Read Online Lean Mean Thirteen by Janet Evanovich - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Janet Evanovich
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shoved my hands into my pockets to keep warm. A couple more minutes passed, and Ranger came out, closing the door behind him. "Well?" I asked.
"Simon is working in the food court at Quakerbridge Mall. Bill didn't know more than that."
"Did you feed Uncle Bill to the snake?"
"No. He was right… the snake wasn't hungry."
"Then how did you get him to talk?"
Ranger slid an arm around me, and I felt his lips brush my ear when he spoke. "I can be very persuasive."
No kidding.
Quakerbridge is on Route One, northeast of Trenton. It seemed like a long way for Diggery to drive for an odd job in a food court, but what the heck, maybe Diggery was lucky to get it. And maybe he had a better car than I did. That thought brought me up to a sobering reality. Diggery for sure had a better car than I did because I had no car at all. Ranger drove out of Diggery s neighborhood and headed north. We were on Route, and I was dreading the section of highway where I'd left the Vic. I didn't want to see the poor, sad, broken-down car. It was a reminder of what was wrong with my life. Crappy job, hand-tomouth existence, no future I was willing to commit to. If it was June and the sun was shining, I might feel different, but it was cold and the clouds had returned and a mist had started to fall.
"I need macaroni and cheese," I said to Ranger, clapping my hands over my eyes. "I promised myself French fries, jelly doughnuts, birthday cake… and I never got them."
"I have a better way to make you happy," Ranger said. "Less fattening but more addicting."
"Pharmaceuticals?"
"Sex. And you can open your eyes. The Vic's gone.”
"Gone where?"
"Car heaven."
Twenty minutes later, Ranger stopped at a light on Broad, and his cell buzzed. He answered on a Bluetooth earpiece and listened for a couple minutes, his mood somber, his expression not showing anything. He thanked the caller and disconnected.
"They found the accountant, Ziggy Zabar," Ranger said. "He washed ashore about a quarter mile south of the Ferry Street Bridge. He was identified by a credit card and a medic alert bracelet for a heart condition."
Ranger parked behind the medical examiners truck, and we walked the distance to the crime scene. It was turning into a miserable day and the weather was holding the crowd down. Only a few hardy photographers and reporters. No gawkers. A handful of uniforms, a couple plainclothes guys. An EMS team that looked like they wanted to be somewhere else. No one I recognized. We ducked under the yellow tape and found Tank.
Tank is Rangers next in command and his shadow. No need to describe him. His name says it all. He was dressed in RangeMan black, and he looked impervious to the weather. Tank was with Ziggy Zabar s brother, Zip, also in Range-Man black, his face stoic, his posture rigid.
"We picked the call up from police dispatch," Tank said, stepping away from Zip. "He's been in the water awhile, and he's not in great shape, but I've looked at him, and even in his condition it's obvious it was an execution. Single bullet nice and clean in the forehead. He's wearing an ankle shackle, so I'm guessing he was attached to something heavy, and the tide broke him loose."
I sucked in some air. I didn't know Ziggy Zabar, but it was horrible all the same. We stayed for a while, keeping Zip company while he watched over his dead brother. The police photographer left and the EMS guys came in with a body bag. I could hear the motor running on the ME truck at the top of the hill. The uniforms had their collars turned up and were shuffling their feet. The mist had turned into a drizzle.
Ranger was wearing his SEAL ball cap. He tucked my hair behind my ears and put his hat on my head to keep me dry. "You look like you need that birthday cake."
"I'd settle for a peanut butter sandwich and some dry socks."
"I want to talk to the ME, and then I have some things to do." He handed me the keys to the Cayenne. "Use my car. I can ride with Tank and Zip. I don't care
"Simon is working in the food court at Quakerbridge Mall. Bill didn't know more than that."
"Did you feed Uncle Bill to the snake?"
"No. He was right… the snake wasn't hungry."
"Then how did you get him to talk?"
Ranger slid an arm around me, and I felt his lips brush my ear when he spoke. "I can be very persuasive."
No kidding.
Quakerbridge is on Route One, northeast of Trenton. It seemed like a long way for Diggery to drive for an odd job in a food court, but what the heck, maybe Diggery was lucky to get it. And maybe he had a better car than I did. That thought brought me up to a sobering reality. Diggery for sure had a better car than I did because I had no car at all. Ranger drove out of Diggery s neighborhood and headed north. We were on Route, and I was dreading the section of highway where I'd left the Vic. I didn't want to see the poor, sad, broken-down car. It was a reminder of what was wrong with my life. Crappy job, hand-tomouth existence, no future I was willing to commit to. If it was June and the sun was shining, I might feel different, but it was cold and the clouds had returned and a mist had started to fall.
"I need macaroni and cheese," I said to Ranger, clapping my hands over my eyes. "I promised myself French fries, jelly doughnuts, birthday cake… and I never got them."
"I have a better way to make you happy," Ranger said. "Less fattening but more addicting."
"Pharmaceuticals?"
"Sex. And you can open your eyes. The Vic's gone.”
"Gone where?"
"Car heaven."
Twenty minutes later, Ranger stopped at a light on Broad, and his cell buzzed. He answered on a Bluetooth earpiece and listened for a couple minutes, his mood somber, his expression not showing anything. He thanked the caller and disconnected.
"They found the accountant, Ziggy Zabar," Ranger said. "He washed ashore about a quarter mile south of the Ferry Street Bridge. He was identified by a credit card and a medic alert bracelet for a heart condition."
Ranger parked behind the medical examiners truck, and we walked the distance to the crime scene. It was turning into a miserable day and the weather was holding the crowd down. Only a few hardy photographers and reporters. No gawkers. A handful of uniforms, a couple plainclothes guys. An EMS team that looked like they wanted to be somewhere else. No one I recognized. We ducked under the yellow tape and found Tank.
Tank is Rangers next in command and his shadow. No need to describe him. His name says it all. He was dressed in RangeMan black, and he looked impervious to the weather. Tank was with Ziggy Zabar s brother, Zip, also in Range-Man black, his face stoic, his posture rigid.
"We picked the call up from police dispatch," Tank said, stepping away from Zip. "He's been in the water awhile, and he's not in great shape, but I've looked at him, and even in his condition it's obvious it was an execution. Single bullet nice and clean in the forehead. He's wearing an ankle shackle, so I'm guessing he was attached to something heavy, and the tide broke him loose."
I sucked in some air. I didn't know Ziggy Zabar, but it was horrible all the same. We stayed for a while, keeping Zip company while he watched over his dead brother. The police photographer left and the EMS guys came in with a body bag. I could hear the motor running on the ME truck at the top of the hill. The uniforms had their collars turned up and were shuffling their feet. The mist had turned into a drizzle.
Ranger was wearing his SEAL ball cap. He tucked my hair behind my ears and put his hat on my head to keep me dry. "You look like you need that birthday cake."
"I'd settle for a peanut butter sandwich and some dry socks."
"I want to talk to the ME, and then I have some things to do." He handed me the keys to the Cayenne. "Use my car. I can ride with Tank and Zip. I don't care
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