On the bright side, I'm sure this isn't the last time you'll ever get firebombed, so maybe you'll have better luck next time.

THERE ARE SOME MEN who enter a woman’s life and screw it up forever. Joseph Morelli did this to me—not forever, but periodically.

Mrs. Zuppa was coming in from bingo just as I was leaving the building. "Looks like you're going to work," she said, leaning heavily on her cane. "What are you packin'?" "A thirty-eight." "I like a nine-millimeter myself." "A nine's good." "Easier to use a semiautomatic after you've had hip replacement and you walk with a cane," she said. One of those useful pieces of information to file away and resurrect when I turn eighty-three.

There is no such thing as a good call at 7 AM. It's been my experience that all calls between the hours of 11 PM and 9 AM are disaster calls.

The dancers finished thier set, and one immediately strolled over to our table and straddled Ranger. Want a private party?" she asked. Not tonight," Ranger said. He handed her a twenty, and she left. What about the cat-feeding theory?" I asked him. Out the window.

I checked my phone messages. Three in all. The first was from Joe. “Hey, Cupcake.” That was it. That was the whole message. The second was from Ranger. “Yo.” Ranger made Joe look like a chatterbox.

Ranger locked eyes with me. "Please," he said. Tank and Hal were goggle-eyed. They weren't used to "please." I wasn't used to it either. But I liked it. Okay," I said. "Be careful. He's insane.