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“Are you the home owner?”
“Nah, that’s my dad.”
“Is he at home?”
“No.”
“Your mother?”
“They’re both working. What do you want?”
“I’m conducting a survey on trash removal.”
Click.
Great. I’d found out everything I needed to know. Buggy was in the house alone. I parked one house down from the Bugkowskis, walked to their front door, and rang the bell.
A huge guy answered. He was easily 6'5? and three hundred pounds. He was wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt that could have provided shelter for a Vietnamese family of eight.
“Yuh?” he asked.
“Lewis Bugkowski?”
He looked at me. “Is this about trash? You sound like that girl on the phone.”
“Bond enforcement,” I told him.
I whipped out my cuffs and attempted to clap one on his wrist. No good. The cuff wouldn’t close. His wrist was too big. The guy was a mountain.
I sent him a flirtatious smile. “I don’t suppose you’d want to come downtown with me to reschedule your court date?”
His eyes locked on to my messenger bag. “Is that what you use for a purse?”
Uh-oh.
“No,” I told him. “I use this for documents. Boring stuff. Let me show you.”
He grabbed the strap and ripped the bag off my shoulder before I could locate my pepper spray.
“Hey,” I said. “Give it back!”
He looked down at me. “Go away or I’ll hit you.”
“I can’t go away. The keys to my car are in the bag.”
His eyes lit up. “I could use a car. I’m hungry, and there’s no food in the house.”
I lunged for my bag, and he batted me away.
“I’ll drive you to Cluck-in-a-Bucket,” I said.
He closed his front door and stepped off the porch. “Don’t need you. I got a car now.”
I ran after him and latched on to the back of his T-shirt. “Help!” I yelled. “Police!”
He shoved me away, crammed himself behind the wheel, and the car groaned under the weight. He rolled the engine over and took off.
“That’s grand theft auto, mister!” I shouted after him. “You’re in big trouble!”
