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Lula was standing behind me. “So what did you shoplift?” she asked him.
“Shoes.”
“Like boxes of Air Jordans or something?”
“Good heavens, no. These were Salvatore Ferragamo Sardegna Crocodile Driving Loafers.”
“Get out!” Lula said. “Those are excellent shoes. Those shoes retail at $2,400.”
“How do you know that?” I asked Lula.
“Sometimes I moonlight selling shoes. I help Skookie with the night shift. You gotta know what you’re selling.” She turned to Richard. “I could get you those same shoes for twenty-four dollars. You just gotta be careful if you wear them in the rain ’cause the color might run.”
“Is this your first arrest?” I asked him.
“Sadly, no. I’m afraid I have a compulsion to steal shoes. I like to think of it as a hobby, but not everyone sees it that way.”
“Everybody needs a hobby,” Lula said to him. “I like to bedazzle. You should switch your hobby to something more constructive like decoupage or bedazzlin’.”
•••
We left Richard with the docket lieutenant, picked up our body receipt, and returned to the office.
“I made some phone calls,” Connie said, “and I found Jesus Sanchez. He’s living with his sister on Maple Street. So far as I can see he doesn’t have a job, so you might find him at home.”
Lula and I drove
to Maple Street and started reading off numbers. It’s a long street on the north end of town and by the time we counted down to the Sanchez house we were just two blocks from Kiltman.
An older woman answered the door.
“He’s not here,” she said. “He’s walking the dog. They like to go to the school so Frank can make poopie on the grass.”
“Frank’s the dog?” Lula asked.
“Yes. Big dog. Big black dog. Very nice.”
We thanked the woman, went back to the car, and drove toward the campus. We cruised along the loop road and spotted Jesus and Frank sitting in the middle of the field, watching some students play Frisbee.
“Guess nobody told any of these people about the fleas,” Lula said.
“There haven’t been any reports of fleas or plague,” I said. “I think Pooka is hiding somewhere, and I’m sure he’ll be found before he has a chance to do any damage.”
“You don’t know that for sure. Pooka could be out at night sprinkling his bloodthirsty fleas all over the place. Just because he lost his fireworks don’t mean he’s given up on spreading the black death. I personally think they should be warning people.”
“I’m sure if they thought there was a real threat they would be taking precautions.”
“Not that it affects me,” Lula said. “I got my flea collar on, and if I gotta walk across the grass to arrest that idiot out there I’m putting my ankle bracelets on, too.”
I parked on the side of the road, and Lula pulled a flea collar out of its box and strapped it around her ankle.
“It don’t make the same fashion statement as when you put a charm on it, but it still looks okay. This here is the minimalist version,” Lula said.
Heaven help me, I couldn’t figure out if Lula was genius smart or flat-out stupid for wearing the flea collars. At a very basic level they made sense.
“Okay,” I said. “Give me a couple of the ankle-size collars.”
I mean, what did I have to lose besides some dignity? Better safe than sorry, I told myself.
