Connie came out of her chair when I blew through the door. “Are you okay? Lula said you actually got knocked out last night.”
“Yes, I'm okay. Yes, I got knocked out. No, I didn't kill Ronald Anders.”
Vinnie popped out of his office. “Christ, look who's here,” he said. “The bounty hunter from hell. I suppose you want your recovery money for whacking Anders.”
“I didn't whack Anders!” I shouted.
“Yeah, right,” Vinnie said. “Whatever. Just next time try not to shoot your FTA in the back. It doesn't l
ook good.”
I gave Vinnie a hand gesture, but he was already back in his office with the door closed.
“Details,” Connie said, leaning forward, eyes wide. “I want to know everything.”
Truth is, there wasn't much to tell, but I went through the routine one more time.
When I was done Lula gave a disgusted sigh. “That's a pretty lame story” she said. “Cops gonna be after you like flies on a bad bean pie.”
“Let me get this straight,” Connie said. “You never saw the killer. You didn't smell him or hear him. In fact, you haven't got a teeny-tiny clue who he could be.”
“I know the killer came from outside,” I said. “And I think Ronald Anders knew the killer. I think Anders let the killer into the store and then turned his back on him.”
“A partner?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe it was Old Penis Nose,” Lula said. “Maybe Ronald Anders ran a tab and couldn't pay for his Snickers bars, so our man popped him.”
“That's disgusting,” Connie said. “That's not even funny.”
“Hunh,” Lula said. “You got a better idea?”
“Yeah,” Connie said, “my idea is that you better get to work instead of saying dumb things about Uncle Mo.”
“I'd like to get to work,” I said, “but I don't know what to do. I'm at a total dead end. I'm a failure as a bounty hunter.”
“You're not a failure,” Connie said. “You got an apprehension this week. You got Ronald Anders.”
“He was dead!”
“Hey, that's the way it goes sometimes.” Connie pulled a stack of manila folders from her bottom drawer. “It's just that you're stalled on Mo. You should keep working other cases.” She slid a folder from the top of the stack and flipped it open. “Here's a good one. Leroy Watkins. Came in yesterday, and I haven't given it out yet. You could have it if you want.”
“He isn't cute, is he?” I asked Connie. “My image is at an all-time low. I'm not taking on any more cases where the FTA is Mr. Popularity.”
“I know Leroy,” Lula said. “Everybody call him Snake on account of his dick is . . .”
I squinched my eyes closed. “Don't tell me.” I looked over at Connie. “What'd Leroy do to get himself arrested?”
“Tried to sell some dope to a narc.”
“He ever resist arrest?” I asked.
“Not that I know of,” Connie said. “There's nothing on his charge sheet about shooting cops.”
I took the file from Connie. If Leroy Watkins was certifiably ugly I might take a crack at it. I flipped to the photo. Yow! He was ugly, all right.
“Okay,” I said. “I'll see if I can find him.” I glanced over at Connie. “There isn't anything else I should know, is there? Like, was he armed when arrested?”