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I showed her the badge I bought on Amazon and told her I was representing Vincent Plum Bail Bonds and that I had a right to search her house.
“Over my cold dead body,” she said.
“Hunh,” Lula said. “Do the world a favor.”
“You want a piece of me?” the woman said to Lula. “You think you got what it takes?”
“I got more than what it takes,” Lula said. “You’d be a puddle of rancid grease when I was done with you.”
“No rancid grease puddles,” I said. “Let’s keep this civil and professional.”
The woman tried to shut the door, but I got my foot in the way. Lula put her weight to the door and muscled it open. I stepped in first, the woman sucker punched me in the face, and Lula let go of Bob and took the woman down to the floor. The poodle doodle ran in to see what was going on and Bob lunged at the poodle doodle.
“Run, Farcus,” the woman yelled. “Run!!”
I caught a glimpse of Farcus heading for the back of the house and I took off after him. I chased him around the house and saw him jump into his Range Rover. The woman ran out of the house and barely got in the Rover before Farcus put it in reverse and rammed my Cherokee into the road and out of his way. Under more normal circumstances I might have been able to catch him, but I was hampered by the blood dripping out of my nose.
I pinched my nose shut, tipped my head back a little, and walked into the house. Lula was on her feet, arranging the girls and tugging her tiny spandex skirt over her plus-size ass. Bob was in the middle of the room humping the poodle doodle.
“Oh crap,” I said.
“Yeah,” Lula said. “Bob’s doing the nasty with Sally Belle. He’s not just fooling around either. He’s doing some impressive thrusting.”
“We should try to separate them.”
“That don’t seem right,” Lula said. “He’s banging his brains out. Seems like he should at least get to finish.”
“He’s neutered. How much of a finish can he get?”
Lula found her cell phone in her giant handbag and went to Google. “It says here that he can finish. He just can’t make puppies.” She turned her attention from Bob to me. “You’re a mess. You got blood all over you.”
“It’s my blood from when Trundle’s girlfriend hit me in the nose.”
“She got away from me and ran out of the house, and while I was getting myself up off the floor, I heard a car crash. What happened out there?”
“They rammed my Cherokee out of the way and took off.”
Bob had stopped thrusting, but he was still attached to the poodle doodle.
“Now what?” I said. “Is he done, or what?”
Lula went to Google again. “Sometimes this happens, and they stay stuck together. Good thing this don’t happen with people. When I was a working ho it would have cut into my profit margin if I had to delay my exit. I guess I would have had to go to an hourly rate.”
“How long do they stay stuck? Should we take them to a vet?”
“Google says you just have to wait for Bob to shrink.”
I left Lula to keep an eye on the dogs and I went to the bathroom to wash the blood off my hands and face. Most of the bleeding had stopped, but there were still some dribbles, so I stuffed some tissues up my nose to help things along. Not much I could do about the blood on my sweatshirt and T-shirt.
The dogs were apart when I returned to the front room.
“Are they okay?” I asked Lula.
“Yeah,” Lula said. “The poodle doodle’s walking a little funny, but we’ve all been there.”
So true.
We locked the doors, I gave the poodle doodle fresh water and left her a dog treat, and we vacated the house. The front of my Cherokee was bashed in, but the car was still drivable.
