“Back to the woman,” I said. “How old was she?”

“She was about our age.”

“Pretty?”

“Yeah. She was, like, porn-star pretty.”

“What the heck is porn-star pretty?” Lula wanted to know.

“Like, out there with the gazongas, you know?”

“You say gazongas one more time, and I’m gonna hit you,” Lula said.

“Moving on,” I said. “What else?”

“She was wearing a lot of eye makeup, and she had big fat shiny lips, and she was in one of those black leather tops with the shoestrings. And it was, like, hardly holding the . . . you-know-whats in.”

“She was wearing a bustier,” Lula said.

“And she was in a black leather skirt that was, wow, really short. And stilleto heels.”

“Yep, that’s a porn star all right,” Lula said.

I was pretty sure I knew the porn star, and she was only a porn star in her home movies. “What about hair?” I asked.

“Red. Like Lula’s, but there was, like, a lot of it, and it was all in waves and curls. Like a red-haired Farrah Fawcett.”

“Joyce Barnhardt,” I said.

“Yeah,” Mooner said.

“You knew it was Joyce?”

“Sure.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You didn’t ask me if I knew her name,” Mooner said.

“Can I hit him now?” Lula wanted to know.

I cut my eyes to her. “You’d hit the brownie maker?”

“Yeah, good point,” Lula said.

“At least we know where Vinnie’s hiding out,” Connie said.

“Yeah, he took off sniffing after Barnhardt,” Lula said. “I’m just surprised he’s still there. Barnhardt uses ’em up and kicks ’em out.”

Joyce Barnhardt is my arch nemesis. I went all through school with Joyce, and she did her best to make my life a misery. In all fairness to Joyce, I wasn’t singled out. Joyce made everyone’s life a misery. She was a fat kid who spit on other people’s food, looked under the stall door in the bathroom, lied, cheated, and bullied. Somewhere in high school, she morphed into a sexual vampire, and eventually she lost weight, bought breasts, inflated her lips, dyed her hair, and honed her skills as a home wrecker and user to an all-time high. She’s had multiple marriages, each more profitable than the previous, and she’s currently single and hunting. She drives a flashy Corvette and lives in a large house not far from Vinnie.

“Let’s saddle up,” I said to Lula.

“You going to get Vinnie?” she asked.

“Yes. I don’t know why, but I feel compelled to retrieve him.”

“I hear you,” Lula said.

TWENTY-ONE

JOYCE LIVED IN a house that was a cross between Mount Vernon and Tara from Gone with the Wind. Professionally maintained green lawn leading to a monster white colonial with black shutters and a columned entrance. I turned onto Joyce’s street and saw that Vinnie was sitting on the curb in front of the house. He was back to wearing only boxer shorts, and he had a two-day beard.

“That’s disgustin’,” Lula said. “You aren’t gonna let him into this nice car, are you? He’s probably got Barnhardt cooties all over him. Maybe you should strap him to the roof.”