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“Any special reason you grabbed the flour?”
“I wasn’t thinking.”
Manfred and I were head-to-toe flour. The flour sifted off us when we moved and floated in the air like pixie dust. Ranger hadn’t so much as a smudge. By the time we got to the Rangeman SUV, some of the flour had been left behind as ghostly white footprints, but a lot of it remained.
“I honestly don’t know how you manage to do this,” Ranger said. “Paint, barbecue sauce, flour. It boggles the mind.”
“This was all your fault,” I said.
Ranger glanced over at me and his eyebrows raised a fraction of an inch.
“You could have taken him down in the apartment if you
hadn’t spent so much time staring at his naked girlfriend.”
Ranger grinned. “She wasn’t naked. She was wearing a shirt.”
“You deserved to fall off that fire escape.”
“That’s harsh,” Ranger said.
“Did you hurt yourself?” I asked him.
“Do you care?”
“No,” I said.
“Liar,” Ranger said. He ruffled my hair and flour sprang out in all directions.
Manfred said something to Ranger in Spanish. Ranger answered him as he assisted him into the backseat of the Explorer.
“What did he say?” I asked Ranger. “He said if I let him go, I could have his girl.”
“And your answer?”
“I declined.”
“You’ll probably regret that as the night goes on,” I said to him.
“No doubt,” Ranger said.
RANGER AND I had Manfred in front of the docket lieutenant. It was a little after ten, and things were heating up. Drunk drivers, abusive drunk husbands, and a couple drug busts were making their way through the system. I was waiting for my body receipt when Morelli walked in. He nodded to Ranger and grinned at me in my whiteness.
“I was at my desk, and Mickey told me I had to come out to take a look,” Morelli said.
“It’s flour,” I told him.
“I can see that. If we add some milk and eggs, we can turn you into a cake.”
“What are you doing here? I thought you were off nights.”
“I came in to cover a shooting. Fred was supposed to be on, but he got overexcited at his kid’s ball game and pulled a groin muscle. I was just finishing up some paperwork.”
Mickey Bolan joined us. Bolan worked Crimes Against Persons with Morelli. He was ten years older than Morelli and counting down to his pension.
“I wasn’t exaggerating, right?” Bolan said to Morelli. “They’re both covered with flour.”
“I’d tell you about it,” I said to Bolan, “but it’s not as good as it looks.”
