Notorious Nineteen

the live grenade still taped to his gun belt, and I kicked him hard in his prosthetic. The prosthetic flew off and Orin lost his balance, wheeling around on one leg. Logan and I dove into the kitchen, and Orin fell facedown and blew up in the foyer.
    I was stunned, sitting on the kitchen floor with my ears ringing. Logan was next to me hugging Tiki.
    “He shouldn’t have shot Tiki,” Logan said. “Hawaiian gods get even. Did you see what Tiki did to his foot? It flew right off his leg when you kicked it!”
    “It was a prosthetic,” I said to Logan.
    “I guess that would make it easier,” Logan said.
    I have a metal fire door with four deadbolts, but Orin had only thrown one of the locks when he closed the door. I heard someone put his foot to the door from the other side, and on the second attempt the door crashed open against the wall. It was Hal. He took a couple steps in, gun drawn, avoiding what was left of Orin, and looked in the kitchen at me.
    “I’m okay,” I said.
    I thought there were sounds of elephants running in the hall, dimly heard over the ringing in my ears. It was Ranger and two more Rangeman guys. Not as big as elephants, but the two men with Ranger could easily have made the NFL playing defense.
    Ranger moved around Orin, stepped into the kitchen, and lifted me to my feet. He took a knife off his gun belt and cut my tape away.
    “I was on Hamilton when the alarm went off,” Ranger said. “I listened to you all the way, and got here just as the explosion occurred. Hal was already at your door by then.”
    I looked down at the plus sign on the watch face. Hard to read because I was shaking.
    “I wasn’t fast enough to hit the button when he first appeared,” I said. “And then my wrists were taped. He must have accidentally pushed the button when he grabbed me.”
    People were accumulating in the hall. Ranger told one of the men to close the door and stand guard outside. Some of Orin was facedown on the tile. Some of him was on my foyer wall. What was on the floor was charred and smoking. Only the prosthetic foot was still intact, halfway across the room.
    “What happened here?” Ranger asked me.
    “He had what I thought might be explosives and a couple grenades taped to the ammo belts across his chest. There was a scuffle and one of the grenades lost a pin. Logan and I dove for the kitchen and Orin exploded.”
    Ranger squatted beside the body. “The most common grenade sends fragments over a wide radius. Orin was a munitions genius, and I’m guessing this was some sort of designer incendiary device. We need to clear this area and bring in a bomb expert to make sure there aren’t any more live explosives on him.”
    “Is he dead?” Logan asked.
    This was a no-brainer question considering what was left of Orin.
    “He’s been dead for years,” Ranger said.

TWENTY-FOUR
    LOGAN CARRIED TIKI into the hall, I grabbed my messenger bag, and Ranger carried Rex’s hamster tank. By the time we reached the parking lot, emergency vehicles were rumbling in. A fire truck, an EMT truck, two police cars. Morelli in the Buick.
    Morelli parked and jogged over to us. He stood hands on hips, his expression grim.
    “Are you okay?” he asked me.
    “Except for my ponytail,” I said. “And some minor burns on my neck.”
    He looked up at my apartment windows. “What’s going on?”
    “The rocket guy blew himself up,” I said. “He needs to be checked out to make sure he’s not still booby-trapped.”
    “Are you on the job?” Ranger asked Morelli.
    “No,” Morelli said. “I’m off today. Jean Matson was working dispatch and called me when Rangeman asked for police assistance.”
    “I’m going to see this through,” Ranger said. “It’s not necessary for anyone else to stay. I’m sure Stephanie will have to give a statement, but she can do that downtown some other time. I have the explosion and events immediately preceding it recorded.”
    Morelli took Rex from Ranger. “Where do you want to go first, my house or a hair salon?”
    I gave up a sigh. “Your house,” I said. I glanced at Logan, and thought he looked lost, cradling Tiki, unsure of his place. “Can we take Logan with us?”
    “Sure,” Morelli said, slinging an arm around me. “Let’s go home.”
    We piled into the Buick and chugged out of the lot. Minutes later we were in Morelli’s nice normal neighborhood, and the explosion seemed far away.
    “I thought you were taking me to jail,” Logan said