Джанет Иванович - Fortune and Glory

She was relatively clean for a hooker. A few arrests for solicitation. That was it. She was twenty-six years old. Grew up in Atlanta. Migrated north when she graduated from high school. Had a bunch of short-term minimum wage jobs and then turned to prostitution. Ranger pulled her driver’s license up and I was pretty sure it was the woman on the floor.

“She owned a ten-year-old Range Rover,” Ranger said. “Here’s her plate. If it’s not parked on the street close to her building, Shine might be driving it.”

“Do you have any other ideas?”

“Yes. Let’s move this into the bedroom.”

Oh boy.

When I spend a night in Ranger’s bed the sex is always great, but honestly, his sheets are equally orgasmic. They’re gloriously soft and as smooth as glass because Ella irons them. His pillows are perfect. His comforter is perfect. When he turns the light off, the room is dark and quiet and cool. The cool never lasts very long. Ranger is hot in bed.

CHAPTER TWELVE

I was dragged out of sleep by the sound of the shower running. The bedroom was dark. My cell phone read 5:00 a.m. I fell back asleep and when I woke up it was twenty-five minutes later, and I could hear Ranger moving around the room. I switched the bedside light on and saw that he was already dressed. Usually Ranger wore the same cargo pants and Rangeman logo shirt that the rest of the men wore. He was in a suit today. Black and custom tailored. Black dress shirt. Black striped tie.

“Nice,” I said. “Sexy in a successful-businessman sort of way.”

“New corporate client meeting this morning. Don’t think he’d be happy if I came dressed ready for a SWAT ambush.” He strapped his watch on. “Stay as long as you like. Ella will bring your breakfast up at eight o’clock. If you want it sooner, you can call her. Rafael will pick your car up this morning and leave it in the garage for you. Try not to jump out of any windows today.”

“ Dropped! I dropped out of the window.”

I rolled out of bed at seven thirty and shuffled off to take a shower. This is an experience second only to being in Ranger’s bed. The tiles are gleaming white, his showerhead is perfect and not encrusted with lime, and he has unlimited hot water. And the best part is that Ella makes sure he’s supplied with Bulgari green shower gel and shampoo. I’ve never gotten a full-on orgasm just from smelling Bulgari green, but I’ve had some decent rushes. The scent evaporates almost immediately on me but mysteriously clings to Ranger. This explains the reason for the rush.

My hair was still damp when I went in search of breakfast. Ella had obviously tiptoed in when I was in the shower because the tray was already on the kitchen counter. Coffee, cream, and croissants with jam. Plus, smoked salmon with a dollop of caviar and crème fraîche, if I was in need of protein. Some toast points for the salmon. Assorted fresh fruit. No Frosted Flakes.

I planned my day while I ate. I would make a fast stop at my apartment to check on Rex and change clothes. Then I’d give Connie the information about the car and have her feed it to her network of gossips and snoops. There were two open FTAs and there was Grandma and the treasure. I was getting nowhere fast on all this stuff, but as Yoda says, “Do or do not. There is no try.” So, I was all about the do today.

It was almost nine o’clock when I left Ranger’s apartment. I took the elevator to the garage and found my car. It had been detailed and the keys on the dash were attached to a Rangeman key fob. I looked into the security camera pointed at me and said, “Thank you.”

I rolled into my building’s parking lot a half hour later. I took the stairs and found Potts, sound asleep, stretched out in a sleeping bag in front of my apartment door. I carefully inserted my key, opened my door, and stepped over Potts. I closed and locked the door and looked out my peephole. Couldn’t see Potts. That meant he was still asleep on the floor. Yay.

I changed my clothes, pulled my hair up into a ponytail, and gave Rex a piece of croissant from breakfast.

Potts was still asleep when I opened my door to leave. I stepped over him again, closed and locked the door, and sprinted down the hall to the stairs. I got to the stairs and looked back at him. He hadn’t moved. Crap! What if he was dead? I watched him for a minute and saw him move. Okay! Not dead.

Lula was surfing the net on her phone when I walked into the office. Connie was reading a Nora Roberts page-turner.

“What’s new?” I asked.

“I have a positive ID on the dead hooker for you,” Connie said. “No surprise. Alice Smuther. AKA Patches.”

“I did some research last night,” I said. “She owned a gray Range Rover.” I handed Connie a slip of paper. “Here’s the plate number. Pass it on to your network of snitches.”

“You think Shine killed her and took her car?” Lula said. “That’s not smart to be driving around in someone’s car after you drill two holes in them.”

“People aren’t always smart,” I said. “Shine has gotten away with a lot of horrible things. I suspect he feels above the law after all these years.”

Charlie Shine was the La-Z-Boy dandy. He wore flashy jewelry, drove flashy cars, and enjoyed abusing beautiful young women. He was a ruthless killer who left his calling card of a bullet in the forehead and another in the chest. In his prime, he supplemented his wet work business with a variety of illegal activities, including but not limited to white slavery, gaming, pushing drugs, and extortion. He was frequently charged with crimes but never convicted. Witnesses always recanted or disappeared. Evidence vanished.

“What do you want to do? Do you want to ride around and look for him?” Lula asked.

“No. I want to see if Trotter is home. I have a responsibility to Vinnie to bring him in, and I need the capture money. We can keep our eyes open for the gray Range Rover on our way across town.”

“I guess I’m game for that,” Lula said. “Maybe we can lure Trotter into your car with the promise of roadkill. We can tell him we saw a nice bloated dead possum on the side of the road, and he can have it if he comes with us. In case that doesn’t work, we should take the giant can of bear Mace we got in the back room.”

I hiked my messenger bag higher on my shoulder and headed for the door. “I’m hoping he’ll be more reasonable before lunch.”

“What about breakfast? You think he doesn’t drink breakfast?”

“Maybe, but I have a new attitude. I’m going to be the ball-breaker I want to be.”

“Who said that?” Lula asked. “Was that AC/DC? They had a lot of songs about balls.”

“I don’t know. It just popped into my head.”

“I noticed you got a bunch of those things popping into your head lately. Motivational sayings. We should choose one and make business cards. Like how about Stephanie and Lula, Apprehension Agents. We do epic shit .”

I liked it. Might not be accurate but it was something to work toward.

Lula followed me out and pulled up when she saw my car. “Hold on. Your car is clean. It’s all shiny and the inside looks clean, too. There’s something wrong here. Your car is never clean. It wasn’t clean when I drove it home.”

I got behind the wheel. “It’s clean sometimes.”

“It wasn’t even clean when you bought it.”

She buckled in, leaned close to me, and sniffed. “Ah hah! I know that smell. That smell is delicious. You smell like Ranger. Holy cow, you spent the night with Ranger, didn’t you? And that’s why one of his muscle men picked your car up this morning. And they got it detailed! Girlfriend, you must have done something special for that man last night.”