“Holy cats,” Lula said. “I just got it. Your daddy owns Plover’s.”
“When do you sleep?” he asked me. “Are you a vampire? Do you haunt at night? You were supposed to be in bed when I sent you that present. How about if you walk outside with me and we go for a ride. I have a nice car. I have a Maserati. You ever ride in a Maserati?”
“Does your daddy know you’re here?” I asked him.
“He’s working at the store,” Frankie said. “He does all the tedious stuff, and I get to do the security-related operations. I try to put a creative spin on them.”
“Like car bombs and shooting bottle rockets out of can cannons?”
“I like things that go boom.”
“Did Geara send you here?” I asked him.
“Nobody sends me anywhere,” he said. “I don’t take orders. I give them.”
“That’s not what I hear,” I said. “I hear that you’re Geara’s stooge.”
I heard Lula ease Connie’s bottom drawer open, getting ready to go for the gun, just in case.
“That’s not nice,” Frankie said. “You should have better manners. Especially since I offered to treat you to a ride in my Maserati.”
“Why do you want to take me for a ride?”
“I thought we could talk about things. I’m a businessperson and you’re a businessperson. We might have some things in common.”
“We can talk here,” I said.
Frankie cut his eyes to Lula. “In front of chubs?”
Lula leaned forward a little. “Excuse me? Were you referring to me? Did you use that word in a derogatory fashion?”
“You’re fat,” Frankie said. “Own it.”
“I’ll own your ass after I stick my foot up it,” Lula said.
“That’s just great,” Frankie said. “A fat girl with an attitude.”
“I’m not no fat girl,” Lula said. “I’m Lula.”
Frankie gave a bark of laughter. “You’re Lula? You’re the one who lives in the pink and purple house on Micklin Street?”
“What of it?” Lula said.
“I told my moron assistant to get me the address of Vinnie’s bounty hunter and she gave me yours. I didn’t find out she gave me the wrong address until the following morning. Pretty funny, right?”
Lula’s eyes almost popped out of her head, and I thought her hair might spontaneously burst into flames.
“You punk-ass piece of duck doody,” she said. “Son of a gun. Son of a bitch. Son of a peach basket.”
“I can see this isn’t going down in a friendly fashion, so I’m just going to off both of you,” Frankie said.
He reached under his blazer and pulled a gun. Lula bent down and came up with Connie’s gun. The front door opened and a large, hairy man holding two black plastic garbage bags walked in.
“It’s Grendel!” Lula shrieked. “Holy hell! It’s Grendel. He’s come to get me.”
Lula fired off a shot that went wide of everything and put a hole and a spiderweb in the front window. Frankie put a bullet in Connie’s desk, and Grendel whacked Frankie in the head with a garbage bag.
“Hey,” Grendel said to Frankie. “Cut that out.”
Bob and I ran behind the file cabinets. Lula and Frankie got off a couple shots at each other and Frankie ran out of the office and took off in his car. Grendel stood firm with his garbage bags.
Lula looked out from behind her desk. “Grendel?”
“Who’s Grendel?” he asked.
“You are,” she told him.
“I’m not Grendel,” he said. “I’m Gordon Ruff. I’m your next-door neighbor.”
He was almost seven feet tall with a bushy black beard and bushy black hair. He was wearing a black workman’s jacket on his oversize body.
“Shania Brown is my next-door neighbor,” Lula said.
“I’m subleasing from her. She went to stay with her sister in Minnesota.”
“You look like Grendel,” Lula said.
“I don’t know anyone named Grendel. Does he live in the house too? I haven’t gotten to know anyone.”
“Why are you in my apartment at night?”
“My front door lock doesn’t work. I keep complaining but nothing ever gets done. I found out by accident that my key works in your lock, so when I want to get into my apartment I go through your apartment and out the window onto the roof over the back stoop. Then I can get into my apartment through my bedroom window. I always tried not to wake you, but you must be a real light sleeper.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“I don’t know. I was sort of scared of you. You shot at me once.”
“How do you get out of your apartment?”
“The same way. Through your apartment. You’re never home when I go out, and you’re always asleep when I come home. I work the late shift at a meatpacking plant. It’s a terrible job, but I’ve saved up enough to open my own butcher shop. Anyway, I’ve been trying to get in touch with you ever since the fire. I was home when the fire alarm went off. It was my day off. I couldn’t get out my front door, so I went out my window, and when I got on the roof, I could see smoke in your closet, so I went in to make sure you weren’t in there. Your whole front room was on fire, so I closed the closet door and grabbed all your stuff and threw it out the window. I can’t help but notice your pretty clothes when I go through the closet. I figured you wouldn’t want to lose it all.” He held the two garbage bags out. “I got them all in here. And that includes a dress and jacket I accidentally knocked onto the floor a while back and stepped on. I had them cleaned. I finally met one of the other people in the house and she told me you work here.”
Lula took the bags from him. “I’m all flummoxed. I don’t know what to say. I didn’t think I’d ever see any of this again.”
“I got as much as I could. I got all the dresses and hair things, but I couldn’t get to all the drawers. I tried airing your stuff out, but it still smells a little smoky.”
“That was real heroic of you,” Lula said. “I don’t know how to thank you. Are you a single man?”
“Yes. I had a girlfriend once but working at the packing plant makes it hard for a relationship.”
“Maybe on your day off I could take you out to dinner as a thank-you. You’re living in your apartment now, right?” Lula asked.
“Yes. I have a couple big fans set up to dry out the carpet. It’s not so bad. Shania’s insurance company sent some people in to clean.”
“We definitely got to get together,” Lula said. “When is your day off?”
“Saturday,” Ruff said. “I gotta go to work now, but I’m always okay for lunch, and you can drop in any time you want. I finally got my door lock fixed.”
Lula and I watched him lumber down the street.
“You got to admit, he looks like Grendel,” Lula said. “And he has a growly voice like Grendel.”
“Do you still think he’s Grendel?”
“I’m leaning toward him being a doppelg?nger, and I’m willing to overlook the obvious similarities since he’s not married and conveniently lives next door. You never know when you’ll want to borrow something or when you’ll need a place to live.”
“You’d live with Grendel Doppelg?nger?”
“Only if he didn’t turn into a demon. I could live with an ogre, but a demon would creep me out.”
A cop car sped past the office, lights flashing. Sirens were screaming in the distance.