Page 9 of Now or Never

I dropped my messenger bag on the floor, pulled a chair up to Connie’s desk, and unwrapped my sandwich. “I was worried,” I said. “I kept him cuffed up to the last minute, and then I rushed him out of the building as soon as the judge set his bail bond.”

“I’ve been thinking about Bottles,” Lula said. “It doesn’t seem fair that he got stuck with a special penis. I can relate on account of some of my special things gotta stay covered up too. I’ve got world-class nipples, for instance, and my opportunities to get them appreciated are limited.”

Lula is a woman of generously proportioned, perfectly balanced-out booty and boob. Capping off her breasts, which were only slightly smaller than basketballs, were nipples as big as wine magnum corks. The two-sizes-too-small polyester and spandex scoop-neck top she was wearing was stretched to breaking point over the wine corks.

“News flash,” Connie said to Lula. “Your nipples aren’t exactly hidden.”

“Okay,” Lula said, “but my light’s under a bushel, so to speak. Anyway, that was just an obvious answer. There’s other things.”

“What other things?” Connie asked.

“Things about ourselves that we keep secret,” Lula said. “Don’t we all have those things?”

There were two issues to consider here. The first is that it’s easy to underestimate Lula. On the surface she’s multicolored hair, ho clothes, andsay what?And then when you’re least expecting it, a crack appears in the surface and something profound leaks out. The second thing to consider is that I feared that, unlike Lula, I didn’t have anything below my surface. And equally disturbing, I didn’t have anything that was special about me, hidden or otherwise. I took some moments to think about it and came up with nothing.

“Anyway, I’m lucky that I got other possibilities going for me,” Lula said. “I could be anything I want to be. Someday I might want to be a lawyer or a supermodel or an astronaut. Bottles don’t seem to have anything on his agenda but being a plumber. Not that I’m downplaying the value of being a good plumber, but let’s face it… it don’t get the respect like a supermodel.”

I ate my sandwich while I read through the information on Jug that Connie had printed out for me. He’d been accused of a laundry list of crimes and convicted of none. Jurors, witnesses,and informants mysteriously died or had bouts of amnesia. Judges ignored evidence and ruled for acquittal.

“I’m surprised he went FTA,” I said to Connie. “There’s no history of him doing that for any of his other arrests.”

“He has a new wife,” Connie said. “He just got back from his honeymoon. I imagine the court date was inconvenient.”

“So, this might be an easy bust,” I said.

“Maybe,” Connie said. “I asked my mom about Jug, and she said there’s rumors he’s senile. Got dementia. Can’t remember anything. Combative. Dribbles.”

“And he just got married?”

“Yeah. She’s twenty-three years old. True love.”

“That’s nice,” Lula said. “He’s making the most of his golden years even if he can’t remember them.”

“Do we have an address for him?” I asked Connie.

“His address has been the same for forty years,” Connie said. “He has a house in North Trenton and an office downtown. It’s all in your report.”

“I’m going to do a drive-by on his house and his office,” I said. “Get the lay of the land.”

“I’ll go with you,” Lula said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky, and he’ll be out walking his dog, and we can snatch him up and drive him to get rebooked.”

“There’s no mention of a dog in any of the reports I pulled,” Connie said.

“Well, you said he’s rumored to be senile. It could be a pretend dog,” Lula said. “My aunt Bestie was senile, and she talked to an imaginary giraffe. She got arthritis in her neck from always looking up to the giraffe. She had to get a cortisone shot. And then there’s that Jimmy Stewart movie about a giant imaginary rabbit named Harvey. Except it’s not clear if Harvey is imaginary or real.”

I remember seeing that movie for the first time when I was a kid and the idea of a huge invisible rabbit scared the bejeezus out of me. I wasn’t comfortable about the Easter Bunny hopping around in our house either. As an adult I’ve come to loveHarvey, but I’m still creeped out by the Easter Bunny.

I took North Olden Avenue, crossed the railroad tracks, and followed the GPS lady’s directions to Merrymaster Street.

“This here’s a nice neighborhood,” Lula said. “It’s real tidy and respectable with lots of big shade trees. I bet they hardly have any crime here. If I was married and had a kid and a real dog that was named Chardonnay, I would want to live here. Being that I don’t have any of those things, I’d rather stick a fork in my eye than live in one of these houses.”

Lula rented a small apartment in a house that was currently painted lavender and pink. It wasn’t in a high-crime, gang-controlled area, but there was enough crime to keep you on your toes and make life interesting.

“That’s Jug’s house with the black shutters and quality mahogany door,” Lula said. “Number twenty-one.”

It was similar to other houses on Merrymaster. Two stories. Nice-size front yard and backyard. Larger than the yards in the Burg, but not so big that you had to spend all day mowing the lawn. Single-car garage. Nothing fancy. Just a solidly built, practical box of a house.

“Connie’s report says Jug drives a black Volvo sedan and the Mrs. drives a silver Mercedes EQE sedan. That’s a nice car but you gotta plug that sucker in, so I’m guessing she gets the garage. Since I don’t see no Volvo in the driveway, I’m thinking Mr. isn’t home.”

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