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“Get back into the car,” I said to Lula. “I’ve lost them.”
“I can’t get back,” Lula said. “I’m stuck.”
I looked over my shoulder at Lula. All I could see was bright yellow ass. The rest of her was out the window.
“Stop fooling around,” I told her.
“I’m not fooling. I’m stuck!”
Cars were passing and honking.
“Your ass,” Lula said to the cars.
I checked her out in my side mirror and saw that not only was she stuck, but her boobs had fallen out of the scoop-neck sweater and were blowing in the wind. I turned onto a side street and pulled to the curb to take a look. By the time I got out of the car, I was laughing so hard tears were rolling down my cheeks and I could hardly see.
“I don’t see where this is so funny,” Lula said. “Get me out of the window. I’m about freezing my nipples off. It’s not like it’s summer or somethin’.”
Short of lubing Lula up with goose grease, I didn’t know where to begin.
“Do you think it’s better if I pull or push?” I asked her.
“I think you should pull. I don’t think I’m gonna get my titties and my belly back through the window. I think my ass is smaller. And I don’t want no wisecrackin’ comment on that, neither.”
I latched on to her wrists, planted my feet, and pulled, but she didn’t budge.
“I’m losing circulation in my legs,” Lula said. “You don’t get me out of here soon, I’m gonna need amputation.”
I went around to the other side, got into the backseat, and almost fainted at the sight of the big yellow butt in front of me. I broke into a nervous giggle and instantly squashed it. Get it together, I told myself. This is serious stuff. She could lose the use of her legs.
I put my hands on her ass and shoved. Nothing. No progress. I put my shoulder to her and leaned into it. Ditto. Still stuck. I got out of the Porsche and went around to take another look from the front.
“Maybe I should call roadside assistance,” I said to Lula. “Or the fire department.”
“I don’t feel so good,” Lula said. And she farted.
“Jeez Louise,” I said. “Could you control yourself? This is Ranger’s Porsche.”
“I can’t help it. I’m just a big gasbag. I still got leftover barbecue gas.” She squeezed her eyes shut tight and did a full minute-long fart. “Excuse me,” she said.
I was horrified and impressed all at the same time. It was a record-breaking fart. On my best day, I couldn’t come near to farting like that.
“I feel a lot better,” Lula said. “Look at me. I got room in the window opening.” She wriggled a little and eased herself back into the SUV. “I’m not so fat after all,” she said. “I was just all swelled up.”
My cell phone buzzed, and I saw from the screen that it was Morelli.
“Did I miss a call from you?” he asked.
“Yeah. Marco and his partner were parked in front of the bonds office. They were in a black Lincoln Town Car. I didn’t get their license. I followed them to Olden and then lost them.”
“I’ll put it on the air.”
“Thanks.”
Ten minutes later, Lula and I trudged into the office with the casserole and came face-to-face with Joyce Barnhardt.
Joyce had been a pudge when she was a kid, but over the years the fat had shifted to all the right places. Plus, she’d had some sucked out and added some here and there. Truth is, most of the original equipment had been altered one way or another, but even I had to admit the end result was annoyingly spectacular. She had a lot of flame-red hair that she did up in waves and curls. Hard to tell which of it was hers and which was bought. Not that it mattered when she swung her ass down the street in spike-heeled boots, skintight low-rider jeans, and a black satin bustier. She wore more eye makeup than Tammy Faye and had lips that were inflated to bursting.
“Hello, Joyce,” I said. “Long time no see.”
