Hansen was in the backseat of a Ford Explorer, physically ankle-chained to the floor, mentally floating in La La Land. Ranger hadn't been kidding when he said they'd been keeping Hansen happy. Hard to tell if Hansen was in this euphoric state from too many episodes of Scooby Doo or too much wacky tobacky.

I parked the Explorer in the public lot across from the courthouse and unlocked Hansen's ankle shackles. His hands were still cuffed behind his back, and I had to help him out of the SUV. Ranger's guy was in the front passenger seat, looking nervous, not sure how much help he was supposed to give me and still stay politically correct.

"I'll be back," I told the RangeMan guy. "Don't go anywhere."

I maneuvered Hansen into the building, stood him in front of the docket lieutenant, and Hansen started giggling.

"Shit," the docket lieutenant said. "Last time I was that happy, I was in charge of the evidence room and we'd just busted a gangbanger carrying a suitcase full of medicinal weed."

I completed the paperwork, got a body receipt, and called Connie and told her Hansen was in the lockup in case someone wanted to spring him again.

Ranger had said he'd be busy until noon, and it was still early, so I jogged to the SUV, got behind the wheel, and drove to Coglin's house. Ranger had made me promise to work with him on the Dickie thing. He hadn't said anything about my FTAs.

"Small detour," I said to the RangeMan guy. "What's your name?"

"Brett."

He didn't look like a Brett. Guys named Brett were supposed to have a neck. This guy looked like he should be named Grunt.

I parked at the curb and had Brett follow me to the door. Brett was wearing a full utility belt with gun, stun gun, a can of pepper spray that could take down a grizzly, and cuffs. He was dressed in RangeMan SWAT, and he was scary-looking as hell. My intent was that Coglin would see Brett with me and keel over in a dead faint before he got to fire off the shotgun.

I knew Coglin was home. I'd seen him moving in the glassed-in front porch just before I'd parked. I hadn't heard the car leave from the backyard, so I rang the bell and listened for the car. If I heard the car engine catch, I'd take off and run him down at the cross street. I rang the bell again.

Brett was close behind me at the ready. "Should I break the door down?"

"No," I said. "It's probably not locked."

Brett stepped in front of me and tried the door handle. He pushed the door open, stepped inside, and bang! Brett was covered in funk and short mousy brown hairs.

Hard to tell what the creature had been. I was guessing sixty-pound rat.

"What the-" Brett said.

"It's getting old," I yelled into Coglin's house. "I'll be back."

I led Brett to the Explorer and drove him back to Range Man.

"What is this stuff on me?" he asked. "What happened?"

"I think you might have been beavered, but there's no way to know without DNA testing."

I walked him upstairs to the control room and turned him over to Hal. Down the hall, Ranger stepped out of his meeting and glanced my way.

"It wasn't my fault," I said to Ranger.

Ranger smiled and returned to his meeting.

Ella brought salad and sandwiches up at noon and Ranger strolled in minutes behind her.

"How'd the meeting go?" I asked him.

"Good."

He selected a sandwich and ate it standing up in the kitchen. I did the same.

"I notice you're dressed in RangeMan colors," Ranger said to me.

"Turns out I have clothes in your closet."

"More than just underwear and socks," Ranger said. "They were left from the last time you stayed here,"

"Does that make us a couple?"

"Spend another night with me, and I'll explain couple to you," Ranger said.

I was tempted to ask him how we'd spent last night, but thought maybe it was best not to know. I'd gone to bed alone, and he was up and dressed when the alarm went off. I was telling myself he'd slept on the couch. That was my story and I was going to go with it.

He removed his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt, and I managed to keep myself from dragging my tongue down his chest to his belt buckle. I conjured the image of Morelli in my kitchen and told myself it wouldn't be a good idea to spend another night here.

Ranger disappeared into his dressing room, and when he returned, he was in cargo pants, T-shirt, and cross-trainers. His gun was clipped to his belt. He grabbed our jackets and hats from the coat closet. His hat said SEAL and mine said rangeman.

"Let's roll," Ranger said.

We WERE in Ranger's turbo, parked on Ellery, looking out at the pathetic apartment building where Rufus Caine conducted his business. Other buildings on the block were graffiti-decorated, but Caine's building was unscathed. It was four floors of eroded redbrick and peeling paint trim. And the front door was missing.

"Are you sure you want to leave the Porsche here?" I asked Ranger. "What are the chances it'll be here when we come back?"

"Chances are good. Only a dealer would leave a turbo sitting out here in front of Caine s building. And no one wants to steal that car. No one wants that kind of trouble."

We left the car and stopped at the buildings stoop. The tiny foyer was littered with used condoms and syringes and what I hoped was dog poo.

Ranger scooped me up and carried me to the stairs. "This way we only have one pair of shoes to throw away," he said.

We hiked to the fourth floor and Ranger knocked on the door.

"Yeah?" came through the closed door to us. "Who's there?"

"Ranger."

The door opened and a toady looked out at us. "Who's she?" he asked Ranger.

Ranger didn't say anything, and the toady backed up and opened the door.

There were four people in the room. Three goons and Rufus Caine. Easy to tell Rufus. He was the two-hundred-pound, five-foot-five guy having a midlife crisis, all decked out in jewelry and hair plugs. He was on the couch with a napkin daintily perched on his knee and a glass of champagne in his hand. There was a mound of sandwiches on a large plastic take-out platter on the coffee table in front of him.

"I was having lunch," Rufus said to Ranger. "Help yourself."

"I just ate," Ranger said. "But thanks."

Rufus eyeballed me like I was dessert. "Who's your bitch?"

"This is Stephanie," Ranger said. "She's running relief for Tank."

"I didn't know you and Tank had that kind of relationship," Rufus said.

Ranger didn't smile.

"So wassup?" Rufus asked.

Ranger didn't say anything. He just stared at Rufus. Rufus made a little flick with his hand and the three idiots left the apartment.

"Sit," Rufus said to Ranger.

Ranger sat, and I stood. I was the muscle in the room.

"I'm thinking about retaining some counsel," Ranger said. "I'm looking at Petiak, Smullen, Gorvich, and Orr."

"Good firm," Rufus said.

"Why is it good?"

"Discreet. Got a good business ethic.”

"And?"

"Understands the barter system. You sure you don't want a sandwich?"

"I want to know more about the barter system," Ranger said.

"Why?"

Ranger didn't say anything. He didn't blink. He didn't smile. He didn't sigh. He just silently stared at Rufus.

"Good thing I like you," Rufus said to Ranger, "because you could improve on your social skills. You're not exactly a fun guy. Anyone ever tell yon that?"

Ranger cut his eyes to me and then back to Rufus.

"The barter system is where you trade some shit for other shit," Rufus said. "Wait a minute. Maybe I don't mean the barter system. What is it when you say you're paying for legal advice, but you're really paying for inventory?"

"Lying," Ranger said.

"Yeah, that's what those assholes understand… lying."

Ranger reached forward and took the bottle of champagne off the coffee table and refilled Caine's glass. "Anything else you want to tell me?"