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“There it is,” Lula said, checking house numbers while I crept down Carmichael Street. “That’s his house with the red door.”
Carmichael was a quiet little side street in the center of the city. Residents could walk to shops, restaurants, coffeehouses, corner groceries, and in Myron’s case . . . his dentist. The street was entirely residential, with narrow brick-faced two-story row houses.
I parked at the curb, and Lula and I walked to the small front stoop. I rang the bell, and we both stepped aside in case Myron decided to shoot through his door. He was old, but he was known to be armed, and we’d been shot at a lot lately.
The door opened, and Myron looked at me and then focused on Lula in the yellow stretch suit and black flak vest.
“What the heck?” Myron asked.
“Don’t mess with me,” Lula said. “I’m off doughnuts, and I feel mean as a snake.”
“You look like a big bumblebee,” Myron said. “I thought I slept through October, and it was Halloween.”
I introduced myself and explained to Myron he’d missed his court date.
“I’m not going to court,” Myron said. “I already told that to the lady who called on the phone. I got better things to do.”
“Like what?” Lula wanted to know.
“Like watch television.”
Myron had a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He was gumming it around, sucking in smoke and blowing it out, all at the same time.
“That’s disgustin’,” Lula said. “You shouldn’t be smoking. Didn’t your doctor tell you not to smoke?”
“My doctor’s dead,” Myron said. “Everybody I know is dead.”
“I’m not,” Lula said.
Myron considered that. “You’re right. You want to do knicky-knacky with me? It’s been a while, but I think I can still do it.”
“You better be talkin’ about some kind of card game,” Lula told him.
“We need to go now,” I said. “I’m kind of on a schedule.”
“Listen, missy,” Myron said. “I’m not going. What part of not going don’t you understand?”
I hated capturing old people. If they didn’t cooperate, there was no good way to bring them in. No matter how professional and respectful I tried to act, I always looked like a jerk when I dragged their carcass out the door.
“It’s the law,” I said. “You’re accused of a crime, and you have to go before a judge.”
“I didn’t commit a crime,” Myron said. “I just got a refund. This quack dentist made me false teeth. They didn’t fit. I wanted my money back.”
“Yes, but you got it back at gunpoint.”
“That’s because I couldn’t get an appointment to see him until January. Couldn’t get past his snippy receptionist. When I went in with the gun, I got to see him right away. It’s not like I have forever to wait for money. I’m old.”
“What about the teeth?” Lula asked him. “Where’s the teeth?”
“I left them with the dentist. I got my money back, and he got his teeth back.”
“Sounds fair to me,” Lula said.
“The court decides what’s fair,” I said. “You have to go to court.”
Myron crossed his arms over his chest and narrowed his eyes. “Make me.”
“This is gonna get ugly,” Lula said. “We should have left this for Barnhardt.”
