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“Who would want a stuffed pigeon?” Lula asked. “I mean, what sort of a market do you suppose there is for a dead pigeon?”
We went back downstairs, made our way out to the porch showroom, and Lula stopped in front of a beaver.
“Look at this bad boy,” Lula said. “Now, this is what I'm talking about. This here's the biggest fuckin' rodent ever lived. This is practically prehistoric.”
I'd never seen a beaver up close and personal, and I was surprised at the size. "Do you suppose they're always this
big?
“Maybe Crazy Coglin overstuffed it.”
Lula picked up a remote that had been placed beside the beaver. The remote had two buttons. One of the buttons was labeled eyes and the other bang!
Lula pressed the eyes button and the beavers eyes glowed. She pressed it again and the eyes shut off.
“Probably I don't want to press the bang! button,” Lula said. “This here looks to me like a exploding beaver. And it's not like it's some second-rate squirrel. This mother's gonna make a mess. This is atomic. This is something you only give to the enemy.”
I looked over at Lula and smiled.
“I know what you're thinking,” Lula said. “You're thinking of Joyce and how she deserves this beaver. You're thinking we have a obligation to give this beaver to Joyce.”
“She likes animals.”
“Yeah, especially big trained dogs and ponies.”
“Maybe the second button doesn't explode it. Maybe the beaver sings a song or something.”.
“The button says bang!”
“It could be mislabeled.”
“I see where you're going,” Lula said. “You're thinking we have to say a lot of Hail Marys if we send this to Joyce and explode it on her. But it wouldn't be our fault if it exploded accidental. Or if there was a misunderstanding on our part.”
“I wouldn't want to maim her.”
“Of course not.”
“Just because she shot at me, zapped me with a stun gun, and ratted me out to the police isn't any reason to do her bodily harm.”
“Whatever.”
“Still, it would be fun to send her a singing beaver.”
Lula looked at her watch. “How long we gonna stand here doing this rationalizing shit? I got stuff to do.”
I scrounged around in my purse and came up with eight dollars and forty cents. I left it on the table and pocketed the remote.
'What's that?" Lula wanted to know.
“It's for the beaver. I'm in enough trouble. I don't want to be accused of stealing a… singing beaver.”
“And you think it's worth eight dollars and forty cents?”
“It's all I've got.” I wrapped my arms around the beaver and hefted it off the table. “This weighs a ton!”
Lula got her hands under his butt and helped me to the door. We loaded the beaver into the Cayenne cargo area and drove it across town to Joyce's house.
Joyce lives in a big white colonial with fancy columns and a large yard. The house is the result of her last divorce. Joyce got the house, and her husband got a new lease on life. There was a red Jeep in the driveway, and lights were shining in the downstairs windows.
