There was a pause at the other end of the phone. “You didn't do Morty, did you?”
“Morty sort of did himself. You have anything easy come in? I could use some fast money.”
“I have an exhibitionist gone FTA on a $2,000 bond. He's been kicked out of three retirement homes. He's currently living in an apartment somewhere.” I could hear her shuffling through papers. “Here it is,” she said. “Ommigod, he's living in your building.”
“What's his name?”
“William Earling. He's in apartment 3E.”
I grabbed my pocketbook and locked up. I took the stairs to the third floor, counted off apartments, and knocked on Earling's door. A man answered, and right off I suspected I had the right person because he was old and he was naked. “Mr. Earling?”
“Yup. That's me. I'm in pretty good shape, huh chickie? You think I've got some fearful equipment?”
I gave myself a mental command not to look, but my eyes strayed south of their own volition. Not only wasn't he fearful, but his doodles were wrinkled. “Yeah. You're pretty fearful,” I said. I handed him my card. “I work for Vincent Plum, your bond agent. You failed to appear for a court hearing, Mr. Earling. I need to take you downtown so you can reschedule.”
“Damn court hearings are a waste of time,” Earling said. “I'm seventy-six years old. You think they're gonna send some seventy-six-year-old guy to prison because he flashed his stuff around?”
I sincerely hoped so. Seeing Earling naked was enough to make me turn celibate. “I need to take you downtown. How about you go put some clothes on.”
“I don't wear clothes. God brought me into the world naked, and that's the way I'm going out.”
“Okay by me, but in the meantime I wish you'd get dressed.”
“The only way I'm going with you is naked.”
I took out my cuffs and snaped then on his wrists.
“Police brutality. Police brutality,” he yelled.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” I said. “I'm not a cop.”
“Well what are you?”
“I'm a bounty hunter.”
“Bounty hunter brutality. Bounty hunter brutality.”
I went to the hall closet, found a full-length raincoat, and buttoned him into it.
“I'm not going with you,” he said, standing rigid, his hands cuffed under the coat. “You can't make me go.”
“Listen, Grandpa,” I said, “either you go peaceably or I'll gas you and drag you out by your heels.”
I couldn't believe I was saying this to some poor senior citizen with a snail dick. I was appalled at myself, but what the hell, it was worth $200.
“Don't forget to lock up,” he said. “This neighborhood's going to heck in a handbasket. The keys are in the kitchen.”
I got the keys, and one of them had a little Buick insignia on it. What a break. “One more thing,” I said. “Would you mind if I borrowed your car to take you downtown?”
“I guess that'd be okay as long as we don't use too much gas. I'm on a fixed income, you know.”
I buzzed Mr. Earling through in record time and took care not to run into Dorsey. I stopped at the office on the way home to pick up my check and stopped at the bank to cash it. I parked Mr. Earling's car as close to the door as possible to cut down on his streaking distance when he got out of jail. I didn't want to see any more of Mr. Earling than was absolutely unavoidable.
I jogged upstairs and called home, cringing at the thought of what I was about to do.
“Is Daddy out with the cab?” I asked. “I need a ride.”
“He's off today. He's right here. Where do you need to go?”