Lula and I drove to Maple Street and started reading off numbers. It’s a long street on the north end of town and by the time we counted down to the Sanchez house we were just two blocks from Kiltman.
An older woman answered the door.
“He’s not here,” she said. “He’s walking the dog. They like to go to the school so Frank can make poopie on the grass.”
“Frank’s the dog?” Lula asked.
“Yes. Big dog. Big black dog. Very nice.”
We thanked the woman, went back to the car, and drove toward the campus. We cruised along the loop road and spotted Jesus and Frank sitting in the middle of the field, watching some students play Frisbee.
“Guess nobody told any of these people about the fleas,” Lula said.
“There haven’t been any reports of fleas or plague,” I said. “I think Pooka is hiding somewhere, and I’m sure he’ll be found before he has a chance to do any damage.”
“You don’t know that for sure. Pooka could be out at night sprinkling his bloodthirsty fleas all over the place. Just because he lost his fireworks don’t mean he’s given up on spreading the black death. I personally think they should be warning people.”
“I’m sure if they thought there was a real threat they would be taking precautions.”
“Not that it affects me,” Lula said. “I got my flea collar on, and if I gotta walk across the grass to arrest that idiot out there I’m putting my ankle bracelets on, too.”
I parked on the side of the road, and Lula pulled a flea collar out of its box and strapped it around her ankle.
“It don’t make the same fashion statement as when you put a charm on it, but it still looks okay. This here is the minimalist version,” Lula said.
Heaven help me, I couldn’t figure out if Lula was genius smart or flat-out stupid for wearing the flea collars. At a very basic level they made sense.
“Okay,” I said. “Give me a couple of the ankle-size collars.”
I mean, what did I have to lose besides some dignity? Better safe than sorry, I told myself.
Lula and I got collared up, and we tramped across the lawn to Jesus.
“Are you Jesus Sanchez?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he said. “And this is my dog, Frank.” He shaded his eyes with his hand and looked up at Lula. “For a minute there I thought you were wearing a flea collar around your neck.”
“This here’s the latest in fashion accessories,” Lula said. “I’m starting a business in bedazzling them.”
“Are they expensive? My sister might like one. Do you need your lawn cut? I have a lawn mower.”
“Neither of us has a lawn,” Lula said. “And anyway we came to give you a ride.”
I introduced myself and fed him the line about rescheduling his court date.
“I guess that would be okay,” he said.
He stood, and when I tried to cuff him, he yelled “Run!” to Frank, and the two of them took off.
Lula and I ran after him, across the lawn. Lula lost steam and quit before she got to the loop road on the other side of the green space. I stuck with Jesus and Frank, but I was tiring and they weren’t. I chased them for a block and gave up. They were too fast, and the bond was too small. If I was determined to catch him I could stake out the sister’s house, but at this point I couldn’t care less about catching him.
I was bent at the waist, sucking air, and I saw a rusted-out, dented white van roll past. It turned at the corner and disappeared. I was pretty sure I saw Pooka behind the wheel. I walked to the corner and looked up and down the street. No van. I retraced my steps and I was halfway across the street on my way back to Lula when the van burst out of a driveway behind me. I jumped away, but the right front quarter panel clipped me, and I was punted about fifteen feet. I was caught totally off guard, feeling more shock than pain. I rolled onto my back, and I saw Pooka looking down at me.
“Look what fell onto the road,” he said, holding my stun gun.
He pressed the prongs against my arm, and twenty-eight million volts sizzled through my brain.
A stun gun doesn’t necessarily knock you out. It scrambles your neurons so you have no muscle control and there’s a lot of confusion. When the confusion cleared I was in the back of Pooka’s van, cuffed with what I assumed were my cuffs. I’d put the cuffs and the stun gun in my back pockets when I set out for Jesus Sanchez.
It was hard to tell what sort of damage had been done when I got hit. I had some stinging pain in my left knee and my jeans were soaked in blood. I wiggled my toes and moved my legs and nothing seemed broken. No bones sticking out anywhere. My elbow was killing me but it was behind my back, and I couldn’t see it. No headache. No double vision. I didn’t land on my head. One bright spot in my day.