Everyone converged on the jogger, who had one of the pie guys by the shirt. People were yelling “Break it up” and “Stop” and trying to untangle the two men.
“I was only doing my job!” the pie guy was saying. “Some lady told me to get the guy sitting on the bench by the fountain.”
I glared at Eddie Kuntz. “You dunce! You were on the wrong bench!”
“The fountain, the flagpole . . . how am I supposed to keep track of these things?”
The aluminum pie plate and globs of chocolate cream pie were lying ignored on the ground. I fingered through the remains and found the scrap of paper, tucked into a plastic bag. I stuffed the bag, chocolate globs and all, into my purse.
“What's that?” Joyce said. “What did you just put in your purse?”
“Pie crust. I'm taking it home for my hamster.”
She grabbed at my shoulder strap. “I want to see it.”
“Let go of that strap!”
“Not until I see what you put in your purse!”
“What's going on here?” Lula asked.
“Stay out of this, fatso,” Joyce said.
“Fatso,” Lula said, eyes narrowed. “Who you calling fatso?”
“I'm calling you fatso, you big tub of lard.”
Lula reached out to Joyce, Joyce made a squeak, her eyes went blank, and she crashed to the ground.
Everyone turned to Joyce.
“Must have fainted,” Lula said to the crowd. “Guess she's one of those women can't stand to see men fighting.”
“I saw that!” I said to Lula, keeping my voice low. “You zapped her with your stun gun!”
“Who me?”
“You can't do that! You can't zap someone just because they call you fatso!”
“Oh, excuse me,” Lula said. “Guess I didn't understand that.”
Joyce was coming around, making feeble movements in her arms and legs. “What happened?” she murmured. “Was I struck by lightning?”
Kuntz sidled up to me. “Like your disguise. Want to go out for a drink later?”
“No!”
“Try me,” Sally said to Kuntz. “It's my wig. And I wouldn't look bad in that skirt, either.”
“Jesus,” Kuntz said to me. “Is he with you?”
“Damn right, I'm with her,” Sally said. “I'm the fucking cryptographer. I'm part of the team.”
“Some team,” Kuntz said. “A fruit and a fatso.”
Lula leaned forward. “First off, let me tell you something. I'm not a fatso. I happen to be a big woman.” She reached into her purse and came out with the stun gun. “Second, how'd you like to have your brain scrambled, you dumb, overdeveloped gorrilla?”
“No!” I said. “No more brain scrambling.”