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I’ve never known Ranger to have more than one glass of wine or beer. And usually, he didn’t finish his first glass. Ranger never placed himself in a position of weakness. He sat with his back to the wall, and he was always sober. I, on the other hand, from time to time slipped into dangerous waters and counted on Ranger to scoop me out.
“So,” I said to him. “If I drink this second glass of wine, will you drive me home?”
“Babe, you have no alcohol tolerance. If you drink a second glass of wine, you won’t want to go home.”
I blew out a sigh and pushed the glass away
. He was right. “I have five open cases that need immediate attention,” I told him. “You said you would help me.”
“Do you have the files with you?”
I went to the kitchen and retrieved my bag from the counter, handed the five files over to Ranger, and returned to my place at the table.
Ranger paged through the files while he ate.
“You have two armed robberies, one exhibitionist, a mid-level drug dealer, and an arsonist,” he said. “The dealer is a no-brainer. Kenny Hatcher. Better known as Marbles. I know where he works. He deals from the six hundred block of Stark Street.”
“I’ve been checking. He isn’t there.”
“He’s there. You just aren’t seeing him.”
I stared down at my dinner plate and wineglass. Empty. Damn. “Someone drank my wine,” I said to Ranger.
“That would be you.”
I looked around. “Do we have dessert?”
“No.”
Big surprise. Ranger never had dessert.
“Why can’t I see my drug dealer?” I asked him.
Ranger leaned back in his chair and watched me. The lion assessing his prey. “He’s using a runner,” Ranger said. “If you want to find Hatcher, you have to follow the runner.”
“How do I recognize the runner?”
“You pay attention.”
“Okay, I’ll give it another shot,” I said, pushing away from the table, taking the files from Ranger. “I’m going to Stark Street.”
I started to leave, and Ranger snagged me by the back of my shirt and dragged me up against him.
“Let me get this straight,” he said. “You’re going to Stark Street now?”
“Yeah.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
Ranger smiled down at me. I was amusing him.
“I can think of at least a half-dozen reasons,” he said. “Not the least of which is you’ll be the only one on Stark Street not carrying a gun. It’ll be like open season on Plum pudding.”
