'Vinnie!' Joyce cooed, pointing her C cups in his direction. 'Looking good, Vinnie.'
'Yeah, you're not looking so bad yourself,' Vinnie said. He looked at Bob. 'What's with the dog with the bad hair day?'
'I'm dog-sitting,' I told him.
'I hope you're getting paid a lot of money. He's a train wreck.'
I fondled Bob's ear. 'I think he's cute.' In a prehistoric way.
'So what's going on here?' Joyce asked. 'You got anything new for me?'
Vinnie thought about it for a moment, looked from Connie to Lula to me, and retreated into his office.
'Nothing new,' Connie said.
Joyce narrowed her eyes at Vinnie's closed door. 'Chickenshit.'
Vinnie opened the door and glared out at her.
'Yeah, you,' Joyce said.
Vinnie pulled his head back inside his office, closed the door, and clicked the dead bolt.
'Fungule,' Joyce said, with a gesture. She turned on her stiletto heel and swung her ass out the door.
We all rolled our eyes.
'Now what?' Lula wanted to know. 'You and Bob got some big day planned?'
'Well, you know… a little of this, a little of that.'
Vinnie's office door opened again. 'How about a little of Morris Munson?' he yelled. 'I'm not running a charity here, you know.'
'Morris Munson is a nut!' I yelled back. 'He tried to set me on fire!'
Vinnie stood, hands on hips. 'So what's your point?'
'Fine. Just fine,' I said. 'I'll go get Morris Munson. So what if he runs me over. So what if he sets me on fire and bashes my head in with a tire iron. It's my job, right? So here I go to do my job.'
'That's the spirit,' Vinnie said.
'Hold on,' Lula said. 'I don't want to miss this one. I'll go with you.'
She shoved her arms into a jacket and grabbed a purse that was big enough to hold a sawed-off shotgun. 'Okay,' I said, eyeballing the purse. 'What have you got in there?'
'Tech-9.'
The urban assault weapon of choice.
'Do you have a license to carry that?'
'Say what?'
'Call me crazy, but I'd feel a lot better if you left your Tech-9 here.'
'Boy, you sure know how to ruin a good time,' Lula said.
'Leave it with me,' Connie told her. 'I'll use it for a paperweight. Give the office some atmosphere.'
'Hunh,' Lula said.
I opened the office door, and Bob bounded out. He stopped at the Buick and stood there, tail wagging, eyes bright.
'Look at this smart dog,' I said to Lula. 'He knows my car after only riding in it once.'
'What happened to the Rollswagen?'
'I gave it back to the Dealer.'
The sun was climbing in the sky, burning off a morning haze, warming Trenton. Bureaucrats and shopkeepers were pouring into center city. School buses were back at the lot, awaiting the end of the school day. Burg housewives were bent over their Hoovers. And my friend Marilyn Truro at the DMV was on her third double decaf latte, wondering if it would help if she added a second nicotine patch to the one she already had on her arm, thinking it would feel really good to be able to choke the next person in line.
Lula and Bob and I kept to our own thoughts as we rolled along Hamilton en route to the button factory. I was going through a mental inventory of equipment. Stun gun: in my left pocket. Pepper spray: in my right pocket. Cuffs: hooked to the back loop on my Levi's. Gun: at home, in the cookie jar. Courage: at home, with the gun.
'I don't know about you,' Lula said when we got to Munson's house, 'but I'm not planning on going up in smoke today. I vote we bash this guy's door in and stomp on him before he has a chance to light up.'
'Sure,' I said. Of course, I knew from past experience that neither of us was actually capable of bashing in a door. Still, it sounded good while we were idling at the curb, locked up in the car.
I cruised around back, got out, and looked in Munson's garage window. No car. Gee, too bad. Probably Munson wasn't home.
'No car here,' I said to Lula.
'Hunh,' Lula said.
We drove around the block, parked, and knocked on Munson's front door. No answer. We looked in his front windows. Nothing.
'He could be hiding under the bed,' Lula said. 'Maybe we should still bash his door in.'
I stepped back and made a sweeping gesture with my hand. 'After you.'
'Unh-unh,' Lula said. 'After you.'
'No, no… I insist.'
'The hell you do.
'Okay,' I said. 'Let's face it. Neither of us is going to bash this door down.'
'I could do it if I wanted,' Lula said. 'Only I don't feel like it right now.'
'Yeah, right.'
'You think I couldn't do serious damage to this door?'
'That's what I'm suggesting.'
'Hunh,' Lula said.
The door to the adjoining house opened, and an old woman stuck her head out. 'What's going on?'
'We're looking for Morris Munson,' I said.
'He isn't home.'
'Oh, yeah? How do you know?' Lula said. 'How can you be sure he isn't hiding under the bed?'
'I was out back when he drove away. I was letting the dog out, and Munson came with a suitcase. Said he was gonna be gone for a while. As far as I'm concerned, he could be gone forever. He's a wacko. He was arrested for killing his wife, and some idiot judge let him out on bail. Can you imagine?'
'Go figure,' Lula said.
The woman looked us over. 'I guess you're friends of his.'
'Not exactly,' I said. 'We work for Munson's bail bonds agent.' I handed her my business card. 'If he returns I'd appreciate a call.'
'Sure,' the woman said, 'but I got a feeling he isn't returning anytime soon.'
Bob was waiting patiently in the car, and he got all happy-looking when we opened the doors and slid in.
'Maybe Bob needs breakfast,' Lula said.
'Bob already had breakfast.'
'Let me put it another way. Maybe Lula needs breakfast.'
'You have anything special in mind?'
'I guess I could use one of those Egg McMuffins. And a vanilla shake. And breakfast fries.'
I put the Buick in gear and headed for the drive-through.
'How's it going?' the kid at the window said. 'You still looking for a job?'
'I'm thinking about it.'
We got three of everything and parked on the edge of the lot to eat and regroup. Bob ate his Egg McMuffin and breakfast fries in one chomp. He slurked his milkshake down and looked longingly out the window.
'Think Bob needs to stretch his legs,' Lula said.
I opened the door and let him out. 'Don't go far.'
Bob jumped out and started walking around in circles, occasionally sniffing the pavement.
'What's he doing?' Lula wanted to know. 'Why's he walking in circles? Why's he-Uh-oh, this don't look good. Looks to me like Bob's taking a big poop in the middle of the parking lot. Holy cow, look at that! That's a mountain of poop.'
Bob returned to the Buick and sat down, wagging his tail, smiling, waiting to be let back in.
