“I’m going with the girlfriend,” Connie said.
I had no opinion. I was thinking about Morelli. He was a really good cop. I couldn’t imagine him being anything else. Of course, until a couple days ago I also couldn’t have imagined him dumping me. Not that this was our first breakup. Morelli and I had a long history of breakups. None of the previous ones had been done naked. The naked thing was really irksome.
Lula parked, and we all sashayed into the bar and scoped it out. Two booths were filled. Four men were at the bar. No Gobbles.
We settled into a booth and ordered burgers and fries, onion rings, and a pitcher of beer.
“Do you ever think about getting a different job?” I asked Connie.
“Every day.”
“Not me,” Lula said. “I like my job.”
“That’s because you don’t have one,” Connie said. “You wander into the office when you feel like it. You drive Stephanie around. You make fried chicken and donut runs. And we pay you.”
“That’s true,” Lula said. “It’s real sweet. Best thing ever happened to me was when the office burned down, and we went from paper files to digital. I came in as a file clerk, but now there’s hardly anything to file. Fortunately I’m of other value. I have intimate knowledge of the worst parts of town and the most disgusting people, and I annoy Vinnie.”
We raised our beer glasses and made a toast to annoying Vinnie.
“You really get dressed up for a girls’ night out,” Connie said to Lula.
“You bet your ass. I take pride in my appearance.” She looked down and made a boob adjustment, hoisting the girls up a couple inches. “You never know when Mr. Good Enough is gonna come along. I like to be ready.”
Connie looked across the table at me. “Why did you ask about changing jobs? Are you thinking about changing jobs?”
“I know someone who’s making a big change, and it has me thinking.”
“What would you do if you stopped working for Vinnie?” Connie asked.
The food arrived, and I ate an onion ring and thought about life after Vincent Plum Bail Bonds.
“I have no clue,” I said to Connie.
“What did you want to be when you were a little girl?”
“Wonder Woman.”
“I get that,” Lula said. “She had that golden lasso. And her boots were excellent.”
“I wanted to be Madonna,” Connie said.
I finished my burger and went to talk to the bartender.
“I remember you,” he said. “You and some guy who looked like Batman chased a guy who ran up a thirty-dollar bar tab through the kitchen and that was the last I saw of him.”
“He’s not a regular?”
“Not nearly.”
“Did he say anything while he was here? Did he talk to you?”
“No. What are you, a cop?”
“Bond enforcement.”
I gave him a twenty and returned to the booth.
“How’d that go?” Lula asked.