Fortune and Glory (Stephanie Plum #27)(14)

“Maybe not so many rats,” Ramone said. “I understand there was a fire down there.”

Ranger moved to the bakery’s back door, inserted a slim pick, and the lock clicked open.

“Stay close behind me when we’re in the tunnel,” Ranger said. “Ramone will watch your back.”

We walked through a small storeroom filled with racks of white bakery bags and unassembled white bakery boxes, large jars of food coloring, multicolored sprinkles, granulated sugar, powdered sugar, cinnamon sugar. The storeroom led to a room with a couple of refrigerators and a workbench.

“Where do they bake things?” I asked.

“In Carteret,” Ranger said. “It all gets trucked in and they do some decorating here.”

“That’s disappointing,” I said. “I always imagined Carlotta dusted in flour, baking bread and cupcakes before the sun came up.”

“It gets worse,” Ranger said, opening a door and shining his light on a flight of stairs that led to the basement. “There’s no Carlotta. There’s just Emelio and a couple minimum-wage cannoli fillers.”

I followed Ranger down the stairs to a crude cellar that housed an ancient-looking water heater and furnace. Ranger opened another door, and we stepped into an offshoot of the Mole Hole tunnel.

I looked at the roughly carved dirt that was supported by wood beams and occasionally rebar, and I gave an involuntary shudder.

“This is safe, right?” I asked Ranger.

“Probably on a level with driving the Jersey Turnpike,” Ranger said.

Ranger had the big Maglite beam focused a good distance ahead of us. I had my little pocket light shining on the ground in front of my feet. I could hear Ramone close behind me. So far, no rats, bats, giant spiders, or insane arsonists.

We reached a T-intersection, and Ranger turned to the left.

“You’ve been in this tunnel system before,” I said to Ranger.

“Years ago, when I was working as an agent for Vinnie, I tracked a couple skips down here.”

I flashed my light on a support beam and saw that it had been superficially charred. This was the part of the tunnel Lou Salgusta had set on fire. Ranger made another turn, we passed under the overhead light and stood in the concrete passageway that led to the trapdoor.

“We need to kill the lights,” Ranger said. “Ramone has infrared goggles, and I have a penlight.”

He went up the ladder, found the hidden spring-latch that had eluded Lula and me, and quietly opened the trapdoor. I followed. Ramone came last, wearing the goggles.

“Someone made Swiss cheese out of this trapdoor,” Ramone said.

“That would be me,” I told him. “I couldn’t find the latch.”

Ranger wrapped his hand around my wrist, and I got a rush. His hand was warm, and I could feel him close beside me in the total darkness. I was basically blind in the absence of light, but Ranger had vision like a cat. He’d grasped my wrist, so he could guide me across the room to the safe. I heard Ramone move past us and stop.

“Whoa,” Ramone said. “This is old-school. I don’t need equipment to open this. I could stand a foot away and hear the tumblers.”

Minutes later the safe creaked open and Ranger flicked the penlight on. There were two bricks of what I suspected was cocaine on the top shelf. The second shelf held stacks of money neatly held together by paper wrappers. The third shelf was a jumble of porno magazines, a TV remote, a half-eaten Snickers bar, and a cardboard cigar box.

I took the box out and flipped the lid open. There were two pieces of paper in the box. They were each folded in half. The message on one was ACE it. The other message was Philadelphia. Each piece of paper had a number on the bottom. ACE it was #1 and Philadelphia was #3.

“Is this it?” Ranger asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I expected to find two clues, and I guess these are the clues, but they’re disappointing. I was hoping for pieces of a map.”

I used my phone to take photos of the clues. I put the clues back in the box and put the box back in the safe.

Ramone closed the safe and spun the dial. Fifteen minutes later we were back in the bakery parking lot. Ranger loaded Ramone into the Rangeman SUV and waved them off.

“I’m riding with you,” Ranger said. “I had my car dropped at your apartment.”

“Thinking ahead?”

“Babe,” Ranger said.

This was a noncommittal babe. It could mean that he wanted to talk. It could mean that he was being protective and wanted to see me safely to my door. Or it could mean that he had his cargo pants pockets stuffed full of condoms.

Ranger took three calls while I drove. I parked next to his Porsche 911 Turbo, and he put his phone away.

“Break-in at the home of a high-end client,” he said. “They weren’t home when it went down. Three men with ski masks. Parked in the driveway in a stolen car. One of them was dumb enough to remove his mask before driving away, and we have him on an exterior camera. The police can take it from here.”

“Inside job?”

“Probably. They took cash. Knew where to find it. I suspect they also took drugs, but the homeowner isn’t going to report a drug theft.”

We crossed the lot and Ranger followed me into the building. We took the elevator to my floor, walked the length of the hall, and Ranger inserted a key in my door lock. This was no surprise. He’d installed my security system, and truth is, he could have easily opened my door without a key.