Going with the philosophy that doing anything (no matter how tedious and insignificant) is better than doing nothing, I dedicated the morning to drive-bys on Kenny's friends and relatives. While I drove I kept an eye out for my Jeep and for white trucks with black lettering. I wasn't finding anything, but the list of items to look for was getting longer, so maybe I was making progress. If the list got long enough, sooner or later I was bound to find something.
After the third pass I gave up and headed for the office. I needed to pick up my check for bringing Petras in, and I wanted to access my answering machine. I found a space available two doors down from Vinnie, and I took a stab at parallel-parking Big Blue. In slightly less than ten minutes, I got the car pretty well angled in, with only one rear tire on the sidewalk.
“Nice parking job,” Connie said. “I was afraid you were going to run out of gas before you berthed the QE Two.”
I dumped my pocketbook onto the Naugahyde couch. “I'm getting better. I only hit the car behind me twice, and I missed the parking meter totally.”
A familiar face popped up from behind Connie. “Sheee-it, that better not a been my car you hit.”
“Lula!”
Lula posed her 230 pounds with hand on outthrust hip. She was wearing white sweats and white sneakers. Her hair had been dyed orange and looked like it had been cut by a bush hog and straightened with wallpaper paste.
“Hey, girl,” Lula said. “What you doing dragging your sad ass in here?”
“Came to pick up a paycheck. What are you doing here? Trying to make bail?”
“Hell no. I just been hired to whip this office into shape. I'm gonna file my ass off.”
“What about your previous profession?”
“I'm retired. I gave the corner over to Jackie. I couldn't go back to bein' a ho after I was cut so bad last summer.”
Connie was smiling ear to ear. “I figure she can handle Vinnie.”
“Yeah,” Lula said. “He try anything with me, and I'll stomp on the little motherfucker. He mess with a big woman like me, and he be nothin' more than a smelly spot on the carpet.”
I liked Lula a lot. We'd met a few months ago, when I was just starting out on my bounty hunter career, and I'd found myself looking for answers on her corner on Stark Street.
“So, do you still get around? You still hear things on the street?” I asked Lula.
“What kinda things?”
“Four brothers tried to buy some guns last night and got busted.”
“Hah. Everybody knows about that. That's the two Long boys, and Booger Brown and his dumber'n-cat-shit cousin, Freddie Johnson.”
“You know who they were buying the guns from?”
“Some white dude. Don't know more'n that.”
“I'm trying to get a line on the white dude.”
“Sure does feel funny being on this side of the law,” Lula said. “Think this is gonna take some getting used to.”
I dialed my number and accessed my messages. There was another invitation from Spiro and a list of names from Eddie Gazarra. The first four were the same names Lula had given me. The last three were the gangster references given by the gun seller. I wrote them down and turned to Lula.
“Tell me about Lionel Boone, Stinky Sanders, and Jamal Alou.”
“Boone and Sanders deal. They go in and out of lock-up like it was a vacation condo. Life expectancy don't look good, if you know what I mean. Don't know Alou.”
“How about you?” I asked Connie. “You know any of these losers?”
“Not offhand, but you can check the files.”
“Whoa,” Lula said. “That's my job. You just stand back and watch me do this.”
While she was checking the files I called Ranger.