I stepped in and gasped at the stench. I looked at the fat guy and I was pretty sure I knew what was leaking gas, but I held my breath and did a fast run through the apartment to make sure Dickie's corpse wasn't rotting in the bathtub.

“This place reeks,” Lula said to the fat guy. “What are you cooking in that microwave?”

“Bean burritos. It's all it cooks. It explodes everything else.” “Guess we found the gas source,” Lula said. “And you should put a shirt on. It should be illegal for you to go without a shirt.”

“What about my microwave? Are you gonna fix it? It explodes everything.”

“We're from the gas company,” Lula said. “We don't do microwaves.”

“You got a tool belt on,” the guy said. “You're supposed to fix things, and I want my microwave fixed.”

“Okay, okay,” Lula said. “Let me take a look here.”

“Careful of the door,” he said. “It sticks.”

“That's probably your problem. It takes you too long to get the door open, and then you cook everything too long, and it explodes.” Lula gave the door a good hard yank, a couple screws flew off into space, the hinges snapped, and the door came off in her hand. “Oops,” Lula said.

I didn't waste any time getting out of there. I was halfway up the stairs to the third floor when I heard Lula slam the door on B and come pounding after me.

“Least he won't be stinking things up eating more of them microwave burritos,” Lula said.

My cell phone rang. It was Tank.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“Yep.”

Tank disconnected.

“Who was that?” Lula wanted to know.

“Ranger's out of town, and Tank's in charge of my safety.”

“I thought I was in charge of your safety.” I rapped on A. “I'll tell him next time he calls.”

A tall black guy with red dreads answered the door.

“Holy cow,” Lula said. “It's Uncle Mickey.”

“Your uncle?”

“No. Uncle Mickey's Gently Used Cars! He's famous. He does those commercials on television. 'Come to Uncle Mickey's Gently Used Cars and we'll treat you right.' Everybody knows Uncle Mickey.”

“What can I do for you girls?” Uncle Mickey asked. “Are you looking for a deal on a car?”

“No, we're the Fix-It Sisters,” Lula said. “We're going around fixing things.”

I did a mental eye roll. We were more like the Break-It Sisters.

“What are you doing in a dump like this?” Lula asked Uncle Mickey.

“Not as much profit margin as you'd expect in used cars,” Mickey said. “Uncle Mickey's fallen on some hard times. Got a lot of overhead. Had a bad run with the ponies.” He peeked out into the hall. “You aren't going to tell anyone Uncle Mickey lives here, are you?”

“You living here by yourself?”

“Yeah, just Uncle Mickey all by himself in the penthouse. I don't suppose you girls would like to come in and entertain Uncle Mickey?”

“We got work to do,” Lula said. “You're gonna have to entertain yourself.”

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