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“I have a gun.”
“You gonna use it?”
“I might.”
“I don't think so,” Willie said. “I'm unarmed. You shoot me, and you'll do more time than I will. That's assault with a deadly weapon.”
“Okay, how about this. If you don't let me cuff your other hand, and you don't quietly walk out with me and get in Lula's car, we're going to send enough electricity through you to make you mess your pants. And that's going to be an embarrassing experience. It'll probably make the papers-pro ball all-star Willie Martin messed his pants in Fennick's Deli yesterday...”
“I didn't mess my pants last time.”
“Do you want to risk it? We'd be happy to give you a few volts.”
“You swear you'll rebond me?”
“I'll call Vinnie as soon as we get you into the car.”
“Okay,” Willie said. “I'm gonna stand and put my hands behind my back. And we'll do this real quiet so nobody notices.”
Lula was a short distance away with the stun gun in hand, her eyes glued to Willie. I stood, and Willie stood, and next thing I knew I was flying through the air. He'd moved so fast and scooped me up so effortlessly, I never saw it cming. He threw me about fifteen feet, and I crash-landed on a table of four. The table gave way and I was on the floor with the burgers and shakes and soup of the day. I was flat on my back, the wind knocked out of me, dazed for a moment, the world swirling around me. I rolled to my hands and knees and crawled over smashed food and dishes to get to my feet.
Willie Martin was facedown on the floor just beyond the table debris. Lula was sitting on him, struggling with the second cuff. “Boy, you really know how to make a diversion,” Lula said. “I zapped him good. He's out like a light. Only I can't get his second hand to cooperate.”
I limped over and held Martin's hand behind his back while she cuffed him.
“Do you have shackles in the car?”
“Yeah. Maybe you should go get them while I babysit here.”
I took the key to the Firebird, got the shackles, and brought them back to Lla. We got the shackles on Martin, and a squad car pulled up outside the deli.
It was my pal Carl Costanza and his partner, Big Dog. Costanza grinned when he saw me. “We got a call that two crazy fans were on Willie like white on rice.”
“That would be Lula and me,” I said. “Except we're not fans. He's FTA.”
“Looks like you're wearing lunch.”
“Willie threw me into the table. And then he decided to take a nap.”
“We'd appreciate it if you could help us drag his sorry ass out of here,” Lula said. “He weighs a ton.”
Big Dog got Willie under the armpits, Carl took the feet, and we hauled Willie out of the deli and dumped him into the back of Lula's Firebird.
“We need to do a property damage report,” Costanza said to me. “You're wearing Rangeman clothes. Are you hunting desperadoes for Vinnie or for Ranger?”
“Vinnie.”
“Works for me,” Costanza said. And they disappeared inside the deli.
Lula and I looked over at the bench by the bus stop. Two of the three men were gone from the bench. The guy Lula stun-gunned was still there.
“Looks like Gimp missed his bus,” Lula said. “Guess he didn't come around fast enough. Hey, Gimp,” she yelled. “You want a ride? Get your bony behind over here.”
“You're a big softy,” I said.
“Yeah, don't tell nobody.”
I walked back to Rangeman and entered through the front door. “Don't say anything,” I told the guy at the desk. “I've just walked two blocks through town, and I've heard it all. And just in case you're wondering, those are noodles stuck in my hair, not worms.”
