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“That's the consensus.”
Sometimes Ranger sounded like he was straight off the street, and sometimes he sounded like a stockbroker. Ricardo Carlos Manoso, Man of Mystery.
“Do you think Ramos might have killed his own son?”
“He's capable of it.”
“He said Homer was killed because he was greedy and stupid. You knew Homer. Was he greedy and stupid?”
“Homer was the weakest of the three sons. He'd always take the easy road. But sometimes the easy road got to be a problem.”
“How?”
“Homer would drop a hundred thousand gambling and then look for an easy way to get the money, like hijacking a truck or dealing some drugs. In the process he'd step on Mob toes or have a run-in with the police, and Hannibal would have to bail him out.”
Which led me to wonder what Ranger was doing with Homer Ramos the night Ramos was shot. No point in asking.
“Later, babe,” Ranger said. And he was gone.
I GOT HOME in time to walk Bob and take a shower. I spent an extra half-hour styling my hair so it was deceptively casual, as if I really didn't care enough to put in a lot of effort but I was so naturally gorgeous I looked outstanding anyway. It seemed like sacrilege to have such sexy hair and such a big ugly pimple, so I squeezed the pimple until it popped. Then what was left was a big bloody hole in my chin. Crap. I stuck a piece of toilet paper over the hole to stop the bleeding while I did my makeup. I put on black stretch pants and a red sweater with a scoop neck. I peeled the toilet paper off my chin and stood back to take a look. The bags under my eyes were considerably reduced and the hole in my chin was already starting to scab over. Not cover model material, but I'd look okay in dim light.
I heard the front door open and close, and Grandma breezed past the bathroom on her way to the bedroom.
“Boy, this driving is something,” Grandma said. “I don't know what I was thinking about, going all those years with no license. I had my lesson this afternoon, and then Melvina came over and took me to the mall and let me drive around in circles. I did real good, too. Except for when I stopped too short once, and Melvina got a sprained back.”
The doorbell rang and I opened it to find Myron Landowsky wheezing in the hall. Landowsky always reminded me of a box turtle, with his bald liver-spotted head thrust forward, his shoulders hunched, his trousers hiked up to his armpits.
“I'm telling you, if they don't do something about that elevator I'm moving,” he said. “I've lived here for twenty-two years but I'll go if I have to. That old lady Bestler gets in there with her walker and then pushes the hold button when she leaves. I've seen her do it a million times. Takes her fifteen minutes just to get out of the elevator, and then she goes off and the hold button's still on hold. And meantime what are we supposed to do on the third floor? I just had to walk all the way down here.”
“Would you like a glass of water?”
“You got any liquor?”
“No.”
“Never mind, then.” He looked around. “I'm here to see your grandmother. We're going out to dinner.”
“She's getting ready. She'll be out in a minute.”
There was a rap on the door and Morelli walked in. He looked at me.
And then he looked at Myron.
“We're double-dating,” I said. “This is Grandma's friend, Myron Landowsky.”
“Would you excuse us, please?” Morelli said, pulling me into the hall.
“I gotta go sit down, anyway,” Landowsky said. “I had to walk all the way down here.”
Morelli closed the door, pinned me against the wall, and kissed me. When he was done I looked myself over to make sure I was still dressed.
“Wow,” I said.
His lips brushed against my ear. “If you don't get those old people out of your apartment I'm going to self-combust.”
I knew just how he felt. I'd self-combusted in the shower that morning, but it didn't help much.
Grandma opened the door and stuck her head out. “For a minute there I thought you left without us.”
