Becky Willard strolled in at nine-twenty-five. 'I figured you'd be running late,' she said. 'So I stopped for a latte, and the moron behind the counter took so long. And then he didn't put the right kind of milk in it. I asked for a skim milk latte, and I know he gave me regular milk. I mean, do I look stupid? So he had to make it over. And he took so long again.' She looked around. 'This office is so dreary. Would I have to spend much time here? And I get a company car, right? I mean, you don't expect me to use my own car to apprehend fugitives, do you?'
When Willard left, Connie ripped Willard's sheet off the clipboard. 'Two down.'
The nine-thirty interview was precisely on time. He was dressed in head-to-toe black leather and had a six-shooter strapped to his leg.
That gun looks vintage,' Lula said. 'Is it real?'
'You bet your ass,' he said. And he pulled the gun, twirled it around on his finger, and shot a hole in the front panel of Connie's desk. 'Oops,' he said. 'Sorry about that. Slipsies.'
Another sheet got ripped off the board. Four to go.
Anton Rudder was next in the hot seat. 'I can do this job,' he said. 'I'll go out there and get those motherfuckers. They won't even know what hit them. I'll have their law-breakin' ass in the trunk of my car
'Actually, we almost never transport someone in the trunk,' I said.
'Yeah, but that's because you're pussy,' Anton said. 'This whole office is pussy. I figure that's why I got the callback. You need a real man here.'
'If we needed a real man we wouldn't have called your runt ass,' Lula said.
'No offense,' Anton said. 'I like pussy. I especially like fat black pussy. But it's not like pussy can do the same job a man can do. Everybody knows that. That's a scientific fact.'
Lula was on her feet, rooting through her shoulder bag. 'Excuse me? Did you just imply I was fat? Is that what I heard?'
'Probably you should leave before Lula finds her gun,' I said to Anton.
Lula had her head in her bag. 'It's in here somewhere.'
Anton hustled out the door, and Connie ripped his sheet off her clipboard.
Three interviews left, and I was having a hard time concentrating. I was in a state over Ranger.
Martin Dorn arrived for his interview looking relatively normal with the exception of a mustache drawn onto his upper lip with a black Magic Marker.
'It's always been my lifelong dream to be a bounty hunter,' Dorn said. 'I watch all the television shows. And I went to bounty hunter school on the Internet. You could ask me anything about being a bounty hunter, and I bet I know the answer.'
'That's promising,' Connie said. 'Do you know you have a Magic Marker mustache on your upper lip?'
'I tried to grow a real one, but I didn't have any luck at it,' he said. 'I'm good with a Magic Marker. I used one to draw a lightening bolt on my penis. Would you like to see it?'
Melvin Pickle was filing reports on the other side of the bank of cabinets. He popped his head up to take a look at Dorn, and Connie ripped Dorn's sheet off her clipboard.
The sixth applicant was a no-show.
The seventh was Brendan Yalenowski.
'I need to know my rights,' Brendan said. 'Am I allowed to shoot people? Suppose I shot someone while I was in the act of making an apprehension. Only suppose that person wasn't actually the guy I was looking for. Suppose it was someone who looked a little like the guy. And suppose he wasn't armed. And this is just theoretical, but suppose it turned out that I knew him and owed him money
Connie slouched in her seat when Brendan left. 'Is it too early in the day to start drinking?'
'This was a big bust,' Lula said. 'Who'd think this would be so hard? It's not like we were gonna be picky. I mean, look what you got doing this job, a former 'ho and someone who used to sell cheap ladies' panties.'
'I was a buyer,' I said. 'The job wasn't that bad.'
'Yeah, but you got fired.'
'Laid off. It wasn't my fault.'
Vinnie's office door was closed. 'Where's Vinnie?' I asked Connie. 'I haven't seen him all week.'