Read 07 Seven Up for Free Online Page A

stuck to the bottom of her telephone. She ripped it off and smashed it with her gun butt. Then she dropped the gun back into her purse and threw the bug in the trash.
    “Hey,” Vinnie said, “that was company property!”
    “What's with Dougie?” Lula asked. “Isn't he coming tip to trial?”
    “Mooner said he and Dougie were supposed to watch wrestling together on Dougie's big screen, and Dougie never showed up. He thinks something bad's happened to Dougie.”
    “Wouldn't catch me missing a chance to see those wrestling guys wearing little spandex panties on a big screen,” Lula said.
    Connie and I agreed. A girl would have to be crazy to miss all that beefcake on a big screen.
    “I haven't heard anything,” Connie said, “but I'll ask around.” The front door to the office crashed open and Joyce Barnhardt stormed in. Her red hair was teased out to its full potential. She was wearing SWAT-type pants and shirt, the pants tight across her butt and the shirt unbuttoned halfway down her sternum, showing a black bra and a lot of cleavage. BOND ENFORCEMENT was written in white letters across the back of the shirt. Her eyes were black-rimmed, and her lashes were heavily mascaraed.
    Bob hid under Connie's desk, and Vinnie ducked into his office and locked the door. A while back, after a short consultation with his johnson, Vinnie had agreed to hire Joyce on as an apprehension agent. Mr. Nasty was still happy with the decision, but the rest of Vinnie didn't know what to do with Joyce.
    “Vinnie, you limp dick, I saw you sneak back into your office. Get the hell out here,” Joyce yelled.
    “Nice to see you in such a good mood,” Lula said to Joyce.
    “Some dog did his business on my lawn again. This is the second time this week.”
    “Guess you have to expect that when you get your dates from the animal shelter,” Lula said.
    “Don't push me, fatso.”
    Lula narrowed her eyes. “Who you calling fatso? You call me fatso again and I'll rearrange your face.”
    “Fatso, fat ass, lard butt, blimpo . . .”
    Lula launched herself at Joyce, and the two of them went down to the floor, scratching and clawing. Bob stayed firmly under the desk. Vinnie hid in his office. And Connie moseyed over, waited for her opportunity, and buzzed Joyce on the ass with the stun gun. Joyce let out a squeak and went inert.
    “This is the first time I've used one of these things,” Connie said. “They're kind of fun.”
    Bob crept out from under the desk to take a look at Joyce.
    “So, how long you been taking care of Bob?” Lula asked, heaving herself to her feet.
    “He spent the night.”
    “You suppose it was Bob-size poop on Joyce's lawn?”
    “Anything's possible.”
    “How possible? Ten percent possible? Fifty percent possible?”
    We looked down at Joyce. She was starting to twitch, so Connie gave her another buzz with the stun gun.
    “It's just that I hate to use the pooper-scooper . . .” I said.
    “Hah!” Lula said on a bark of laughter. “I knew it!”
    Connie gave Bob a doughnut from the box on her desk. “What a good boy!”

3
    “SINCE BOB WAS such a good boy, and I'm in such a good mood, I'm gonna help you find Eddie DeChooch,” Lula said.
    Her hair was sticking straight up from where Joyce had pulled it, and she'd popped a button off her shirt. Taking her along would probably ensure my safety because she looked genuinely deranged and dangerous.
    Joyce was still on the floor, but she had one eye open and her fingers were moving. Best that Lula and Bob and I left before Joyce got her other eye open.
    “So what do you think?” Lula wanted to know when we were all in the car and on our way to Front Street. “Do you think I'm fat?”
    Lula didn't look like she had a lot of fat on her. She looked solid. Bratwurst solid. But it was a lot of bratwurst.
    “Not exactly fat,” I said. “More like big.”
    “I haven't got none of that cellulite, either.”
    This was true. A bratwurst does not have cellulite.
    I