"I feel like getting some of that Cluck-in-a-Bucket chicken," Grandma said. "I wouldn't mind the Clucky Dinner Tray with the extra-crispy chicken and mashed potatoes."

"That's a good idea," Lula said. "I could use some chicken, and I got a coupon for the Clucky Dinner Tray."

"What about my kitchen?" I asked Lula.

"What about it?"

"It's a mess!"

Lula glanced at the kitchen. "Yeah, it don't look too good. You're gonna have to use one of them degreasers on it."

"I'm not cleaning this kitchen."

"Well, somebody gotta do it," Lula said.

I narrowed my eyes at her. "That would be you."

"Hunh," Lula said. "In my opinion, that pot manufacturer should be responsible for the cleanup. I got a faulty pot."

"The manufacturer in China?" I asked her.

"Yeah. That's the one. I'm gonna tell Lenny Skulnik he needs to get in touch with them."

"And you think they're going to send someone from China to clean my kitchen?"

"I see your point," Lula said. "I guess I could do some cleaning, but I'd need a stepladder. Or else I'd need a big strong fireman to help me out."

"I thought you pulled a gun on him."

"Yeah, but he might be persuaded to overlook that if I let him wear my dress again."

Twenty minutes later, Lula rolled her Firebird into the Cluck-in-a-Bucket parking lot. Cluck-in-a-Bucket is a fast-food hot spot in Trenton. The food is surprisingly good, if you like nice greasy chicken, heavily salted gelatinous potatoes, and gravy so thick you could walk across a vat of it. Lula, Grandma, and I gave it five stars. And the very best part of Cluck-in-a Bucket is the giant red, yellow, and white chicken impaled on a thirty-foot candy-striped pole that rotates high above the red-roofed building 24/7. Paris has the Eiffel Tower, New York has the Empire State Building, and Trenton has the revolving chicken.

On weekends and during the dinner rush, there was always some poor sap dressed up in a Mister Clucky chicken suit. He clucked at kids, and he danced around and annoyed the heck out of everyone. The guy who owned Cluck-in-a-Bucket thought the dancing chicken was great, but the truth was everyone would have been happy to pay more for the chicken if Mister Clucky never clucked again.

Lula was one of three people out of ten thousand who liked Mr. Clucky.

"Lookit here," Lula said. "It's the dancin' chicken. I love that chicken. I like his red hat and his big chicken feet. I bet there's a real cute guy inside that chicken suit. You'd have to be cute to get a job as Mister Clucky."

I was betting there was a scrawny kid with a bad complexion inside the suit.

Lula got out of the car and went up to Mister Clucky. "You're a big Mister Clucky," Lula said. "You must be new. I got a bet with my friend that you're a real cutie-pie. How'd you like to give us a look?"

"How'd you like my beak up your a.s.s?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. f.u.c.k off, fatso."

"Fatso? Did I hear you call me fatso? Because I better be mistaken."

"Fatso. Fatso. Fatty fatty fatso."

Lula took a closer look at Mister Clucky. "Hold on here. I recognize your voice."

"No you don't," Mister Clucky said.

"Larry? Is that you?"

"Maybe."

Lula turned to Grandma and me. "This is Larry, the fireman I was telling you about."

"The one who wears dresses?" Grandma asked.

"Yep. That's the one," Lula said.

"Lots of men wear dresses," Mister Clucky said. "It's not against the law."

"That's real true," Lula said. "And I've been reviewing our unfortunate date, and I decided you didn't look all that bad in that turquoise c.o.c.ktail dress. Now that I'm thinking about it, that gown might have brought out the color of your eyes."

"Do you really think so?"

"Yeah. That gown was made for you," Lula said. "In fact, if you want to let bygones be bygones I might let you try it on again."

"I saw you had a beaded sweater that looked like it might match," Mister Clucky said.

"Yeah, you can wear the sweater, too."

He adjusted his clucky head and hiked up his privates. "I have to work until nine."

"That's fine," Lula said. "Only thing is, I'm staying someplace else. I'll get my food and come back with my new address."

We put our orders in and moved to the pickup station.

"He seemed like a real nice chicken," Grandma said.

"Yeah," Lula said. "I guess he's not so bad. And he's a real good dancer in his chicken suit. And on top of that, I bet he could get me a discount on chicken. He just took me by surprise the other night, causing me to overreact about the dress."

We all had the Clucky Dinner Tray, plus Lula supplemented hers with a side of biscuits and a bucket of barbecue chicken, which she said was research. She wrote my address on a napkin and handed it to Mister Clucky when we left.

"It must be fun to be Mister Clucky," Lula said to him.

"Yeah, the suit is pretty cool, and I get to dance around. Mostly, I do it for spending money, though. I do okay as a fireman, but nice handbags don't come cheap."

We all piled into the Firebird, and Lula drove a couple blocks to the supermarket.

"I'll be right back," Lula said. "I just gotta get some cleaning products."

