'Carmen hasn't moved from her spot,' I said.
Lula glanced over as she crept down the street, looking for a parking space. 'She's hunkered in. Ranger really pissed her off.'
I was still having a hard time believing Carmen's story. I couldn't see Ranger married. And I couldn't see Ranger cleaning out the bank account. Ranger played a little loose with the law, but he had a very firm moral code. And from what I could see, he wasn't hurting for money.
I checked my phone to make sure it was on, and I hadn't missed a call.
'Still haven't heard from him?' Lula asked.
'No. He must be underground.'
He'd only been gone for twenty-four hours. It was too early to be worried about his safety. But I was worried all the same. It was all too weird.
Lula parked two cars down from me, and we walked to the office. I watched the black SUV for a protruding gun barrel but saw none. When we got to the office we realized it was packed with people.
'What the heck?' Lula said, pushing through the mob to Connie.
Connie was at her desk, trying to talk to the people crowded directly in front of her.
'I ran an ad in the paper this morning for the bond enforcement agent job,' she said to me. 'And this is the response. And the phone hasn't stopped ringing. I had to turn it over to the answering service so I could try to clear this out.'
'Looks like they emptied out the funny farm and everyone came here,' Lula said. 'Who are these people? They look like movie extras. They all look like that bounty hunter guy on television, only most of them have better hair. I tell you, they should take that TV bounty hunter guy to the beauty parlor.'
Connie handed me a steno pad and pen. 'You take the front of the room, and I'll take the back. Get names and phone numbers and some work information and tell them we'll be in touch. Put a star by anyone who has potential.'
Forty-five minutes later, the last of the BEA wannabes walked out the door, and Connie hung out a CLOSED sign. Two people were left sitting on the couch. Joyce Barnhardt and Melvin Pickle.
Joyce was dressed in black leather, her eyes heavily lined in black, her red hair teased and lacquered, her lips artificially inflated and painted red to match her hair. She had her arms crossed, and her legs crossed, and her foot jiggled impatiently in stiletto-heeled boots.
Joyce was a flesh-eating fungus. She'd been through more husbands than I could count, and each time she chewed them up and spit them out, she got richer. Three months of marriage to Joyce, and a man was willing to bankrupt himself to get free. When I was in first grade, Joyce threw my crayons in the toilet. When I was in second grade, she spit in my lunch. In third grade she told everybody I didn't wear underpants. In fourth grade she said I had three nipples. In high school she somehow took a picture of me in the girls' locker room and had it made into a flyer and distributed two hundred.
'I am very insulted by this whole piece of shit,' Joyce said. 'If you needed another bounty hunter, why didn't you call me? You know Vinnie brings me in when he needs help.'
'First off,' Connie said, 'Vinnie doesn't bring you in when he needs help. He brings you in when he needs to fornicate with a barnyard animal. And second, I didn't call you because we all hate you.'
'And?' Joyce said.
'And that's it,' Connie said.
'So why didn't you call me?'
Melvin Pickle was sitting beside Joyce. He looked like he was trying to be invisible.
'Who's this little turd?' Joyce said, turning to Pickle.
'He's going to be doing some filing for us,' Connie said.
'Why did he get a job, and I didn't get a job?' Joyce wanted to know. 'What's so special about him?'
'I'm a pervert,' Pickle said.
'And?' Joyce said. 'Hello-o-o. What am I, chopped liver?'
'Why don't you let her work the LC file?' I said to Connie. 'The one you keep in your bottom drawer.'
'What's LC stand for?' Joyce asked.