Part 4 (1/2)

I poured out a caldron of dog crunchies and looked in vain for people food. No Pop-Tarts, no pretzels, no Cap'n Crunch with Crunchberries. My mother always sends me home with a bag of food, but my mind had been on Loretta Ricci when I left my parents' house, and the food bag had been forgotten, left on the kitchen table.

”Look at this,” I said to Bob. ”I'm a domestic failure.”

Bob gave me a look that said, Hey lady, you fed me, so how bad could you be Hey lady, you fed me, so how bad could you be?

I stepped into Levi's and boots, threw a denim jacket on over my nights.h.i.+rt, and hooked Bob up to his leash. Then I hustled Bob down the stairs and into my car so I could drive him to my archenemy Joyce Barnhardt's house to p.o.o.p. This way I didn't have to do the p.o.o.per-scooper thing, and I felt like I was accomplis.h.i.+ng something. Years ago I'd caught Joyce boinking my husband (now my ex ex-husband) on my dining room table, and once in a while I like to repay her kindness.

Joyce lives just a quarter mile away, but that's enough distance for the world to change. Joyce has gotten nice settlements from her ex-husbands. In fact, husband number three was so eager to get Joyce out of his life he deeded her their house, free and clear. It's a big house set on a small lot in a neighborhood of upwardly mobile professionals. The house is red brick with fancy white columns supporting a roof over the front door. Sort of like the Parthenon meets Practical Pig. The neighborhood has a strict p.o.o.per-scooper law, so Bob and I only visit Joyce under cover of darkness. Or in this case, early in the morning before the street awakens.

I parked half a block from Joyce. Bob and I quietly skulked to her front yard, Bob did his business, we skulked back to the car, and zipped off for McDonald's. No good deed goes unrewarded. I had an Egg Mcm.u.f.fin and coffee, and Bob had an Egg Mcm.u.f.fin and a vanilla milkshake.

We were exhausted after all this activity, so we went back to my apartment and Bob took a nap and I took a shower. I put some gel in my hair and scrunched it up so there were lots of curls. I did the mascara and eyeliner thing and finished with lip gloss. I might not solve any problems today, but I looked pretty d.a.m.n good.

A half hour later Bob and I sailed into Vinnie's office, ready to go to work.

”Uh-oh,” Lula said, ”Bob's on the job.” She bent down to scratch Bob's head. ”Hey Bob, what's up.”

”We're still looking for Eddie DeChooch,” I said. ”Anyone know where his nephew Ronald lives?”

Connie wrote a couple addresses on a sheet of paper and handed it over to me. ”Ronald has a house on Cherry Street, but you'll have more luck finding him at work at this time of the day. He runs a paving company, Ace Pavers, on Front Street, down by the river.”

I pocketed the addresses, leaned close to Connie, and lowered my voice. ”Is there anything on the street about Dougie Kruper?”

”Like what?” Connie asked.

”Like he's missing.”

The door to Vinnie's office burst open and Vinnie stuck his head out. ”What do you mean he's missing?”

I looked up at Vinnie. ”How did you hear that? I was whispering, and you had your door closed.”

”I got ears in my a.s.s,” Vinnie said. ”I hear everything.”

Connie ran her fingers along the desk edges. ”G.o.dd.a.m.n you,” Connie said, ”you planted a bug again.” She emptied her cup filled with pencils, rifled through her drawers, emptied the contents of her purse onto the desktop. ”Where is it, you little worm?”

”There's no bug,” Vinnie said. ”I'm telling you I got good ears. I got radar.”

Connie found the bug stuck to the bottom of her telephone. She ripped it off and smashed it with her gun b.u.t.t. Then she dropped the gun back into her purse and threw the bug in the trash.

”Hey,” Vinnie said, ”that was company property!”

”What's with Dougie?” Lula asked. ”Isn't he coming tip to trial?”

”Mooner said he and Dougie were supposed to watch wrestling together on Dougie's big screen, and Dougie never showed up. He thinks something bad's happened to Dougie.”

”Wouldn't catch me missing a chance to see those wrestling guys wearing little spandex panties on a big screen,” Lula said.

Connie and I agreed. A girl would have to be crazy to miss all that beefcake on a big screen.

”I haven't heard anything,” Connie said, ”but I'll ask around.” The front door to the office crashed open and Joyce Barnhardt stormed in. Her red hair was teased out to its full potential. She was wearing SWAT-type pants and s.h.i.+rt, the pants tight across her b.u.t.t and the s.h.i.+rt unb.u.t.toned halfway down her sternum, showing a black bra and a lot of cleavage. BOND ENFORCEMENT was written in white letters across the back of the s.h.i.+rt. Her eyes were black-rimmed, and her lashes were heavily mascaraed.

Bob hid under Connie's desk, and Vinnie ducked into his office and locked the door. A while back, after a short consultation with his johnson, Vinnie had agreed to hire Joyce on as an apprehension agent. Mr. Nasty was still happy with the decision, but the rest of Vinnie didn't know what to do with Joyce.

”Vinnie, you limp d.i.c.k, I saw you sneak back into your office. Get the h.e.l.l out here,” Joyce yelled.

”Nice to see you in such a good mood,” Lula said to Joyce.

”Some dog did his business on my lawn again. This is the second time this week.”

”Guess you have to expect that when you get your dates from the animal shelter,” Lula said.

”Don't push me, fatso.”

Lula narrowed her eyes. ”Who you calling fatso? You call me fatso again and I'll rearrange your face.”

”Fatso, fat a.s.s, lard b.u.t.t, blimpo . . .”

Lula launched herself at Joyce, and the two of them went down to the floor, scratching and clawing. Bob stayed firmly under the desk. Vinnie hid in his office. And Connie moseyed over, waited for her opportunity, and buzzed Joyce on the a.s.s with the stun gun. Joyce let out a squeak and went inert.

”This is the first time I've used one of these things,” Connie said. ”They're kind of fun.”

Bob crept out from under the desk to take a look at Joyce.

”So, how long you been taking care of Bob?” Lula asked, heaving herself to her feet.

”He spent the night.”

”You suppose it was Bob-size p.o.o.p on Joyce's lawn?”

”Anything's possible.”

”How possible? Ten percent possible? Fifty percent possible?”

We looked down at Joyce. She was starting to twitch, so Connie gave her another buzz with the stun gun.

”It's just that I hate to use the p.o.o.per-scooper . . .” I said.

”Hah!” Lula said on a bark of laughter. ”I knew it!”

Connie gave Bob a doughnut from the box on her desk. ”What a good boy!”

”SINCE BOB WAS such a good boy, and I'm in such a good mood, I'm gonna help you find Eddie DeChooch,” Lula said.

Her hair was sticking straight up from where Joyce had pulled it, and she'd popped a b.u.t.ton off her s.h.i.+rt. Taking her along would probably ensure my safety because she looked genuinely deranged and dangerous.

Joyce was still on the floor, but she had one eye open and her fingers were moving. Best that Lula and Bob and I left before Joyce got her other eye open.

”So what do you think?” Lula wanted to know when we were all in the car and on our way to Front Street. ”Do you think I'm fat?”