“Omigod,” I said, “what did you do?”
“I reached for my gun. It was under my pillow. I was all prepared for an incident like this. Only thing I hadn’t counted on was the adrenaline factor. When I grabbed my gun, I squeezed one off prematurely and blew my pillow apart. It was a good pillow too. It was made in America by the smiley guy on television. It was one of his generation-two pillows that keep you from getting all sweaty.”
“What about Grendel?”
“He left. Disappeared. Poof!”
“Have you reported this to the police?”
“I told them about Grendel days ago, when he first appeared.”
“And?” I asked.
“And a couple police officers came to my apartment and talked to me, and when I told them about Grendel, they asked me if I indulged in recreational drugs.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I said, ‘Hell yes. Doesn’t everyone?’?”
“How’d that go over?” Connie asked.
“I thought they were being conversational, but turns out that was a sneaky cop trick question. They got all Officer Picky on me and said they were gonna have to search my apartment. My personal opinion is that they just wanted to look through my underwear drawer.”
Lula rents a couple rooms in a colorful Victorian house in a marginally safe neighborhood. It had been a one-bedroom apartment with a sitting area and a kitchenette, but Lula’s extensive wardrobe didn’t fit in the one small closet. So Lula elected to sleep on the couch and turn the entire bedroom into a closet.
“Has anyone else in your house seen Grendel?” Connie asked Lula.
“No one will admit it, but I can’t see how they don’t hear him stomping around. I’m on the second floor. He has to go up the stairs, and it’s not like ogres are dainty. And he’s a real heavy breather. And there’s the growling.”
“Maybe it’s just a large dog,” Connie said. “Dogs growl.”
“No way,” Lula said. “It’s ogre growling. Big difference. Huge difference. I know all about this because I googled it.”
“How does he get into your apartment?” I asked. “Don’t you lock your door?”
“I always lock my door. And my windows are closed, too. The thing is, he’s not just an ogre. He’s also a demon. They didn’t say a lot about the demon part in the game instructions, but I’m thinking he has some nasty superpowers. Like he might be able to turn himself into slime and ooze under the door.”
Connie cut her eyes to Lula. “You don’t really believe any of this, do you?”
“The slime part is speculation,” Lula said.
I hitched my messenger bag higher onto my shoulder. “I’m heading out. I’m going after the two low-bond FTAs. I promised to take Mrs. Manley and the kitties to the vet this afternoon, but I’ve got the morning.”
“I’ll ride along for the FTAs but I’m gonna pass on the vet,” Lula said.
Lula, Bob, and I got into my bashed-in Cherokee and I pulled the files out of my bag.
“We’ve got Hooter Brown, the drug dealer, and Gloria Stitch, the shoplifter,” I said to Lula. “Who do you want to snag first?”
“I don’t know Gloria Stitch,” Lula said, “but I know Hooter Brown. We go way back. I wouldn’t mind saying hello to Hooter.”
I handed her Hooter’s file. “Give me an address.”
“He’s probably working now,” Lula said. “He’ll be hanging in front of one of the coffee shops by the government buildings. He’s not high on the food chain of drug dealers but he has a decent piece of real estate on account of the big guys pushing the good stuff don’t want to bother with the a.m. trade. Hooter fills in that spot and helps the bureaucrats get through the day with a little coke and a lot of weed.”
I took Hamilton to State, headed across town, and cruised the area around the government buildings.
“There he is,” Lula said. “He’s on the corner, in front of the office building with the scaffolding.”
I pulled up next to him and Lula rolled her window down.
“Hey, Hooter,” she yelled. “How the hell are you?”
Hooter looked over and grinned. “Hey, ho,” he said. “What’s up? You want some blow?”
“I don’t do any of that,” Lula said. “I get high on life. Get in the car. I want to talk to you.”
“You giving out for free?”
“You wish,” Lula said. “I don’t do any of that anymore either.”
“Well what good are you then?”
“Get in the car and you can find out.”
Hooter sauntered over and got into the back seat.
“Whoa, bitch,” he said. “There’s a dog back here. That’s out of my comfort zone.”
“That’s Bob,” Lula said. “He’s cool. And you don’t be feeding him anything bad. Anything bad happens to Bob on your account and I’ll hold your ugly stump of a nose until you’re dead.”
Hooter was smiling. Lots of incredibly white teeth against very dark skin. “I’ve missed you,” he said. “Where’ve you been? I heard you were working on the wrong side of the street.”
“You mean the cop side?”
“Yeah.”
“Stephanie and me are working for Vincent Plum Bail Bonds.”
“That kind of straddles the line,” Hooter said.
“You missed your court date,” Lula said.
Hooter gingerly patted Bob on the head. “It was at an inconvenient time. I’m a wage earner. I gotta make a living. Besides, the poor dumb bastards who work in the big gray building across the street count on me. How they gonna get through the day without Hooter’s help?”
“I hear you,” Lula said, “but you have to reschedule.”
“Yeah, I know the drill,” Hooter said. “Give me another hour to work and then I’ll go to the courthouse with you.”
“No way,” Lula said. “We’ll come back in an hour, and you’ll be gone.”
“Girl, you got mean when you stopped being a ho,” Hooter said.
Hooter opened the car door, jumped out, and took off down the street. Bob jumped out and took off after Hooter.
“Damnation,” Lula said, wrenching her door open, hitting the ground running.
I cut the engine and ran flat out after Lula. I followed Lula around the corner and almost crashed into her.
“I can’t run in these stupid sneakers,” she said. “I’m used to running in heels.”
I could see Hooter and Bob still running, half a block away. Hooter stopped, jumped on a Harley, revved it up, and peeled off into traffic. Bob watched Hooter for a moment, obviously decided the game was over, and sat down on the sidewalk. I whistled and Bob trotted back to me.
“I knew that was too easy,” I said to Lula when we reached my Cherokee.
“Next time we’ll creep up behind him and cuff him,” Lula said. “I’ve never known him to be violent. He’s just sneaky. I should have guessed he’d jump and run.”
“Gloria Stitch is next up.”
Lula paged through the Stitch file. “She should be home. She’s eighty-one years old and she’s in an assisted-living facility in Hamilton Township.”
“Omigod.”
“I could probably outrun her even in sneakers,” Lula said. “So, this should turn out better.”