High Five by Janet Evanovich
Authors: Janet Evanovich
Tags: Fiction, General, detective, Suspense, Science-Fiction, Romance, Mystery & Detective, Women Sleuths, Mystery, Detective and Mystery Stories, Adult, Mystery Fiction, Humour, Mystery & Detective - Women Sleuths, Women Detectives, Fiction - Mystery, bounty hunters, Mystery & Detective - Series, Stephanie (Fictitious character), Plum, Trenton (N.J.), Bail bond agents, Women detectives - New Jersey
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look?"
"Different." More respectable.
"I figure you're looking for Fred, and I'm looking for Fred, and maybe we can look for Fred together."
"Sure."
"See, that wasn't so difficult."
"Are you gonna go now?"
"Unless you want me to stay and watch television."
"No."
"I got a better television, anyway," he said.
AT 12:30 I was downstairs, waiting for Tank. I'd taken a nap, and I was feeling halfway alert. I was dressed in black jeans, black T-shirt, Ranger's SEALS hat, and the black SECURITY jacket. At Ranger's request, I had my gun clipped to my belt, and my shoulder bag held the other essentials—stun gun, pepper spray, flashlight, and cuffs.
The lot was eerie at this time of the night. The seniors' cars were fast asleep, their hoods and roofs reflecting light from the halogen floods. The macadam looked mercurial. The neighborhood of small single-family houses behind my building was dark and quiet. Occasionally there was the whir of traffic on St. James. Headlights flashed at the corner and a car turned into my lot. I had a moment of stomach-fluttering panic that this wasn't Tank, that this might be Benito Ramirez. I held my ground, thinking about the gun on my hip, telling myself I was cool, I was bad, I was a dangerous woman not to be messed with. Make my day, punk, I thought. Yeah, right. If it turned out to be Ramirez I'd wet my pants and run screaming back into the building.
The car was black and shiny. An SUV. It rolled to a stop in front of me, and the driver's side window slid down.
Tank looked out. "Ready to rock and roll?"
I took the seat beside him and buckled up. "Do you expect a lot of rockin' and rollin' tonight?"
"I expect none. Working this shift is like watching grass grow."
That was a relief. I had a lot to think about, and I didn't especially want to see Tank in action. Even more, I didn't want to see myself in action.
"I don't suppose you know a bookie named Bunchy, do you?"
"Bunchy? Nope. Never heard of him. He local?"
"Actually, I'm not sure."
The ride across town was quiet. One vehicle was parked at the curb in front of the Sloane Street apartment building. It was another new black SUV. Tank parked behind it. Beyond the building on either side and across the street, cars lined the curb.
"One of the things we like to enforce is a no-parking zone in front of the building," Tank said. "Keeps things clean. The tenants have parking behind the building. Only security vehicles are allowed here at the door."
"And if someone wants to park here?"
"We discourage it."
Master of understatement.
Two men were in the lobby. They were dressed in black, wearing the SECURITY jackets. One came forward when we approached and unlocked the door.
Tank stepped in and looked around. "Anything happening?"
"Nothing. Been quiet all night."
"When was the last time you walked?"
"Twelve."
Tank nodded.
The men gathered their belongings—a large Thermos, a book, and a gym bag—and pushed through the lobby door. They stood for a moment on the street, taking it in, before climbing into their SUV and motoring off.
A small table and two folding chairs had been placed against the far lobby wall, enabling the security team to watch both the door and the stairs. There were two walkie-talkies on the table.
Tank locked the front door, took one of the walkie-talkies, and clipped it to his belt. "I'm going to do a walk-through. You stay here and keep your eye on things. Call me if anyone approaches the door."
I sent him a salute.
"Snappy," he said. "I like that."
I sat in the folding chair and watched the door. No one approached. I watched the stairs. Nothing going on there, either. I checked out my manicure. Not great. I looked at my watch. Two minutes had gone by—478 minutes more and I could go home.
Tank ambled down the stairs and took his seat. "Everything's cool."
"Now what?"
"Now we wait."
"For what?"
"For nothing."
Two hours later, Tank was comfortably slouched in his chair, arms crossed,
"Different." More respectable.
"I figure you're looking for Fred, and I'm looking for Fred, and maybe we can look for Fred together."
"Sure."
"See, that wasn't so difficult."
"Are you gonna go now?"
"Unless you want me to stay and watch television."
"No."
"I got a better television, anyway," he said.
AT 12:30 I was downstairs, waiting for Tank. I'd taken a nap, and I was feeling halfway alert. I was dressed in black jeans, black T-shirt, Ranger's SEALS hat, and the black SECURITY jacket. At Ranger's request, I had my gun clipped to my belt, and my shoulder bag held the other essentials—stun gun, pepper spray, flashlight, and cuffs.
The lot was eerie at this time of the night. The seniors' cars were fast asleep, their hoods and roofs reflecting light from the halogen floods. The macadam looked mercurial. The neighborhood of small single-family houses behind my building was dark and quiet. Occasionally there was the whir of traffic on St. James. Headlights flashed at the corner and a car turned into my lot. I had a moment of stomach-fluttering panic that this wasn't Tank, that this might be Benito Ramirez. I held my ground, thinking about the gun on my hip, telling myself I was cool, I was bad, I was a dangerous woman not to be messed with. Make my day, punk, I thought. Yeah, right. If it turned out to be Ramirez I'd wet my pants and run screaming back into the building.
The car was black and shiny. An SUV. It rolled to a stop in front of me, and the driver's side window slid down.
Tank looked out. "Ready to rock and roll?"
I took the seat beside him and buckled up. "Do you expect a lot of rockin' and rollin' tonight?"
"I expect none. Working this shift is like watching grass grow."
That was a relief. I had a lot to think about, and I didn't especially want to see Tank in action. Even more, I didn't want to see myself in action.
"I don't suppose you know a bookie named Bunchy, do you?"
"Bunchy? Nope. Never heard of him. He local?"
"Actually, I'm not sure."
The ride across town was quiet. One vehicle was parked at the curb in front of the Sloane Street apartment building. It was another new black SUV. Tank parked behind it. Beyond the building on either side and across the street, cars lined the curb.
"One of the things we like to enforce is a no-parking zone in front of the building," Tank said. "Keeps things clean. The tenants have parking behind the building. Only security vehicles are allowed here at the door."
"And if someone wants to park here?"
"We discourage it."
Master of understatement.
Two men were in the lobby. They were dressed in black, wearing the SECURITY jackets. One came forward when we approached and unlocked the door.
Tank stepped in and looked around. "Anything happening?"
"Nothing. Been quiet all night."
"When was the last time you walked?"
"Twelve."
Tank nodded.
The men gathered their belongings—a large Thermos, a book, and a gym bag—and pushed through the lobby door. They stood for a moment on the street, taking it in, before climbing into their SUV and motoring off.
A small table and two folding chairs had been placed against the far lobby wall, enabling the security team to watch both the door and the stairs. There were two walkie-talkies on the table.
Tank locked the front door, took one of the walkie-talkies, and clipped it to his belt. "I'm going to do a walk-through. You stay here and keep your eye on things. Call me if anyone approaches the door."
I sent him a salute.
"Snappy," he said. "I like that."
I sat in the folding chair and watched the door. No one approached. I watched the stairs. Nothing going on there, either. I checked out my manicure. Not great. I looked at my watch. Two minutes had gone by—478 minutes more and I could go home.
Tank ambled down the stairs and took his seat. "Everything's cool."
"Now what?"
"Now we wait."
"For what?"
"For nothing."
Two hours later, Tank was comfortably slouched in his chair, arms crossed,
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