“It’s a long car ride and we aren’t even sure if Nutsy and Dugan are there.”
I came to the cross street and turned left, and Trundle drove past me in his black Range Rover and turned onto Carlory.
“Holy cow,” Lula said. “That’s like an act of God. That’s a cosmic sign.”
“He was looking ahead. I don’t think he spotted us.”
“I’m telling you, it means something. That weird shit doesn’t happen every day. It all started with the green lights.”
I went a quarter mile down the road, U-turned, and retraced my route back to the girlfriend’s house. The black Range Rover was parked in the driveway.
“Well, here’s a problem,” Lula said. “We have to decide if we want to park behind Farcus and have one of those déjà vu experiences with Ranger’s car. If Farcus smashes Ranger’s car, you know Ranger’s going to come say howdy to Farcus, and that would result in Farcus getting put in your custody. Except then we wouldn’t have a nice car to drive to Maine.”
“I’m not going to park behind the SUV. It’s too far to drag him after I stun him and cuff him.”
“Are we going to engage him in polite chitchat first?” Lula said. “You always like to start off with the horse pucky about helping him to reschedule.”
“I’m short on time and horse pucky. I’m just taking him down.”
I gunned the motor and drove around the Range Rover and over the grass to the front door. Lula and I got out and marched up to the house. Bob guarded the SUV. I tried the doorknob and found it was unlocked, and Lula and I walked into the living room.
“Bail bond enforcement,” I shouted.
Trundle came out of the kitchen with a can of beer in his hand. “What the hell?”
“We’re here to take you into town to get your court date rescheduled,” I said.
“Gee, that sounds like fun,” he said, “but maybe some other time. I just got a beer.”
“I wouldn’t mind having a beer,” I said.
“Help yourself,” Trundle said. “We can make this a party.”
“Yeah, get one for me too,” Lula said. “I’m all about a party.”
I walked past Trundle into the kitchen and pretended to get beer.
“Where’s the little dog?” Lula asked Trundle. “The poodle doodle what’s-her-name.”
“She goes to work with Maxine,” Trundle said.
I came up behind him and pressed the stun gun prongs against his neck. The beer can fell out of his hand, and he dropped to his knees. “F-f-f-fuck,” he said.
I grabbed the cuffs out of my back pocket and struggled to get a bracelet onto his chunky wrist.
“Hey!” he said, wrenching his hand away from me.
He caught sight of the cuff dangling from his wrist, and he swatted me away, sending me sprawling onto the floor. He got to his feet and shook his head in an effort to clear the cobwebs. Lula tackled him, but he didn’t go down. He took a couple steps forward and stopped and did another head shake.
Lula had her arms wrapped around his knees. “Tag him,” she yelled at me. “Tag him again.”
I scrambled to my feet and lunged at him, catching him on the arm. Zzzzzt.
“Ow,” he said. “Now you’re pissing me off.”
Lula still had her arms wrapped around his legs. He looked down at her, grunted, and punted her halfway across the room. I was able to get the prongs on his neck and he went to his knees. I zapped him again and he face-planted. Lula rushed over and helped wrangle his arm into position so I could get the second bracelet on him.
“Done,” I said, and we jumped away from him like we’d just won the calf-roping competition at the county fair.
“We might not have a lot of time to get him into the Rangeman Explorer,” I said.
We rolled him over onto his back, Lula took his legs, and I got him under his armpits. We got him about two inches off the floor and dropped him.
“This isn’t going to work,” I said. “He’s too big. He’s dead weight. We’ll have to drag him.”
I took a leg and Lula took a leg and we dragged him across the floor and out the door. We got him off the small front stoop, down the two steps, and onto the grass. The SUV was parked about ten feet away with Bob looking at us from the front seat, his nose pressed to the window. We dragged Trundle to the back, I opened the rear hatch, and Lula and I looked down at him. He was drooling and his pinky finger was twitching.
“He’s got a twitchy finger,” Lula said. “Maybe you should give him some more volts.”
“No can do. Stun gun is dead. Needs to be recharged.” I cut my eyes to her. “Do you have a stun gun?”
“No. I just have one of those guns that go bang.”
A couple more fingers were twitching now.
“It’s going to be impossible to get him into the SUV once he comes around,” I said. “You take one side and I’ll take the other, and we’ll push him in headfirst.”
We got him halfway in, and Lula ran around and got into the back seat and pulled while I pushed. By the time we got him all the way in I was sweating through my T-shirt. I closed the hatch and jumped behind the wheel. Lula stayed in the back seat, keeping an eye on Trundle. Bob was in front with me. I drove out of the yard and wasted no time getting to the police station. I had about a mile to go when Trundle started swearing and rolling around in the back. He managed to sit up and Lula hauled out her gun.
“Are you going to shoot me?” he said. “I’m unarmed.”
“I’m not going to shoot you,” Lula said. “I’m going to smash this Glock into your nose, right between your beady eyes.”
“Not until I butt my head into your fat face,” Trundle said.
“Excuse me?” Lula said. “Fat? Did you just say my face was fat?”
“Yeah,” Trundle said. “Fat, fat, fat.”
Bob climbed onto the console and squeezed himself between the two front seats. He sidled up next to Lula and growled at Trundle, lips curled back, showing his huge white Bob teeth.
“Whoa,” Trundle said. “What’s with the dog?”
“He’s a killer,” Lula said. “You want to sit back down and be real calm. He doesn’t like when people are rude.”
I drove through the lot where the cops parked their cars and took Trundle to the back entrance. I called inside and asked for assistance. A uniform came out and I handed Trundle over to him. I followed the uniform inside and Lula drove the Explorer to the lot across the street. I was back in the Explorer forty-five minutes later.
“Did you get your body receipt?” Lula asked me.
“Yes. It took longer than usual. They had a lot going on. Apparently, someone shot up a bowling alley. Domestic dispute that turned ugly.”
“People are serious about bowling,” Lula said. “I don’t get it, personally. I guess it could be fun, but you have to wear those shoes. I mean, they aren’t fashion-forward, you see what I’m saying? And putting my perfectly pedicured and enameled toes in a rental? Not going to happen.”
Bob was sharing the seat with Lula. He had his butt on her lap and his paws on the dashboard. Bob weighs in at seventy-five pounds, so it’s not like he’s a lapdog.
“Is Bob going to ride like this from now on?” I asked.