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“A failure to appear broke into my apartment. I shot him in the foot, and he left.”
“You must not have read the Bounty Hunter Handbook. We're supposed to catch the bad guys and drag their ass back to jail.”
I mixed the cocoa into the hot milk. “Ramos wants me to return today. He offered me a job as his cigarette smuggler.”
“That's not a job you want to accept. Alexander can be impulsive and erratic and paranoid. He's on medication, but he doesn't always take it. Hannibal's hired bodyguards to keep an eye on the old man, but he makes them look like amateurs. Sneaks out on them every chance he gets. There's a power struggle going on between him and Hannibal, and you don't want to get caught in the crossfire.”
“Isn't this nice,” Grandma said, shuffling into the kitchen, taking her mug of chocolate. “It's much more fun living with you. We never had men visiting in the middle of the night when I lived with your mother.”
Ranger returned the alarm to the counter. “I have to go. Enjoy your hot chocolate.”
I walked him to the door. “Is there anything else you want me to do? Check your mail? Water your plants?”
“My mail is being forwarded to my lawyer. And I'm watering my own plants.”
“So, you feel safe in the Batcave?”
The corners of his mouth curved into the hint of a smile. He leaned forward and kissed me at the base of my neck, just above my T-shirt collar. “Sweet dreams.”
Before he left, he said good-night to Grandma, who was still in the kitchen.
“What a nice, polite young man,” Grandma said. “And he's got an excellent package.”
I went straight to her closet, found the bottle of booze, and dumped some into my cocoa.
THE NEXT MORNING, Grandma and I were both hung over.
“I've gotta stop drinking cocoa so late at night,” Grandma said. “I feel like my eyes are going to explode. Maybe I should go get checked for glaucoma.”
“Better yet, how about getting checked for the level of hooch in your bloodstream?”
I took a couple aspirin and dragged myself out to the parking lot. Habib and Mitchell were there, sitting waiting in a green minivan with two kiddie seats in the back but no kiddies.
“Nice stakeout car,” I said. “Fits right in.”
“Don't start,” Mitchell said. “I'm not in a good mood.”
“It's your wife's car, right?”
He gave me a black look.
“Just to make life easier for you, so you don't get lost, you might as well know I'm going to the office first thing.”
“I hate that place,” Habib said. “It is cursed! It is evil!”
I drove to the office and parked in front. Habib stayed half a block back and kept the motor running.
“Hey, girlfriend,” Lula said. “Where's Bob?”
“He's with Grandma. They're sleeping in today.”
“Looks like you should have slept in, too. You look awful. If the rest of your face was as black as the circles under your eyes you could move into my neighborhood. 'Course, the good news is what with the dark circles and bloodshot eyes you don't hardly notice that big nasty pimple.”
And the really good news was that I didn't give a fig about the pimple today. Funny how a little thing like a life-threatening experience can put a pimple into perspective. What I cared about today was nailing Munson. I didn't want to put in another sleepless night, worrying about going up in flames.
“I have a hunch Morris Munson is back at his row house this morning,” I told Lula. “I'm going over there, and I'm going to stomp on him.”
“I'll go with you,” Lula said. “I wouldn't mind stompin' on someone today. In fact, I'm in a real stompin' mood.”
