“Uh-oh,” Lula said. “I think he’s figured out the chicken comes from the bucket.”

“Then throw the bucket across the room. Just don’t leave me trapped here.”

Lula whistled. “Here, boy. Nice Mr. Jingles. Go get the bucket.” Lula wound up to throw the bucket, and Mr. Jingles lunged at her. “Yow!” Lula said, staggering back, falling over the ottoman.

The chicken bucket flew out of her hand, hit the open door, and bounced off onto the porch. Mr. Jingles rushed after the bucket, ate the bucket, ate the remaining three pieces, and lumbered down the stairs.

I was out of the bedroom and Lula was up off the floor, and we were mouths-open, watching Mr. Jingles step onto the cement pad at the bottom of the stairs and amble across the yard to the Camry. Connie frantically powered the window up and looked at us with her what-the-fuck expression. Mr. Jingles nosed the Camry, gave Connie the eye, and waddled off down the alley.

“This ain’t good,” Lula said. “Chopper gonna be mad you let his alligator loose.”

“I’m not worried about Chopper. I’m worried about the dogs and cats and kids in the neighborhood.”

“Maybe we should call the alligator police,” Lula said.

Someone screamed half a block away.

“Okay, I guess we don’t have to call the police,” Lula said. “And it looks like Connie’s on the phone. I don’t imagine she’s ordering pizza. We should finish up here.”

“I can’t find the money.”

“Maybe Chopper took it with him.”

“That’s not the pattern.”

We looked around the room.

“Not a lot of places to hide a big bag of money,” Lula said.

“The couch,” I said to her. “Mr. Jingles was always by the couch.”

We pulled the cushions off. No money.

“Help me lift it,” I said to Lula.

We picked the couch up and looked under. Large duffle bag, zippered shut. Chopper had carved out part of the couch. I snagged the bag and looked inside. Lots of money.

A car horn beeped from the alley. Connie was telling us to get out of the apartment.

“We’re done here,” I said to Lula. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I hear a siren. I bet it’s the alligator police.”

I ran to the door, flew down the stairs, and jumped into the back of the Camry with Lula a hair behind me. Connie drove down the alley, and just before the cross street, we passed Mr. Jingles steadily moving along, looking like he knew where he was going.

Connie gave an involuntary shiver. I gnawed on my lower lip. And Lula took a disposable wet paper towel from her purse and wiped chicken grease off her hands.

“So that went well,” Lula said.

“We let an alligator loose in the neighborhood!” I told her.

“Yeah, but aside from that, it went well.”

“Did you call animal control?” I asked Connie.

“Yes. They should be here any minute.” Connie turned onto Cotter. “How much money did we get?”