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Joyce wasn't the only idiot loitering in my lot. Mitchell and Habib were parked at the rear. I walked back to them, and Mitchell rolled the driver's-side window down.
“Do you see that woman I was just talking to?” I asked. “That's Joyce Barnhardt. She's the bond enforcement agent Vinnie hired to bring Ranger in. If you want to get Ranger, you need to follow Joyce around.”
Both men looked over at Joyce.
“If a woman dressed like that in my village we would throw stones at her until she was dead,” Habib said.
“Nice hooters, though,” Mitchell said. “Are they real?”
“As far as I know.”
“What do you think her chances are of catching Ranger?”
“None.”
“What are your chances?”
“None.”
“We were told to watch you,” Mitchell said. “That's what we're going to do.”
“Too bad,” Habib said. “I do like to look at the whore, Joyce Barnhardt.”
“Are you going to follow me around all afternoon?”
Color crept up Mitchell's neck into his cheeks. “We got some other things to do.”
I smiled. “Have to get the car home?”
“Fuckin' car pool,” Mitchell said. “My kid's got a soccer game.”
I went back to the Buick and loaded Bob into the backseat. At least I didn't have to worry about being followed, thanks to the soccer game. I looked in the rearview mirror just to make sure. No Habib and Mitchell—but Joyce was tailing me. I pulled to the side of the road and stopped, and Joyce stopped a few feet behind me. I got out of the car and walked back to her.
“Knock it off,” I said.
“It's a free country.”
“Are you going to follow me all day?”
“Probably.”
“Suppose I ask you nicely.”
“Get real.”
I looked at her car. A new black SUV. Then I looked at my car. Big Blue. I walked back to Blue and got in. “Hang on,” I said to Bob. Then I threw the car into reverse.
CRASH.
I changed gears and moved forward a few feet. I got out and surveyed the damage. The SUV bumper was Crumple City and Joyce was fighting with the deployed airbag. The back of the Buick was perfect. Not a scratch. I returned to the Buick and drove away. It's not a good idea to mess with a woman who has a pimple.
IT WAS OVERCAST in Deal, with a mist coming off the ocean. Gray sky, gray ocean, gray sidewalks, big pink house belonging to Alexander Ramos. I rolled past the house, made a U-turn, passed the house a second time, turned, and parked at the corner. I wondered if Ranger was watching. My guess was yes. No vans or trucks were parked on the street. That meant he'd have to be in a house. And the house would have to be unoccupied. Easy to tell the unoccupied beachfront houses. Much more difficult to tell the unoccupied houses on the road. None of those were shuttered.
I checked my watch. Same time, same place. No Ramos. After ten minutes my phone rang.
“Yo,” Ranger said.
“Yo, yourself ”
