8
I WAS SUPER late when I barreled through the back door to my apartment building. I quickly crossed to the bank of mailboxes on the far side of the lobby, spun the dial on my box, and grabbed my mail. A phone bill, a wad of junk mail, and an envelope from RangeMan Enterprises. My curiosity was stronger than my desire to be punctual, so I tore the RangeMan envelope open on the spot. RangeMan Enterprises is Ricardo Carlos Manoso. Better known as Ranger. Incorporated as RangeMan.
It was a payroll check issued by Ranger's accountant, paying me for the two jobs I screwed up. I had a moment of guilt, but brushed it aside. I didn't have time to feel guilty right now.
I rushed upstairs, hurled myself into the shower, and was out in record time. I went for the big soft curly look to my hair, natural frosted polish on my nails, and an extra sweep of mascara on my lashes. I tugged the little black dress into place, checked myself out in the mirror, and thought I looked pretty darn good.
I transferred a few things to a small black beaded purse, hooked a pair of long, dangly rhinestone earrings into my ears, and slipped my faux-?diamond cocktail ring onto my ring finger.
My apartment is on the parking-?lot side of the building, and my bedroom window opens to an old-?fashioned fire escape. More modern buildings have balconies instead of fire escapes. Those buildings charge twenty-?five dollars more a month than mine for rent, so I like my fire escape just fine.
The only problem with the fire escape is that people can climb up as well as down. Now that Ramirez was back on the street, I checked my bedroom window fourteen times a day to make sure it was locked. And when I left the apartment, not only was the window locked, but the curtain was pushed open, so I could immediately see upon ente
ring the room if the window was broken.
I went to the kitchen to say good-?bye to Rex. I gave him a green bean from my cache of leftovers and told him not to worry if I came home late. He watched me for a beat and then took the bean to his soup can. “Don't look at me like that,” I said to Rex. “I'm not going to sleep with him.”
I looked down at the black dress with the low scoop neck and slinky little skirt. Who was I kidding? Morelli wouldn't waste any time getting me out of this dress. We'd be lucky if we got to the wedding at all. Is that what I wanted? Shit. I didn't know what I wanted.
I ran back to the bedroom, kicked off the heels, and shimmied out of the black dress. I tried on a tan suit, a red knit dress, an apricot cocktail dress, and a gray silk suit. I ransacked my closet some more and came up with a tea-?length rayon dress. It was a soft teal color with a small pink rose print and a skirt that was soft and swirly. It wasn't hot like the little black dress, but it was sexy in an understated romantic way. I changed my pantyhose, junked the earrings, dropped the dress over my head, shoved my feet into low-?heeled shoes, and dumped the contents of the black purse into a small tan bag.
I had just buttoned the last button on the dress when the doorbell rang. I grabbed a sweater and hustled to get the door. I threw the door open and didn't see anyone.
“Down here.”
It was Randy Briggs.
“Why aren't you in jail?”
“I made bail,” he said. “Again. And thanks to you I don't have anyplace to live.”
“You want to run that by me again?”
“You wrecked my door, and while I was in jail, thieves came in and ransacked my apartment. Stole everything and set fire to my couch. Now I don't have anyplace to live while they fix my apartment. And when your cousin wrote my bail he said I had to have an address. So here I am.”
“Vinnie sent you here?”
“Yeah. Isn't that a kick in the ass? You want to help me with this stuff I've got?”
I stuck my head out the door. Briggs had a couple big suitcases propped against the wall.
“You are not living here,” I told him. “You must be crazy to think for a single moment that I'd let you live here.”
“Listen, Toots, I don't like it any more than you do. And believe me, I'll be out of here as soon as possible.” He pushed past me, wheeling one of the suitcases. “Where's my bedroom?”
“You don't have a bedroom,” I said. “This is a one-?bedroom apartment. And that one bedroom is mine.”
“Christ,” he said, “when was the last time you got laid? You need to relax a little.” He had the second suitcase by the handle.
“Halt!” I said, blocking the doorway. “You are not living here. You aren't even visiting here.”
“This is what it says on my bond agreement. Call your ratfaced cousin and ask. You want to violate my bond agreement? You want to come after me again?”
I held my ground.
“It's only for a couple days. They have to put down a new rug and put in a new door. And in the meantime I have a job to do. Which, by the way, thanks to you again, I'm behind schedule.”
“I don't have time to stand here and argue. I'm going out, and there's no way I'm leaving you alone in my apartment.”