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“It says in the police report that it was nonconsensual,” Lula said.
Brown gave a derisive snort of laughter. “That’s what they all say.”
“Hunh,” Lula said. “I don’t like that answer. You got a nasty attitude.”
Brown gave Lula the finger. “Nasty this, bitch.”
“Okay,” Lula said to me. “Do
you want to give him a couple thousand volts with your stun gun or do you want me to shoot him?”
I clapped a cuff on his right wrist and reached to secure the second wrist.
“Whoa,” he said, jumping away. “What’s this about? I don’t go for the kinky handcuff S&M stuff.”
“This isn’t kinky,” Lula said. “This is police protocol.”
“Are you police?” he asked.
“Sort of,” Lula said. “We’re like faux police.”
I got the other cuff on him, wrestled him into the back seat of my car, and drove him to the police station. We turned him in, and I got my body receipt.
“That’s a job well done,” Lula said when we were back in my car. “I bet there’s a lot of dogs resting easier knowing that guy is off the streets.”
I squelched a grimace and pulled out of the lot into traffic. “There has to be more to life than this.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know. I want something else. Something different. Something better.”
“You need a cat,” Lula said.
“A cat?”
“Yeah. I read an article online about how people are getting therapy cats on account of cats are good companions. We could go to the shelter and pick one out for you.”
“That’s a big responsibility. I don’t think I’m ready for a cat.”
“Well, your life can’t be all that bad if you don’t want a cat.”
“A cat isn’t going to fix my job.”
“What’s wrong with your job? You got a lot of personal freedom on this job. And some weeks we even make a living wage.”
“We work in a cesspool. We hunt down creepy people. I’m tired of creepy people. I want a job with normal people. I want to work with people who use deodorant and don’t eat out of dumpsters.”
“I hope you’re not referring to me,” Lula said. “I’d be real insulted if I thought you were referring to me.”
“I’m talking about the people we drag back to jail.”
“Okay, I get that. They aren’t always attractive.”
“And I’m stuck in a rut. I’m fifty-six years old and I’m still doing the same stupid stuff.”
“Say what? You’re how old? How can you be fifty-six?”
I looked over at Lula. “Did I say I was fifty-six?”
