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CHAPTER EIGHT
Lula was already in the office when Bob and I walked in. She was in sneakers and gray sweats, and her hair was pulled up into a topknot ponytail that looked like a Dr. Seuss Truffula tree.
“I didn’t get any sleep again last night,” Lula said. “I could hardly pull myself together this morning. I just put on the first thing I saw. Look at me. I’m wearing sneakers.Sneakers. They aren’t even bedazzled.”
“Grendel again?” I asked.
“It’s horrible. I left the light on, but I fell asleep. I woke up at two o’clock, my light was off, and I could hear him breathing and growling. A big black blob. I just about wet myself.”
“Omigod,” I said, “what did you do?”
“I reached for my gun. It was under my pillow. I was all prepared for an incident like this. Only thing I hadn’t counted on wasthe adrenaline factor. When I grabbed my gun, I squeezed one off prematurely and blew my pillow apart. It was a good pillow too. It was made in America by the smiley guy on television. It was one of his generation-two pillows that keep you from getting all sweaty.”
“What about Grendel?”
“He left. Disappeared. Poof!”
“Have you reported this to the police?”
“I told them about Grendel days ago, when he first appeared.”
“And?” I asked.
“And a couple police officers came to my apartment and talked to me, and when I told them about Grendel, they asked me if I indulged in recreational drugs.”
“What did you tell them?”
“I said, ‘Hell yes. Doesn’t everyone?’?”
“How’d that go over?” Connie asked.
“I thought they were being conversational, but turns out that was a sneaky cop trick question. They got all Officer Picky on me and said they were gonna have to search my apartment. My personal opinion is that they just wanted to look through my underwear drawer.”
Lula rents a couple rooms in a colorful Victorian house in a marginally safe neighborhood. It had been a one-bedroom apartment with a sitting area and a kitchenette, but Lula’s extensive wardrobe didn’t fit in the one small closet. So Lula elected to sleep on the couch and turn the entire bedroom into a closet.
“Has anyone else in your house seen Grendel?” Connie asked Lula.
“No one will admit it, but I can’t see how they don’t hear him stomping around. I’m on the second floor. He has to go upthe stairs, and it’s not like ogres are dainty. And he’s a real heavy breather. And there’s the growling.”
“Maybe it’s just a large dog,” Connie said. “Dogs growl.”
“No way,” Lula said. “It’s ogre growling. Big difference. Huge difference. I know all about this because I googled it.”
“How does he get into your apartment?” I asked. “Don’t you lock your door?”
“I always lock my door. And my windows are closed, too. The thing is, he’s not just an ogre. He’s also a demon. They didn’t say a lot about the demon part in the game instructions, but I’m thinking he has some nasty superpowers. Like he might be able to turn himself into slime and ooze under the door.”
Connie cut her eyes to Lula. “You don’t really believe any of this, do you?”
“The slime part is speculation,” Lula said.
I hitched my messenger bag higher onto my shoulder. “I’m heading out. I’m going after the two low-bond FTAs. I promised to take Mrs. Manley and the kitties to the vet this afternoon, but I’ve got the morning.”
“I’ll ride along for the FTAs but I’m gonna pass on the vet,” Lula said.
Lula, Bob, and I got into my bashed-in Cherokee and I pulled the files out of my bag.
“We’ve got Hooter Brown, the drug dealer, and Gloria Stitch, the shoplifter,” I said to Lula. “Who do you want to snag first?”
