Ranger was on the second-?floor landing. “There are two tenants on the third floor. Thompson is on the left. One room and bath. Only one way out. He should be at home at this time of day. Regina would have told me if she'd seen him leave.”
“I get the feeling there's something else I should know about this guy.”
Ranger was halfway up the third flight of stairs. “Only that he's freaking nuts. And if he whips his dick out to take a leak, stand back. He tagged Hanson once, and Hanson swears he was fifteen feet away.”
Hanson was another bounty hunter. Mostly worked for Gold Star Bail Bonds on First Street. Hanson had never struck me as someone who would fabricate war stories, so I turned around and started doing double-?time down the stairs. “That's it for me. I'll call Lula to come pick me up.”
My progress was halted by a hand grabbing the back of my shirt. “Guess again,” Ranger said. “We're in this together.”
“I don't want to get peed on.”
“Just keep your eyes open. If he goes for his dick we'll both jump him.”
“You know I could have lots of good jobs,” I said. “I don't need to be doing this.”
Ranger had his arm around me, encouraging me to walk up the stairs. “This isn't just a job. This is a service profession. We uphold the law, babe.”
“Is that why you do this? Because you believe in the law?”
“No. I do this for the money. And because hunting people is what I do best.”
We reached Thompson's door, and Ranger motioned me to one side while he knocked.
“Lousy fuckers,” someone called from inside the room.
Ranger smiled. “Norvil's home.” He gave another rap. “Open the door. I need to talk to you.”
“I saw you out on the sidewalk,” Norvil said, the door still closed, “and I'll open this door when hell freezes over.”
“I'm going to count to three, and then I'm going to break in,” Ranger said. “One, two . . .” He tried the doorknob, but the door was still locked. “Three.” No response from inside. “Damn, stubborn old drunk,” Ranger said. He stepped back and gave the door a solid kick just to the left of the doorknob. There was the sound of splintering wood, and the door crashed open.
“Lousy fuckers,” Norvil yelled.
Ranger cautiously stepped into the doorway, gun in hand. “It's okay,” he said to me. “He isn't armed.”
I moved into the room and stood beside Ranger. Norvil was on the far side of the room with his back against the wall. To his right was a chipped Formica table and a single wooden chair. Half the table was taken over with a cardboard box filled with food. Ritz crackers, Count Chocula cereal, a bag of marshmallows, a bottle of ketchup. A dorm-?sized refrigerator was on the floor by the table. Norvil was dressed in a faded T-?shirt that said “Get Gas From Bud” and a pair of baggy, soiled khakis. And he was holding a carton of eggs.
“Lousy fuckers,” he said. And before I realized what was happening . . . SPLAT. I got hit in the forehead with an egg. I jumped back, and the ketchup bottle sailed by my ear, smashed on the doorjamb and ketchup splattered everywhere. This was followed by the pickle jar and more eggs. Ranger caught an egg on his arm, and I got one square on my chest. I turned to dodge a jar of mayo and got hit in the back of the head with another egg. Norvil was in a frenzy, throwing whatever he laid hands on . . . crackers, croutons, corn chips, knives and spoons, cereal bowls and dinner plates. A bag of flour exploded in his hands, and flour flew in all directions. “Rotten pinko, commie bastards,” he shouted, searching through the box for more ammo.
“Now!” Ranger said.
We both lung
ed for Thompson, going for his arms. Ranger locked a cuff on one wrist. We struggled to secure the other. Norvil took a swing at me, catching me in the shoulder. I lost my footing in the cracker crumbs and flour and went down hard to the floor. I heard the second cuff click closed and looked up at Ranger.
Ranger was smiling. “You okay?”
“Yeah. I'm just peachy.”
“You have enough food on you to feed a family of four for a week.”
Ranger had none. A small stain on one arm where he'd gotten hit by the egg.
“So why is it you're so clean and I'm such a mess?”
“For one thing, I didn't stand in the middle of the room, making a target of myself. For another thing, I didn't fall on the floor and roll in flour.” He reached a hand out to me and helped me up. “First rule of combat. If someone throws something at you, step out of the way.”
“Devil whore,” Norvil shouted at me.