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'Sure. What time?'
'Seven. And it's a surprise, so be careful what you say to Valerie.'
'My lips are sealed.'
'Let me see you make the zipper,' Grandma said. 'I always like when a person makes the zipper and throws the key away.'
I zipped my lips, and I threw the key away.
Lula swiveled in her seat. 'Rangers guys are still back there.'
It was the second time I drove past the bar at the corner of Third and Laramie. Most of the street was residential, if you can call warehousing human misery in squalid brick cubes residential.
There were no public parking lots, and curbside parking was nonexistent. Half the cars parked at the curb looked like they hadn't been moved in years.
I double-parked directly in front of the bar, and Lula and I got out. I didn't bother to lock the Cayenne. Rangers men weren't going to let anything happen to his car. I had cuffs tucked into the back of my jeans. I was wearing the Kevlar vest under the sweatshirt.
I had pepper spray in my pocket. Lula was half a step behind me, and I didn't ask what she was carrying. Best not to know.
Heads turned when we entered the bar. This wasn't a place where women went voluntarily. We took a moment to allow our eyes to adjust to the dark interior. Four men at the bar, one bartender, a lone man sitting at a scarred round wood table. Jamil
Rodriguez. He was easy to recognize from his photo. A medium-sized black man in a rhinestone do-rag. Cheesy mustache and goatee. A nasty scar etched into his cheek, looking like an acid burn.
He slouched back in his chair. 'Ladies?'
'You Jamil?' Lula asked.
He nodded his head yes. 'You got business with me?'
Lula looked at me and smiled. 'This fool thinks we're gonna buy some.'
I pulled a chair up next to Rodriguez. 'Here's the thing, Jamil,' I said. 'You forgot to show up for court.' And I slapped a cuff on him.
'You sit around and wait and good things come to you,'
Rodriguez said. 'I been looking for a new thumb.' And he pulled a big Buck knife out of his pocket.
The four guys at the bar were paying attention, waiting to see the show. They were young, and they looked hungry for action. I suspected they'd jump in when it was the right time.
Lula pulled a gun out of her tiger-print stretch pants and leveled it at Rodriguez. And from the doorway there was the unmistakable ratchet of a sawed-off shotgun. I didn't recognize the guy in black, filling the doorway, but I knew he'd come from the SUV. Not hard to spot one of Rangers men. Big muscles, no neck, big gun, not much small talk.
'You want to drop the knife,' I said to Rodriguez.
Rodriguez narrowed his eyes. 'Make me.'
Rangers man blasted a three-foot hole in the ceiling over
Rodriguez and plaster flew everywhere.
'Hey,' Lula said to Ranger's man. 'You want to watch it? I just had my hair done. I don't need no plaster in it. Next time just shoot a hole in this punk-ass loser, will you?'
Ranger's man smiled at her.
Minutes later, we had Rodriguez in the back seat of the
Cayenne, cuffed and shackled, and we were on our way to the police station.
'Did you see that hunk of burning love smile at me?' Lula said.
