Page 89 of Now or Never

“We aren’t going to his house, are we? Last time we did that, Annie Oakley shot a hole in your back window.”

“That was different. We’re friends now.”

“We aren’t friends with Annie Oakley. And what about his killer dog?”

“The killer dog weighs five pounds. I think we can deal with the killer dog.”

I left State Street and drove to Jug’s pleasant, family-friendly neighborhood. I cruised down Merrymaster and idled in front of Jug’s house. No photographers. No Volvo in the driveway. No Annie Oakley standing guard on the front porch.

“What do you think?” I asked Lula.

“I think those photographers who were hanging around Jug Produce already got shot at here and decided a crap-ass picture of Jug wasn’t worth a trip to the burbs.”

I pulled into Jug’s driveway and parked. I had my gun in my messenger bag and cuffs in my back pocket, but I didn’t expect to use either of them. A week ago, everyone was worried about Bruno Jug. Now he was the least of my problems. I rang the doorbell. No answer, but the dog was barking on the other side of the door. I rang the bell again and knocked. Nothing. I tried the door. Unlocked.

“I don’t care that the door’s unlocked,” Lula said. “I’m not going in there. That dog’ll tear us to shreds.”

I took the doughnut out of my pocket and unwrapped it. I opened the door and threw the doughnut at the dog.

“Problem solved,” I said, stepping inside.

“Hello!” I yelled. “Anybody home? It’s Stephanie and Lula.”

“I hear you,” Jug said, coming out of the kitchen. “You don’tneed to yell.” He was in his pajamas, and he had a big spoon in his hand. “I need someone to make oatmeal. I have to start my day with oatmeal.”

“Where’s the Mrs.?” Lula asked.

“She left. Cleaned out her closet, took her stupid electric car, and left. She said she was going to sue me for divorce because I played hide the salami with a hooker.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have done that,” Lula said. “You took sacred marriage vows.”

“My marriage vows didn’t say anything about banging hookers,” Jug said.

“I guess that might make a difference then,” Lula said.

“Now that you’re back, we thought we could take you downtown to get rescheduled,” I said.

“Sure, but I have to have my oatmeal first, and I don’t know how to make it.”

“Honey, everybody knows how to make oatmeal. You follow the directions on the box,” Lula said.

“I can’t find the box.”

“Did you think to look in the cupboard?” Lula asked him. She opened a cupboard and found the oatmeal. “Get dressed, and I’ll make your oatmeal.”

“I always eat breakfast in my pajamas.”

“Not today you don’t,” Lula said. “Get dressed.”

Jug shuffled off to the bedroom, and Lula measured out oatmeal. “This is easy,” she said. “He eats instant. You just microwave it.”

The microwave dinged done, and Jug shuffled back to the kitchen. He was wearing a button-down shirt, pajama bottoms, and slippers.

“What the hell is this?” Lula said to him. “You aren’t dressed.”

“I heard it ding. I like to eat it when it’s hot,” he said.

Lula gave him the bowl of oatmeal and a spoon. “What else?” she asked him.

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