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“Sonny called me. He was worried about you. He said he thought he heard a gunshot, but it was when the Rangers scored and there was a lot of noise, so he wasn’t sure until you walked in.”
“He ratted me out! That’s the last time he gets a tip.”
“He always puts it on my tab anyway,” Morelli said.
I pointed to my forehead gash. “Occupational hazard.”
“Un-hunh.”
I was really getting annoyed at hearingun-hunh, so I gave him my narrow-eyeddon’t mess with melook.
“You’re such a cupcake,” he said. “I perfected that look. I made plainclothes because of that look.”
“Okay,” I said, “but my look is still pretty good.”
A strand of hair had come loose from my ponytail. He tucked it behind my ear and very gently kissed me on my nose.
“Have another piece of pizza,” he said. “I’m going to get some ice for your eyes. If they get any more swollen, you’re going to miss the game.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Morelli was gone by the time I woke up. I went into the bathroom and was horrified but not surprised by what I saw. The bruises around my eyes were black and purple and green. My eyes were swollen but thankfully not swollen shut. All because of a stupid gun. No one should ever give me a loaded gun. The only one worse with a gun was Lula. Maybe Grandma. Of course, if it weren’t for the gun, I might be chained to a chemical toilet in a dark room with Vinnie right now.
I went into the bedroom, picked my clothes up off the floor, and got dressed. I made my way to the kitchen, I said good morning to Bob, and I downed a cup of coffee. It was almost eight o’clock when I left Morelli’s house.
Ranger would be in a state of disbelief that I thought this wasfirst thingin the morning. His first thing in the morning wasnighttime. I pulled away from the curb and found a Rangeman SUV in my rearview mirror. No surprise there.
I did a detour to my apartment, took a fast shower, and changed out of my Rangers jersey. My hair was still wet when I ran out of my building and got into my Whatever.
I bypassed the school bus office and went straight to Rangeman. The black Rangeman SUV was on my bumper the entire time and followed me into the underground garage. I gave the security camera at the elevator entrance the finger and stepped inside. It took me to the fifth floor.
Ranger met me at the elevator and ushered me back inside, and we went to his apartment.
“Have you had breakfast?” he asked.
“No,” I said. “Just coffee.”
He called down to Ella for breakfast and he moved me into his office.
“Talk to me,” he said.
“About what?”
“The eyes for starters. I had the short version, now I want the long version.”
I gave him the long version and he was silent for a beat. “So, you accidentally discharged the gun and knocked yourself out?”
“Not knocked out! It was more like I was stunned for a second or two,” I said. “Anyway, the important thing is that I got the license plate and I actually saw this guy.”
Ella came in with a tray of food and a coffeepot. She set it on Ranger’s desk, smiled at me, and left.
I really like Ella. She irons Ranger’s sheets, supplies him withbath products that make him smell amazing, and doesn’t shoot people. At least none that I know about.
“We enhanced the picture you got of the plate, and it was obvious why we couldn’t trace it,” Ranger said. “The photo we had from the DOT camera was distorted. It wasn’t JZ. It was J7. The car is registered to Marcus Smulet. Forty-six years old, lives on Karnery Street. Divorced. Long-haul independent trucker. Doesn’t seem to own a truck. Has a spotty work history. Nothing recent. No traffic violations. The only interesting thing we found was an arrest six years ago for human trafficking. He claimed it was a humanitarian effort and he got a slap on the wrist.” Ranger pulled up a photo. “Is this the guy?”
“Yes!”
“I have people watching the house. So far there’s been no activity. The Camry isn’t on the property.”