"I'll go with you," Grandma said. "We could take another look at the barbecue aids."

I stayed in the car and called Ranger. "Just checking in," I said. "Anything interesting going on?"

"Nada. And you?"

"Lula and Grandma exploded a pot of barbecue sauce in my kitchen, Lula has a date later tonight with Mister Clucky, and it looks like I'll be spending the night in your apartment again."

"Something to look forward to," Ranger said. "Do you have any thoughts on my accounts?"

"Yes. I picked out several that I think have break-in potential." I gave him the addresses and told him Vinnie was having a cow over my open files. "I'm going to need some time off tomorrow to look for one of these guys," I said.

"Done," Ranger said. And he disconnected.

Lula swung her a.s.s out of the supermarket and Grandma trotted behind her. They hustled across the lot to the car, Lula rammed herself behind the wheel, and in moments we were back on the road.

"Next stop is my house," Lula said. "I gotta get clothes for Larry."

Grandma leaned forward from the backseat. "What if the killers are waiting for you?"

"That would be good luck," Lula said. "We could take them down and get the reward. I'd shoot the heck out of them, and then we'd drag their carca.s.ses to the police station."

"We'd kick their a.s.ses," Grandma said.

"d.a.m.n skippy," Lula said.

Lula eased the Firebird to the curb in front of her house, and we all piled out. Lula lived in an emerging neighborhood of hardworking people. Homes were small, yards were postage stamp size, and aspirations were modest. Lula rented half of the second floor of a two-story Victorian house that had been painted lavender with pink gingerbread trim. It was possibly the most inappropriate house in the entire universe for Lula. It was too small, too dainty, and too lavender. Every time I saw her walk through the front door, I had the feeling she was going through a portal into another dimension ... like Harry Potter at the train station.

We got to the top of the stairs and gaped at Lula's bullet-hole-riddled door. Yellow-and-black crime scene tape had been plastered over the door, but it hadn't been applied in such a way that it prevented the door from being used.

"Cheap-a.s.s plywood hollow-core door," Lula said. "Bird shot would go through this c.r.a.p-a.s.s door."

Grandma and I followed Lula into the one-room apartment and waited by the door while she went to her giant closet.

"This won't take long," Lula said. "I got everything organized in here by collection, so depending who I want to be, it's easy to find."

Lula opened her closet door and two men jumped out at her.

One had a gun and the other had a cleaver, and they were both wearing gorilla masks.

"It's the killers! It's the killers! It's the killers!" Lula shrieked.

"Grab her," the cleaver guy said. "Hold her still so I can chop off her head." And then he giggled and all the hair stood up on my arms.

His partner was trying to sight his gun on Lula. "For crying out loud, get out of the way and let me shoot her. Big deal, you're a butcher. Get over it."

The guy with the cleaver swung out at Lula, giggling the whole time. Lula ducked, and the cleaver got stuck in the wall.

Lula scrambled hands and knees under a table, around an overstuffed chair, out her door, and thundered down the stairs.

The killers ran after Lula, not even noticing Grandma and me standing with our eyes bugged out and our mouths open.

"Don't that beat all," Grandma said.

She hauled her .45 long-barrel out of her big black patent-leather purse, stepped into the hall, planted her feet, and squeezed off a couple shots at the two guys running down the stairs.

The gorilla guys disappeared out the front door, into the night. There was the sound of car doors opening and slamming shut. An engine caught, and I heard the car drive away. A moment later, Lula appeared at the front door. She had a bunch of leaves stuck in her hair and a big dirt smudge on her wraparound blouse.

"What happened?" she said. "I don't hardly remember anything except I fell in a big bush."

"It was the killers," Grandma said. "We kicked their a.s.ses."

"Oh yeah. Now it's all coming back to me." Lula climbed the stairs and sleepwalked through her door. "It's a nightmare," she said. "It's a friggin' nightmare."

Grandma rooted through Lula's cabinets in the little kitchenette area of the room and came up with a bottle of Jack Daniel's. She took a pull from the bottle and handed it over to Lula. "This'll fix you up," Grandma said. "Take a snort of this."

Lula chugged some Jack Daniel's and looked a little better. "This is bulls.h.i.t," she said. "This gotta end."

TEN

I TOOK GRANDMA home, and then I drove to my apartment building and walked Lula into the apartment.

"Smells like barbecue in here," Lula said.

It looked looked like barbecue. like barbecue.

"Are you going to be okay?" I asked Lula.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I'm gonna hang my Dolly Parton dress and sweater up and get to work. I want to be working when Larry gets here."

"You should call Morelli."

"I guess, but I don't see where it does any good."

"He's working on finding these guys, and it gives him a more complete picture." And most important, it probably annoys the h.e.l.l out of him and interrupts whatever he's doing.

"What's with you two?" Lula said. "Are you really calling it quits?"

"Hard to say. Every time we see each other we get into an argument. We don't agree on anything."