Read Online Lean Mean Thirteen by Janet Evanovich - Free Book Online
Authors: Janet Evanovich
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finally lifted and the sky was as blue as it gets in Jersey. I was on Route one, cruising along, listening to the radio, when the grinding sound coming from under the hood turned into BANG, BANG, BANG and the car coasted to a stop at the side of the road. It wasn't entirely unexpected, but it left me breathless all the same. Another example that sugar isn't pixie dust, and wish as hard as you might, it won't make you invisible. I was sitting there trying to keep from crying, running through my options, and Ranger called.
"Babe, you're stopped on Route one. What's up?"
I remembered the gizmo in my bag. RangeMan was monitoring me. "My car died." Fifteen minutes later, I looked in my rearview mirror and saw Ranger pull in behind me. He got out of his car and into mine. Ranger didn't smile a lot, but clearly he was amused.
"I don't know how you do it," Ranger said. "In a matter of days, you've managed to turn a perfectly good piece-of-shit car into something so fucked up it's a work of art."
"It's a gift."
"The bullet hole in the rear window?"
"Joyce Barnhardt," I told him. "She's unhappy with me because she thinks I killed Dickie."
"And the crud on the dash?"
"Squirrel bomb."
He looked incredulous for a moment and then burst out laughing. In all the time I'd known Ranger, this was maybe the third time I'd seen him actually laugh out loud, so it turned out to be worth getting squirrel-bombed.
Ranger dropped back to a smile and tugged me out of the car. He kicked the door closed, slung an arm around my shoulders, and walked me back to his Porsche Cayenne. "Where were you going?" he asked.
" “I’m looking for Simon Diggery," I said. "I stopped by his double-wide on Tuesday, but no one was home. I thought Fd try again."
Ranger opened the Cayenne door for me. "I'll go with you. If we're lucky, we might get to see his snake eat a cow."
I looked back at the Vic. "What about my car?"
"I'll have it picked up."
Ranger didn't bother parking out of sight of Diggery s trailer. He drove the Cayenne onto the blighted grass and pulled up between the trailer and the stand of hardwoods. We got out of the Porsche, and he gave me his gun.
"Stay here and shoot anyone who makes a run for it, including the snake."
"How do you know I don't have my own gun?"
"Do you?"
"No."
Ranger did another one of those almost sighing things and jogged around to Diggery's front door. I heard him rap on the door and call out. There was the sound of the rusted door opening and closing and then silence. I held my ground.
After a couple minutes, Ranger reappeared and motioned for me to join him.
"Simon is off somewhere, but the uncle is here. And stay away from the sink," Ranger said. I gave him his gun back, followed him into the trailer, and immediately checked out the kitchen area. The snake was sprawled on the counter, its head in the sink. I guess it was thirsty. The uncle was at the small built-in table.
The uncle wasn't much older than Simon Diggery, and the family resemblance was there, blurred over a little by hard drinking and an extra fifty pounds. He was wearing black socks and ratty bedroom slippers and huge boxer shorts.
"Give you a quarter if you pull your shirt up," Bill Diggery said to me.
'Til give you a quarter if you put your shirt on" I told him. Ranger was against the wall, watching Diggery. "Where s Simon?" Ranger asked.
"Don't know," Bill said.
"Think about it," Ranger told him.
"He might be at work."
"Where is he working?"
"Don't know."
Rangers eyes flicked to the snake and back to Bill. "Has he been fed today?"
"He don't eat every day," Bill said. "He probably ain't hungry."
"Steph," Ranger said. "Wait outside so I can talk to Bill."
"You aren't going to feed him to the snake, are you?"
"Not all of him."
"As long as it's not all of him," I said. And I let myself out. I closed the door and waited for a couple minutes. I didn't hear any screams of pain or terror. No gunshots. I hunkered down in my jacket and
"Babe, you're stopped on Route one. What's up?"
I remembered the gizmo in my bag. RangeMan was monitoring me. "My car died." Fifteen minutes later, I looked in my rearview mirror and saw Ranger pull in behind me. He got out of his car and into mine. Ranger didn't smile a lot, but clearly he was amused.
"I don't know how you do it," Ranger said. "In a matter of days, you've managed to turn a perfectly good piece-of-shit car into something so fucked up it's a work of art."
"It's a gift."
"The bullet hole in the rear window?"
"Joyce Barnhardt," I told him. "She's unhappy with me because she thinks I killed Dickie."
"And the crud on the dash?"
"Squirrel bomb."
He looked incredulous for a moment and then burst out laughing. In all the time I'd known Ranger, this was maybe the third time I'd seen him actually laugh out loud, so it turned out to be worth getting squirrel-bombed.
Ranger dropped back to a smile and tugged me out of the car. He kicked the door closed, slung an arm around my shoulders, and walked me back to his Porsche Cayenne. "Where were you going?" he asked.
" “I’m looking for Simon Diggery," I said. "I stopped by his double-wide on Tuesday, but no one was home. I thought Fd try again."
Ranger opened the Cayenne door for me. "I'll go with you. If we're lucky, we might get to see his snake eat a cow."
I looked back at the Vic. "What about my car?"
"I'll have it picked up."
Ranger didn't bother parking out of sight of Diggery s trailer. He drove the Cayenne onto the blighted grass and pulled up between the trailer and the stand of hardwoods. We got out of the Porsche, and he gave me his gun.
"Stay here and shoot anyone who makes a run for it, including the snake."
"How do you know I don't have my own gun?"
"Do you?"
"No."
Ranger did another one of those almost sighing things and jogged around to Diggery's front door. I heard him rap on the door and call out. There was the sound of the rusted door opening and closing and then silence. I held my ground.
After a couple minutes, Ranger reappeared and motioned for me to join him.
"Simon is off somewhere, but the uncle is here. And stay away from the sink," Ranger said. I gave him his gun back, followed him into the trailer, and immediately checked out the kitchen area. The snake was sprawled on the counter, its head in the sink. I guess it was thirsty. The uncle was at the small built-in table.
The uncle wasn't much older than Simon Diggery, and the family resemblance was there, blurred over a little by hard drinking and an extra fifty pounds. He was wearing black socks and ratty bedroom slippers and huge boxer shorts.
"Give you a quarter if you pull your shirt up," Bill Diggery said to me.
'Til give you a quarter if you put your shirt on" I told him. Ranger was against the wall, watching Diggery. "Where s Simon?" Ranger asked.
"Don't know," Bill said.
"Think about it," Ranger told him.
"He might be at work."
"Where is he working?"
"Don't know."
Rangers eyes flicked to the snake and back to Bill. "Has he been fed today?"
"He don't eat every day," Bill said. "He probably ain't hungry."
"Steph," Ranger said. "Wait outside so I can talk to Bill."
"You aren't going to feed him to the snake, are you?"
"Not all of him."
"As long as it's not all of him," I said. And I let myself out. I closed the door and waited for a couple minutes. I didn't hear any screams of pain or terror. No gunshots. I hunkered down in my jacket and
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