In The Pink

a/n This is the 'reward' short story that goes with my Shelter from the Storm chapter, "Cadillac, Cadillac" on ff. It's silly...but if it's here I won't lose it.

[blogger formatting issues, as per usual, so sorry!]

In the Pink [or, Why IS Ranger Wearing Pink?]

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Ranger is in LA, having completed an undercover job for the Gang Unit of LAPD. He runs into his old friend Shane Scully who is a Major Cases/ Homicide detective recently married to the LAPD Chief of Detectives. [These are characters from Stephen Cannell's Shane Scully series]. Scully needs an undercover connection back in NYC, so he has asked Ranger to meet him at the local Denney's to discuss the job. The plan has been okayed and budgeted for by Scully's wife Alexa, who managed to add it onto the Gang Unit's Rangeman bill.
Now Scully just has to screw up the nerve to tell Ranger just what it entails. So…...

 

Detective Shane Scully, LAPD, P'OV, Los Angeles CA

I pulled into the Denney's lot and looked around for a car that I thought would be Manoso's. No black sports cars in the half empty lot. I shrugged and went into the restaurant. As I stepped inside, a dark figure materialized from my right.

He said softly, "Let's get the fuck outta here, I don't eat Denney's."

I didn't see a gun but I was sure he was armed and dangerous as ever. I nodded and retraced my steps. We paused outside and shook hands.

"Been awhile, Shane.

"Yeah. You look good," I mumbled.

He tilted his head a little, then set off towards the street. I hurried to catch up.
Ranger said, "I parked a few blocks away, if this is a UC---undercover--- job, I didn't want to be seen with a cop. And I definitely don't wanna be seen in your POS unmarked."

I said, "My Acura is in the shop."

"And?"

I shrugged again. Ranger had no clue about having only one car, god knows what he'd be driving, especially here in LA. We strode in silence, me inspecting him from the corner of my eye. He did look good, black tropical weight custom tailored suit, probably handmade Armani, black silk t-shirt, black loafers without socks, LA-style. Mirrored sunglasses, platinum and diamond Rolex, diamond earrings. How this guy ever did undercover was beyond me, but I knew he was good.

The reactions on the street were well worth the hike to his car. People stared, they stumbled over their shopping bags, their dogs, the kids. One woman walked into a trashcan, another into the store front. This is LA! Land of hot, sexy guys, actors, models, you name it. Every other wannabe actor-waiter in town is a gorgeous young Latino guy, and they were all dark, handsome, movie star perfect.

Poor Carlos was something else again. He was so beautiful, he looked like movie stars wish they look. He made guys like Pitt and Depp look old, scrawny and white and dull. And then omigod when the woman tripped over her poodle, he cracked up smiling. Brakes squealed. He shook his head, saying, "LA is a strange town, my man."

A car chirped. Parked at the curb was a brand new shiny black Maserati convertible.

Ranger said in a exceptionally deadpan voice, "Isn't it cute."

I took him at face value and said, "It's awesome."

He said dryly, "I'm not fond of Italian engineering."

I remembered that he usually drove German cars, but geez. He's complaining?
…………………………………….

I told him I had to stop for some files at the Bel Air station. He nodded, not asking directions. When he pulled up at the station he said, "I'll wait for you here."

"Oh yeah, we're undercover, right."

The famous itty bitty shrug.

I came out twenty minutes later, finding Ranger still in the car --- seat tipped back, suit coat off, biceps bulging, looking mean. Big black gun prominently displayed on the dashboard.
I got in and said, "What's with the gun?"

Ranger stopped halfway to turning the ignition key and reached into the cup holder, pulling out some business cards with two fingers. He tipped up his shades for the first time, fixing me with his dark Spanish eyes. Then he handed me four of the cards.

I leafed through the business cards. All were industry related, a producer, a director, two agents. He passed over another: VP of a famous, legit modeling agency. Then the last, a gay escort service, very high end, but still.

Ranger said with just a tiny tinge of disbelief in his voice, "They all wanted to hire me. Make me a fuckin' star. What's with that, Shane? I'm gonna have to hire some bodyguards. I'll be a laughingstock back east."

I said, "Surely you get ---uh---propositioned in NYC?"

"No. I don't." Because in New York people are smart enough to know I'd fucking shoot them. Ranger doesn't talk all that much but he has very verbal body language at times. He turned the ignition key, shoved the sports car in gear and burned rubber out into traffic. He drove too fast but he was good and we hit the freeway at 90 plus. Downshift, screaming through the gears. We ended up high above the city in a secluded park overlook off Mulholland Drive.

He said, "Scenic. If you like smog.

"You live in New Jersey, man."

"Yeah."

We sat in silence for awhile.

Finally Ranger said, "Okay, tell me about the op." He wasn't annoyed anymore.

I looked at him, screwing up my nerve. He was still in street mode from the gang op, his speech more than a little Latino ghetto. And with his suit coat off I could see his muscular arms were sporting gang ink from his wrists to under his t-shirt sleeves. Ranger had full sleeve, prison art gang tatts.

He caught me looking and said, "It's ink."

"I see that."

sigh. "It's movie ink, it comes off with some solvent. I got it done for the gangbanger job here. I left it on for your job.''


"You won't need it. I hope it comes off."

"Me too."

More silence, then Manoso said, ''Time is money, Shane, we're not all civil servants like you cops. What's the job, hermano?"

"The gig needs you to set up shop in a gay bar. Back east. Greenwich Village. Our person of interest has connections there, I need an in."'

"Uh huh."

''Can you do gay, Ranger? 'Cause I gotta say, I can't picture it.''

He smiled his wonderful smile, all million bucks, all zillion watts. No wonder the film people approached him, gun and all.

He said, "Gay guys love me, Shane, I don't have to act gay."

The smile got bigger, flashing white teeth in a fashionably 5 o'clock shadowed face.Then he did a little thing, flicking back his hair. It slid and slipped like a black silk curtain, so thick and shiny. Ranger has supermodel hair. It was ridiculous and wonderfully, subtly, gay. I'd forgotten what a great actor he was, it was the secret of his undercover success. That and his looks. People got so distracted by his appearance that they forgot who /what he was; and meanwhile he conned them blind.

I smiled back at him, I couldn't stop myself, and said, "My wife has got to meet you, man."

Pause. Then, "No three-ways, Shane, I'm involved."

"No! I mean, I just want her to meet you, she's the CO on this op."

"You married Alexa Huntington."

"Yeah."

"She called me about my fee."

"And?"

Ranger swished his shoulders again and waved a languid hand. "I told her the price was right."

the end   [scroll down]

....In case Tank ends up working the GV job with Ranger:

a pink Escalade!

                               

  .... and for Zoe, someday, a Barbie pink Hot Wheels Hummer!