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“Thank you. That’s very nice of you,” she said, “but I’ve decided not to go to court.”
“Hah!” Lula said. “Good one.”
“I appreciate your point of view,” I said to Dottie, “and you don’t have to go to court, but you do have to reschedule.”
“Why?”
“Because,” I said.
Because that’s how I got paid. And because once she walked into the municipal building she’d be rearrested and she’d need a new bond to get released.
We were standing at her open front door and could see some of the house behind her. It was modestly furnished. It was neat and clean. And it looked homey, just like Dottie.
“It looks like you got a comfortable home here,” Lula said to Dottie. “How come you were hookin’?”
“I thought about it a lot,” Dottie said, “and it seemed like a good career choice. My husband, George, passed two years ago, and suddenly there was no money coming in. I tried to get a job, but I didn’t have any luck at it. And then I remembered how George always told me I was good in bed. So prostitution seemed like the logical choice. It was that or lose the house.”
“What about your family?” Lula asked. “You have kids?”
“Two. Marie Ellen and Joyce Louise. They’re in college. University of Wisconsin.”
“Are they home?”
Dottie shook her head. “They’re in Wisconsin. They have summer jobs there waiting tables.”
“So how’d the hookin’ go for you?” Lula asked.
“Terrible. The first man I approached was a policeman. That’s when I got arrested.”
“That’s what happens when you’re an amateur,” Lula said. “People think being a ’ho is easy, but it takes a lot of skill. You gotta keep your eyes open and be a judge of character.”
“He looked like a nice man,” Dottie said. “He was wearing a tie.”
“Probably what you need is a business manager,” Lula said. “Or as we say in the trade, a pimp.”
“Jeez Louise,” I said to Lula. “Don’t tell her that. Hasn’t she got enough problems?”
“Just trying to be helpful,” Lula said. “After all, it’s my area of expertise.” Lula looked over at Dottie. “I used to be a ’ho. I was a good one too.”
I checked my watch. “We need to move along. You can swap professional secrets in the car.”
“I’d like to talk more,” Dottie said, “but I don’t want to go back to the jail. It smelled funny.”
I was getting a bad feeling about this apprehension. I was going to have to handcuff Dottie Luchek and muscle her into the car. She’d be sobbing and begging and moaning, and someone would surely see her and call my mother to complain about me.
“Bring a can of air freshener with you,” I said. “Maybe a nice scented candle.”
“Yeah, and some hand sanitizer,” Lula said.
“That’s a wonderful idea,” Dottie said. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”
“Excellent thinking,” Lula said to me. “She wasn’t gonna go, and we were gonna have to drag her apple dumpling ass all the way to the car. Which would have been a shame since she seems like a nice lady.”
We were on the front porch, and I heard a cupboard door open and close from deep in the house. Another door slammed shut. I looked at my watch again. I wanted to get to the court-house before the end of the day. There was the sound of a large door rolling up, and I realized it was the garage door. “Damn!”
“She must be coming out the garage door,” Lula said. “Don’t she know this door’s still open?”
“She’s running,” I said.
