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I gave him my PMS look.
“You need a car? We could get you a car. Any kind of car you want,” Mitchell said. “You don't need to drive this . . . embarrassment.”
“I'm not looking for Ranger.”
“Sure,” Mitchell said, “but maybe he's looking for you. Maybe he needs to get his oil changed, and he figures you're safe. It happens, you know. A man gets these needs.”
“Do you not have oil changed at a garage in this country?” Habib asked Mitchell.
“Christ,” Mitchell said. “Not that kind of oil. I'm talking about the old hide-the-salami thing.”
“I do not understand this 'hiding salami,' ” Habib said. “What is salami?”
“Fucking vegetarian don't know nothing,” Mitchell said. He grabbed himself in the crotch and gave a hike up. “You know—the old salami.”
“Ahh,” Habib said. “I understand. This man Ranger hides his salami deep in this daughter of a pig.”
“Daughter of a pig? Excuse me?” I said.
“Just so,” Habib said. “Unclean slut.”
I was going to have to start carrying my gun. I really felt like shooting these guys. Nothing serious. Just maybe take out an eye. “I have to go,” I said. “I have stuff to do.”
“Okay,” Mitchell said, “but don't be a stranger. And think about the car offer.”
“Hey,” I yelled. “How did you find me?” But they were already out of the lot.
I drove around for a while, making sure no one was following me, then headed for Ramos's condo. I caught Route 29 and traveled north toward Ewing Township. Ramos lived in an affluent neighborhood with big old trees and professionally landscaped yards. Tucked away on Fenwood was a small cluster of recently constructed redbrick town houses, with attached two-car garages and brick-walled privacy yards. The houses sat behind well-tended lawns with curving walkways and dormant flower beds. Very tasteful. Very respectable. Just the place for an international black-market arms dealer.
The wind machine was going to make surveillance tough in this neighborhood. For that matter, any surveillance was going to be tough. A strange car parked too long would be noticed. Ditto a strange woman loitering on the sidewalk.
The drapes were drawn on all Ramos's windows, so it was impossible to tell if anyone was at home. Ramos was second from the end in a row of five attached houses. Trees peeked from behind the houses. The developer had left a greenbelt between condo sections.
I drove around the neighborhood, getting a feel for it, then cruised past Ramos's house again. No change. I paged Ranger and got a call back five minutes later.
“Just exactly what is it you want me to do?” I asked. “I'm in front of his house, but there's nothing to see, and I can't hang out here much longer. There's no place to hide.”
“Go back tonight when it's dark. See if he gets visitors.”
“What does he do all day?”
“Different things,” Ranger said. “There's a family compound in Deal. When Alexander is in residence, business is conducted at the shore. Before the fire, Hannibal spent most of his time in the building downtown. He had an office on the fourth floor.”
“What kind of car does he drive?”
“Dark green jag.”
“Is he married?”
“When he's in Santa Barbara.”
"Anything else to tell me?'
“Yeah,” Ranger said. “Be careful.”
Ranger disconnected, and the phone rang again.
“Is your grandmother with you?” my mother wanted to know.
