Read Online 22 Tricky Twenty-Two by Janet Evanovich - Free Book Online Page B

time Connie will have an address for me that’s close to the bar.”
    Connie pulled a padded envelope off the corner of her desk and handed it to me. “This came in for you yesterday. No return address. Maybe you want to open it outside, just in case.”
    “That’s not funny,” Lula said to Connie. “There’s crazy people out there that Stephanie put in jail, and now some of them are getting out on parole. Fortunately most of them aren’t smart enough to get hold of anthrax or build a bomb. Still, you never know, right?”
    I opened the envelope and pulled out a picture of a naked guy. He was in a bathtub and his Mr. Happy was floating peacefully in the water.
    Lula looked over my shoulder at the picture. “That’s a real nice bath caddy he got,” she said. “I bet he got that at Pottery Barn.”
    Connie came around and looked at it. “That’s Daniel Craig. I’ve seen that picture before. It’s all over YouTube.”
    “Get out,” Lula said. “Daniel Craig is James Bond. He wouldn’t have a limp little wiener floating around like that.”
    “Is there a note?” Connie asked.
    I checked the envelope. “No note. Just the picture signed by someone named Scooter.”
    I gave the picture back to Connie. “Toss it. I don’t know anyone named Scooter.”
    “I’ll take it,” Lula said. “I keep a file of future household improvements.”
    I currently was using a canvas green and tan camouflage messenger bag as a purse. I thought it complemented my jeans, T-shirt, and sneakers, and it was able to hold all the tools of my trade. Files of felons, cuffs, hairspray, lip gloss, stun gun, hair brush, pepper spray, cellphone, pimple concealer, Kleenex, hand sanitizer, car keys, etc. I hiked the bag higher onto my shoulder and turned to leave.
    “Text me if you have any luck with the fraternity brothers,” I said to Connie.
    “I’m on it.”
    “This here’s gonna be good,” Lula said. “We get to ride around in your fancy new car.”
    •••
    I drove to Billy Bacon’s apartment building, and Lula and I climbed the stairs to the third floor. We knocked twice and no one answered. Lula tried the door. Locked.
    “I got drugs,” Lula yelled.
    Billy Bacon’s mother opened the door and looked out at us, and the door across the hall opened and a young guy looked out.
    “How much?” he asked.
    “I lied,” Lula said. “And anyways I wasn’t yelling at your door.”
    Billy Bacon’s mother gave a disgusted grunt and slammed the door shut.
    “Hey,” Lula said, pounding on the door. “Open up. It’s Lula, and I need to talk to you.”
    The door opened and Bacon’s mother squinted at us. “I don’t know no Lula.”
    “I was friends with Charlene. You and her used to tag team back when you were a working ’ho.”
    “Do you got any liquor?”
    “Nope,” Lula said. “We didn’t think to bring any.”
    “Well, I might talk to you if you had liquor.”
    I pulled a ten-dollar bill out of my bag and waved it at Bacon’s mother. She snatched at it, and I jerked it away.
    “Is Billy here?” I asked her.
    “Billy who?”
    “Your
son.
”
    “Haven’t seen him. He was gone when I got up.”
    “When did you get up?” Lula asked.
    “Just now.”
    “Would you mind if we look in your apartment?” I asked her.
    “Are you gonna give me that ten?”
    I gave her the ten, and she stepped aside. The apartment consisted of two rooms. Small bedroom, bathroom, small living room with a refrigerator, two-burner stove, and a sink. There was a tattered couch, a Formica-topped table with two chairs, a television, and a twin-sized mattress with rumpled bedding on the floor in the living room. No Billy Bacon.
    I left my card on the table, and Lula and I trudged down the stairs.
    “I hate to see how she’s fallen on hard times,” Lula said. “She used to make good money. She had one of the best corners on Stark Street. She didn’t even used to work in the rain. She was a nice-weather ’ho. And now look at her.