs. Delgado. I left my apartment in a rush.”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Can we talk over breakfast? When I was scared I thought about breakfast.”

  “That’s what you think about when you’re scared?”

  “It was a distraction. Pancakes, eggs, hash browns.”

  Ranger smiled. I’d amused him again.

  He dismissed his men, and I took a fast shower. I got dressed in my usual uniform of jeans and a stretchy, girly T-shirt. I was at my front door, ready to leave my apartment, and Ranger stopped me.

  “What have you forgotten?” he asked.

  I looked at myself. Shoes, check. Jeans, check. Shirt, check. Underwear, check. Messenger bag on my shoulder, check. Keys, cuffs, pepper spray, hairbrush, hairspray, gum, mints, extra hair scrunchy, lipstick, lip balm, mascara in my messenger bag, check.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “What have I forgotten?”

  “Your gun. Someone just broke into your apartment and tried to kill you. It might be a good idea to carry a gun.”

  “I don’t like guns.”

  “Do you like dead?”

  “No, I don’t like that either.”

  Ranger went to my brown bear cookie jar and retrieved the small semiautomatic he’d given me.

  “Do you have anything to put in this?”

  “You mean like bullets? No. I keep meaning to buy some.”

  He dropped the gun into my messenger bag, we stepped out of my apartment, and he watched me lock my door.

  “Here’s a problem,” he said. “You have three locks plus a slide bolt on the inside of your door. It keeps you relatively secure. From this side of the door you have just one lock. It’s a good bump-proof lock, but it’s still only one lock, and someone skilled can open it. I’m guessing that when Morelli left you didn’t follow him to the door to secure all your locks.”

  I nodded. “You’re right. I didn’t do that.”

  “When you enter your apartment you need to clear it the same way you would clear a house when you’re looking for an FTA. When you’re inside you need to use all the locks on your door. And you need to be vigilant when you’re out. You also have the option of moving into Rangeman until we get this sorted out.”

  Moving in with Ranger was by far the safest way to go. Unfortunately it was also the most dangerous, because it was impossible not to fall in love with Ranger’s silky smooth 1,000-thread-count freshly ironed sheets, his perfectly made, delicious organic breakfast delivered to his kitchen by the breakfast fairy, his Bulgari shower gel and fluffy white towels. And then there was Ranger. I almost had an orgasm thinking about it. The problem with all that falling in love was that eventually it had to come to an end, and the end would be painful.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  WE WENT TO the diner in Hamilton Township for breakfast. I ordered pancakes, bacon, sausage, hash browns, scrambled eggs, rice pudding, and coffee. Ranger had black coffee.

  I drenched my pancakes in butter and syrup and took some for a test-drive. “Yum!”

  “It looks like you’ve recovered from your fright.”

  “I’ve recovered, but I haven’t forgotten. I’ll be more careful.”

  “There has to be a reason why you’re being targeted. Initially you were warned to go back to being a bounty hunter, and now someone has tried to kill you. Think about it. Someone feels threatened enough to want you eliminated. You must have seen something or heard something incriminating.”

  “I can’t imagine what it might be. It would have to be something really serious to warrant killing me.”

  “Killing comes easy to some people. It’s seen as a fast way to solve a problem.”

  “Did you get the report on Soon?”

  “He was born here but grew up and spent most of his early adult years in Hong Kong and Singapore. His parents were minor diplomats. Since returning to the States he’s been employed by several companies that ultimately failed. He was brought into these companies as a time management consultant.”

  “Were any of them ice cream plants?”

  “No, but they were all in New Jersey, eastern Pennsylvania, and Delaware. They all made products that were shipped locally and nationally.”

  I ate my last piece of bacon and spooned into the rice pudding. “Are you thinking he might be mob?”

  It was a classic mob maneuver to get their hooks into a company and then bleed it dry. Typically money is borrowed with interest compounding so quickly there’s no hope of repaying the loan. If the investment is big enough and the company can be used for mob purposes, they bring one of their own in to supervise on-site.

  “It feels like mob, but we haven’t been able to tie him to anyone,” Ranger said.

  “So maybe Bogart brought you in as a last resort to protect himself.”

  “Most likely he wanted the cameras to collect evidence. Extricate himself by blackmailing the bad guys.”

