Twelve Sharp

This got them to sullenly line up with just a minimum amount of pushing and shoving. I gave out fifteen-minute appointments to eleven people. They each got five dollars. All but one left.

'You can come out from under the desk now,' I told Melvin. 'What happened to Joyce? I thought Joyce was here.'

'She left. She said she'd be back later this morning. She was real mad. Something about getting sent on a wild goose chase.'

I dragged a folding chair over to the desk and told the first bounty hunter impersonator to sit down. The folding chair was old and scarred and said STIVA FUNERAL HOME on the back. I sat in Connie's chair and called Lula on my cell.

'Where the heck are you?' I asked Lula.

'I had to go shopping. We were a big hit at the old people's home, and we got a new gig out of it. And I need a new outfit.'

'You're supposed to be here helping with the interviews.'

'I figured you didn't need me. They're all losers, anyway.'

I looked at the guy in the folding chair. He was dressed in black leather pants and a black leather vest that showed a lot of chest hair. A roll of fat oozed out from under the vest and spilled over his belt buckle. He'd accessorized with black leather wristbands that were studded with the metal things you see on Rottweiler collars. And he was wearing a blond mullet wig.

'You're right,' I said to Lula. 'Happy shopping.'

'So,' I said to the guy in front of me, 'what makes you qualified to be a bond enforcement agent?'

'I watch all the television shows, and I know I could do this. I don't take shit from anyone, and I got a gun.'

That would be the one that's strapped to your leg?'

'Yeah. And I'm not afraid to use it. I don't take crap from blacks, spics, chinks, pollacks or commies. I swear, I'll kill all the motherfuckers if I have to.'

'Good to know,' I said. 'You can go get breakfast now.'

Connie rolled in while I was interviewing idiot number 5. 'How's it going?' she asked. 'Sony I'm late. I had to bond someone out. Is that a bullet in my phone?'

'We had some problems in the beginning, but it's all straightened out now,' I told her. 'So far I've seen two psychos, one gay hut, a guy who got a boner talking about guns, and this gentleman here who seems to be wearing black leather chaps, cowboy boots, and nothing else.'

Connie looked down at the guy in the chair. 'Nice boots,' she said to him.

When he left we sprayed the chair with Lysol and invited the next candidate to sit.

'I'm here on a mission from God,' he said. 'I'm here to save your immortal souls.'

'I thought you were here for the bond enforcement position,' Connie said.

'God loves sinners and what better place to find them?'

'He's got a point,' I said to Connie.

Connie ripped his application off her clipboard.

Lula bustled in as the last guy was leaving. 'I can't believe how hard it is to find clothes when you're a rock star. It's not like us singers can wear just any old thing. And now Sally and me are getting famous for dressing together, and so I gotta find something that'll match up with a thong for him. I tell you, it's not easy.'

'Why can't you wear the white outfit again?' I asked her.

'It turns out all that shiny white isn't good for the old folks. They got macular shit and cataracts, and they were getting seizures from the light reflection off my ass.' Lula pulled a wad of pink feathers out of her shopping bag. 'I finally found this here flamingo feather dress. Only thing is, I couldn't find a flamingo feather thong, so I got a boa, and I figure we can sew some of it on a jock strap or something.'

'That's a lot of flamingo feathers,' Connie said. 'They aren't real, are they?'

'It says here they're genuine farm-raised dyed fowl. You want me to try it on?'

'No!' Connie and I said in unison.

Lula looked a little put off, so I told her it was just that we were starving, and maybe she'd show us after lunch.

'I'm hungry, too,' Lula said. 'I'm feeling like spaghetti and meatballs.'

'I could go for some spaghetti,' Connie said. 'I'll get Pino's to deliver.'

'I want a meatball sub,' I told her.

'And a side of potato salad,' Lula said. 'And a piece of their chocolate cake. Now that I'm doing all this entertaining I gotta keep my strength up.'

'Melvin?' Connie yelled out. 'We're ordering from Pino's. Do you want something?'

'No,' Melvin said from behind the first bank of file cabinets. 'I brought my lunch. I have to save my money in case I go to jail. I hear if you can't afford to buy cigarettes for everyone you have to be someone's bitch.'

'Is that why you didn't show up for your trial?' Lula asked. 'On account of you didn't want to be someone's bitch?'

'Yeah. I know I'm a pervert and all, but I'm not that kind of a pervert. I'm sort of a specialist. I'm like a do-it-yourself pervert.'

'I hear you,' Lula said. I've shopped in that aisle.'

Connie put the order in and shoved a stack of files to the middle of her desk. 'We have to pick one of these… for lack of a better word, people.'

'These people all gonna lower the quality of our work,' Lula said. 'And God knows it's already pretty low.'

'How are we doing?' I asked Connie. 'Are we catching up enough to do without a third person?'

'The problem is, you catch up but then we get a couple new FTAs in, and we're behind the curve again. I'm going to divide these files between us and everyone has to pick the best person in their stack. Then we'll choose one of those three people.'

We were still reading through the files when the Pino's guy arrived. We set the files aside, spread the food out on Connie's desk, and pulled up more of the funeral home folding chairs. I had my sub in my hand when Joyce Barnhardt stormed in and threw a file on the table, splattering Lula's spaghetti sauce.

'What the fuck's the matter with you?' Lula said. 'You got a problem?'

'Yeah, I got a problem, fatso. I don't like getting sent off on a goddamn wild goose chase with those LC files. I bet you all thought it was funny. See if Joyce can find Willie Reese, right?'

'What's wrong with finding Willie Reese?' Connie asked. 'Those were legitimate files I gave you.'

'He's friggin' dead. He's been friggin' dead for almost a year. What do you want me to do, dig him up and cart him in here?'

'No,' Connie said. 'I want you to bring me a copy of his death certificate, so we can close the case and get our money back.'

'Oh,' Joyce said. 'I didn't know I could do that.'

'I don't like being called a fatso,' Lula said. 'I think you should apologize.'

'If the shoe fits,' Joyce said. 'Or in your case, if nothing but a tent fits…'

'I'm not that fat,' Lula said. 'I'm just a big woman. I'm Rubenesque. You wouldn't know that because you're ignorant. I know all about it because I took an art course at the community college last semester.'

'I know fat,' Joyce said. 'And you're fat.'

I didn't like Joyce frightening Melvin Pickle. And I didn't like Joyce calling Lula fat. And I really hated that Joyce was able to find stupid dead Willie Reese when I hadn't been able to find him.

'Hey Joyce,' I said.

Joyce turned to look at me, and I threw one of my meatballs at her. It hit her square in the forehead and left a big splotch of marinara sauce.

'Bitch,' Joyce said, narrowing her eyes at me.

I narrowed my eyes back. 'Slut.'

'Skank'

'Hag.'

Joyce grabbed Lula's spaghetti and dumped it on my head. 'I am not a hag,' she