Punky turned and gave us a wave with his johnson.

“That’s just so sad,” Lula said. “What do men think of? If you had a lumpy little wanger like that, would you go waving it in public?”

Punky was dancing now, jumping around, wanger flopping, doodles bouncing.

“Holy crap,” Lula said. “He’s gonna rupture something.”

“It’s gotta be uncomfortable.”

“I’m glad we forgot the binoculars. I wouldn’t want to see this up close.”

I didn’t even want to see it from a distance.

“When I was a ho I used to keep myself from getting grossed out by pretending men’s privates were Muppets,” Lula said. “This guy looks like an anteater Muppet. See the little tuft of hair on the anteater head and then there’s the thing the anteater snuffs up ants with . . . except ol’ Punky here’s gotta get real close to the ants on account of his snuffer isn’t real big. Punky’s got a pinky.”

Lula was a ho in a previous life. One night while plying her trade she had a near-death experience and decided to change everything but her wardrobe. Not even a near-death experience could get Lula out of spandex. She was currently wearing a skintight hot pink miniskirt and a tiger-print top that made her boobs look like big round overinflated balloons. It was early June and midmorning and the Jersey air wasn’t cooking yet, so Lula had a yellow angora sweater over the tiger top.

“Hold on,” Lula said. “I think his snuffer is growing.”

This produced another eeyeuuw from us.

“Maybe I should shoot him,” Lula said.

“No shooting!” I felt the need to discourage Lula from hauling out her Glock, but truth was, it seemed like it’d be a public service to take a potshot at Punky.

“How bad do we want this guy?” Lula asked.

“If I don’t bring him in, I don’t get paid. If I don’t get paid, I don’t have rent money. If I don’t have rent money, I get kicked out of my apartment and have to move in with my parents.”

“So we want him real bad.”

“Real bad.”

“And he’s wanted for what?”

“Grand theft auto.”

“At least it’s not armed robbery. I’m gonna be hoping the only weapon he’s got, he’s holding in his hand right now . . . on account of it don’t look like much of a threat to me.”

“I guess we should go do it.”

“I’m ready to rock ’n’ roll,” Lula said. “I’m ready to kick some Punky butt. I’m ready to do the job.”

I turned the key in the ignition. “I’m going to drop you at the corner so you can cut through the back and take the back door. Make sure you have your walkie-talkie on so I can let you know when I’m coming in.”

“Roger, that.”

“And no shooting, no breaking doors down, no Dirty Harry imitations.”

“You can count on me.”

Three minutes later, Lula reported she was in place. I parked the Escape two houses down, walked to Punky’s front door, and rang the bell. No one responded so I rang a second time. I gave the door a solid rap with my fist and shouted, “Bond enforcement! Open the door!”