“I guess we should go do it.”
“I'm ready to rock 'n' roll,” Lula said. “I'm ready to kick some Punky butt. I'm ready to do the job.”
I turned the key in the ignition. “I'm going to drop you at the corner so you can cut through the back and take the back door. Make sure you have your walkie-?talkie on so I can let you know when I'm coming in.”
“Roger, that.”
“And no shooting, no breaking doors down, no Dirty Harry imitations.”
“You can count on me.”
Three minutes later, Lula reported she was in place. I parked the Escape two houses down, walked to Punky's front door, and rang the bell. No one responded so I rang a second time. I gave the door a solid rap with my fist and shouted, “Bond enforcement! Open the door!”
I heard shouting carrying over from the backyard, a door crashing open and slamming shut, and then more muffled shouting. I called Lula on the talkie, but got no response. A moment later the front door opened to the house next to me and Lula stomped out.
“Hey, so excuse me,” she yelled at the woman behind her. “So I got the wrong door. It could happen, you know. We're under a lot of pressure when we're making these dangerous apprehensions.”
The woman glared at Lula and slammed and locked her door shut.
“Must have miscounted houses,” Lula said to me. “I sort of let myself in through the wrong door.”
“You weren't supposed to open any door.”
“Yeah, but I heard someone moving around inside. Guess that's 'cause it was the neighbor lady's house, huh? So what's going on? How come you're not in yet?”
“He hasn't opened the door.”
Lula took a step back and looked up. “That's because he's still mooning you.”
I followed Lula's line of sight. She was right. Punky had his ass to the window again.
“Hey,” Lula yelled up. “Get your fat ass off the window and get down here! We're trying to do some bond enforcement!”
An old man and an old woman came out of the house across the street and settled themselves on their front stoop to watch.
“Are you going to shoot him?” the old man wanted to know.
“I don't hardly ever get allowed to shoot anybody,” Lula told him.
“That's darn disappointing,” the man said. “How about kicking the door down?”
Lula gave the man one of her hand-?on-?hip get real looks. "Kick the door down? Do I look like I could kick a door down in these shoes? These are Via Spigas. You don't go around
kicking down doors in Via Spigas. These are classy shoes. I paid a shit-?load of money for these shoes and I'm not sticking them through some cheap-?ass door."
Everyone looked at me. I was wearing jeans, a T-?shirt topped by a black jeans jacket, and CAT boots. CAT boots could definitely kick down a door, but they'd have to be on someone else's foot because door kicking was a skill I lacked.
“You girls need to watch more television,” the old man said. “You need to be more like those Charlie's Angels. Nothing stopped them girls. They could kick doors down in all kinds of shoes.”
“Anyways, you don't need to kick the door in,” the old woman said. “Pun
ky never locks it.”
I tried the door and, sure enough, it was unlocked.
“Sort of takes the fun out of it,” Lula said, looking past the door into Punky's house.
This is the part where if we were Charlie s Angels we'd get into crouched positions, holding our guns in two hands in front of us, and we'd hunt down Punky. This didn't work for us because I left my gun home, in the cookie jar on my kitchen counter, and Lula'd fall over if she tried to do the crouch thing in her Via Spigas.