Connie called on my cell phone. “I have some information on Butch Goodey,” she said.

I hoped the information was that he was seen boarding a plane for Antarctica. It wouldn’t bother me if I never saw Butch Goodey ever again. It was like trying to capture King Kong.

“I have a current address off his employment record, and I have siblings. You should have the siblings on his original bond document,” Connie said.

A current address. Crap. I hung up and slumped in my seat.

“What?” Lula wanted to know.

“Connie has a current address for Butch.”

“Crap,” Lula said. “I’m not liking any of these people we gotta catch. They’re too big and sneaky. And no one wants to get caught. On the other hand, the big dummy knocked me over, and I got a smudge on my skirt. I’m gonna have to take it to the cleaners. He should pay for that.”

“He lives on Keene Street, in one of those little row houses.”

“I’m on it,” Lula said.

FIFTEEN

THE WHITE TAURUS was parked at the curb in front of Butch’s row house. Originally, these were company houses for a company that made porcelain pipe. They were single-story, twelve units hooked together, maroon asbestos shingle roof and siding. No yard. No porch, front or back. Street parking. A little bleak, but the plumbing worked in almost all of them.

“We need a plan,” Lula said. “I don’t want to get knocked on my ass again.”

“The stun gun doesn’t work on him, so I’ll ring the bell, and when he answers, I’ll give him a blast with pepper spray. We’ll both step back to let the spray settle, and then we’ll wrap the FlexiCuffs on him.”

“If I have to shoot him, I’ll shoot him in the foot,” Lula said.

“No shooting!”

“You always say that.”

“Shooting isn’t good. It hurts people. It could get you in jail.”

Lula had her lower lip stuck out. Eyes narrowed. “He made me smudge my skirt.”

“You don’t shoot someone over a smudged skirt.”

“I was only gonna shoot him in the foot.”

The pain was back in my chest. I burped and it went away.

“You got a digestive issue,” Lula said.

“I never had this problem before.”

“It’s probably that you’re gettin’ old,” Lula said. “Things like that happen to you when you get old. Or maybe you’re pregnant. Oops, hold on, you’re not pregnant, on account of you’re not gettin’ any.”

“Could we please concentrate on the problem at hand, which is capturing Sasquatch?”

“Sure,” Lula said. “I could do that.”

We walked to the door, and I rang the bell. I had pepper spray in hand, ready to use. Lula was positioned behind me. After a moment, the door opened and Butch stared out at us, looking like a giant in his tiny house.

“Shit!” he said.

I gave him a face full of spray and jumped back. He bellowed and thrashed around, flailing his arms, his eyes squinched shut. “Ow!” he yelled. “Owwww!”