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Boomer set a glass of red wine in front of me and handed me a towel with ice in it. “Rangers scored an early goal,” he said.
I drank some wine and put the ice on my forehead. I looked at the picture I had taken of the car. It was a Camry. You could clearly see the license plate. It didn’t have a JZ, but it had a J7. I sent the picture to Ranger.
A minute later I got a phone call.
“Babe,” Ranger said.
“Long story short, he got away, but I might have shot him. I’m waiting for my pizza and then I’m going to Morelli’s.”
“My office first thing in the morning,” Ranger said.
I finished my wine just as my new pizza was placed in front of me.
“Do you want an escort out?” Sonny asked me.
“An escort out would be lovely,” I said.
Sonny grabbed a chef’s knife from the kitchen and went to the door with me. “Have you ever thought about a different line of work? Something less dangerous, like getting shot out of a cannon or being a lion tamer.”
We got to my car without getting shot or zapped, and Sonny didn’t have to stab anyone with his chef’s knife. I put the pizza on the backseat, and I got behind the wheel.
“Thanks,” I said to Sonny. “Say hi to Jeannie.”
I drove out of the lot, looked in my rearview mirror, and saw Raul follow me out. So much for security liberation.
Morelli came to the door to help with the pizza box. I handed it over and Bob rushed at me, giant paws on my chest, giving me Bob kisses.
“The Rangers already made a goal,” Morelli said. “I think this is going to be a good year.”
“I heard when I was at Pino’s. Sorry I’m late. There was a problem with the pizza.”
He put the box on the coffee table. “Guard this with your life,” he said to me. “Do you want wine or beer?”
“Wine.”
Bob was instantly on high alert the minute the pizza box was set down. Bob ate everything. Shoes, upholstered furniture, underwear, anything wooden, and he especially loved pizza.
Morelli returned with wine for me and a roll of paper towels. He took a piece of pizza and looked at my face.
“You have a gash in your forehead just above your nose and you’re getting two black eyes.”
“It was one of those accidents,” I said.
“Un-hunh.”
I ate a piece of pizza and gave Bob my crust.
Morelli opened a bottle of beer. “Do you want to tell me about the accident?”
“No,” I said. “It would be boring.”
Truth is, it was embarrassing, and I didn’t want to talk about it.
“Un-hunh.”
He chugged some beer and looked at me. “You hit yourself in the head with your gun again, didn’t you?”
“How would you know that?”
