Page 2 of Now or Never

“I’m all about this guy,” Lula said.

“Where do we find him?”

“He’s twenty-six and lives with Mommy and Daddy,” Lula said. “I’ll plug the address into the GPS. Doesn’t look like he’s got a job. He lists his occupation as ‘gamer.’ Guess when he’s not stealing stuff, he’s on the computer.” Lula looked over at me. “Are you sure you don’t want to tell me about the hitch?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I bet.”

I pulled out into traffic. “I’m working on it.”

Twenty minutes later we were in front of the Fleck house on Elm Street. It was a medium-size colonial. Painted white. Blackshutters and red front door. Two-car attached garage. No car in the driveway. Nice middle-class neighborhood.

“Who are we going to be today?” Lula asked. “Good cop, bad cop? Pizza delivery? Church ladies come to say hello?”

Lula’s hair was fluffed out into a big puffball, and the hair color of the day was fuchsia. She was wearing a navy spandex dress that would have been tasteful on a much smaller woman. On Lula, it was a traffic stopper. There was a lot of cleavage and excess breast struggling to be set free from the plunging scoop neck of the dress, and the skirt was stretched to its limit across her butt. The hem was inches below what should never be seen in public. Her feet were happy in six-inch-high stiletto heels. I was in stark contrast in sneakers, jeans, a girly T-shirt, and a gray hoodie. My brown hair was pulled up into a ponytail and I’d gnawed my lip gloss off worrying about my engagement dilemma. I learned early in our friendship that it was hopeless to try to compete with Lula. She was a birthday cake with sparklers, and I was a bran muffin. Okay, maybe that’s too harsh. If I swiped on some mascara and lip gloss, I could bring myself up to an almond croissant. Maybe even a cupcake. No sprinkles. Bottom line is that I didn’t think either of us was going to pass as a church lady.

I parked the SUV in front of the Fleck house and cut the engine. “We’re going to be ourselves,” I said. “Two professional bail bonds enforcement agents.”

“Are you sure that’s who we are?” Lula asked.

“That’s what it says on my business card.”

“I gotta get some of them made up,” Lula said.

I rang the bell and a young man answered. About my height, which was five foot seven. Brown hair tied back into a low ponytail. Slim. Baggy jeans and beat-up sneakers and a red plaid flannel shirt, untucked.

“Eugene?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, looking Lula over. “Only I’m not interested in kinky sex. My mom’s going to be home any minute.”

“Hunh,” Lula said. “What makes you think we’d want to doyou?”

I stepped in front of Lula so that my foot was halfway into the door frame. “I represent Vincent Plum,” I said to Eugene. “You failed to show for your court appearance and I’m going to help you reschedule.”

“Okay,” he said. “Go ahead and reschedule me.”

He made an attempt to close the door, but I was already inside. “We need to go downtown to reschedule. It won’t take long and then we’ll bring you home.”

“I guess I could do that,” he said. “As long as it doesn’t take too long.”

Truth is, he’d get booked in, and because it was early in the day and court was in session, he might be lucky enough to go in front of a judge and have his bail bond set and be given a new appearance date. Then if he could get someone to secure his bail bond, he’d be free to go. If all of this didn’t happen, he’d spend some time in lockup.

I put him in the back seat of the SUV. I drove out of the neighborhood and avoided the center of the city by taking Marlboro Street. I stopped for a light by the Catholic church.

“There’s a lot of people in front of the church,” Lula said. “Don’t look like they’re dressed up for a wedding.”

“There’s a homeless camp in the park on the next block,” Eugene said. “They come here to get food. The church gives out two meals a day.”

“Some of them are waving at us,” Lula said. “And they’reyelling something.” She cracked her window. “It sounds like they’re yellingRobin!”

“It’s because of all the publicity about Robin Hoodie,” Eugene said. “The police found my fingerprints on the truck and charged me with hijacking, and it got to be big news. My picture was all over the television and in the papers, saying I was Robin Hoodie.”

“Are you?” I asked.

“No. Of course not, but everyone thinks I am. I can’t walk past a homeless person without them telling me they’re one of my Merry Men.”

“Looks like they’re coming over,” Lula said. “Looks likeallof them are coming over.”

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