  “I’m thinking it didn’t work.”

  “I’m thinking we need to talk to Mrs. Bogart.”

  “Is she still at Disney?”

  “Yes. The daughter’s cellphone moved to Miami, but Mrs. Bogart is still at Disney. If I can get a plane we can be there by noon.”

  Ranger flies privately because everything he owns has residues of gunpowder, and he can’t get past security.

  • • •

  Tank drove us to the small business jet at Trenton-Mercer Airport. It’s not a big airport, but it’s convenient, especially if you have your own plane. I’ve flown once before with Ranger and, much like sleeping with him, it pretty much ruins you for the ordinary.

  Tank had exchanged my gun for one with ammo, and that was the extent of my flight preparation. No time to pack mouse ears.

  The plane seated eight and had two pilots. There was a small hospitality area with drinks and snacks and sandwiches for lunch. And there was a pleasant little bathroom. No TSA agents. No unhappy children. Cushy leather seats and lots of leg room. Just Ranger and me. I buckled myself in and felt like a movie star.

  Tank had given Ranger a messenger bag with a MacBook Air and a stack of papers. No downtime for the man of mystery. I had plenty of downtime, and I spent it thinking about the clown and why I was a threat to someone.

  Dressing as the Jolly Bogart clown would serve a couple purposes. It was a disguise. He’d be unrecognizable on camera, though if the right people looked at the video someone could probably recognize him. Someone would notice the way he walked, his height, his body build, his skin tone, his shoe size and style. I realized that I hadn’t looked at his shoes when I’d looked at the factory video. I didn’t know if he was wearing dress shoes or running shoes. I didn’t know if he was wearing gloves so he wouldn’t leave fingerprints.

  The guy who tried to choke me wasn’t wearing gloves. I could remember the feel of his fingers closing in on my neck. Probably he’d left prints on my door. Probably I shouldn’t have wiped the blood off the lamp. Probably I shouldn’t have sprayed Lysol on the message on my door. Damn! I was doing everything wrong.

  So what was the other purpose for the clown? He was a big smudge on the Bogart brand. So far it hadn’t gone public. I wondered if someone was disappointed at that. Who would benefit if Bogart Ice Cream tanked? Mo Morris. I didn’t buy it. I thought Mo Morris was doing his own thing. And Mo Morris would have no reason to kill me. I’d worked in his plant for half a day. I’d spent a half hour at a bar with his son. Who else would benefit? Someone who was associated with Soon? Big question mark there, but Ranger would
dig around and come up with a name.

  I looked out the window and saw coastline below me. I was going to Disney World.

  “Babe,” Ranger said. “Are you okay? Your face is flushed.”

  “I’m going to Disney World.”

  “Have you never been there?”

  “When I was nine and when I was fourteen. How about you?”

  “I never went as a kid. I went as a teenager when I was living in Little Havana. It was local. We’d drive up to Orlando and get there when the park opened. We’d drive back to Miami after the fireworks. Four hours each way.”

  “Did you love it? Was it magical?”

  “It was okay. Not entirely my thing.”

  “What was your thing?”

  “I liked girls. I belonged to a gang. I was too cool for Disney.”

  “How about now?”

  “Now is a lot more complicated.”

  “I know this is business, but can we go to the Magic Kingdom?”

  “I’d rather set myself on fire.”

  • • •

  We touched down in Orlando and left our messenger bags and guns on the plane. Disney World frowned on guns.

  “How are we going to find Mrs. Bogart?” I asked Ranger.

  “She’s staying at the Contemporary Resort. I have photographs and her room number.”

  “How did you get her room number? This is Walt Disney World. It’s like the Pentagon when it comes to security.”

  “We hacked into their computers.”

  Our driver dropped us at the entrance to the Contemporary and we walked into the lobby. Everyone was in shorts and colorful T-shirts and flip-flops. Ranger was in black fatigues and looked like he was doing recon for a SWAT raid.

  “Now what?” I asked him.

  “It’s lunchtime. We check out the restaurants and the pool. These people have been here for over a week. They aren’t going to be standing in line for the Haunted Mansion.”

  “Are you thinking Harry Bogart is here with his wife?”