Lula lived on the other side of Hamilton, down by the train station. There wasn’t a lot of money in the neighborhood, but year after year it held its own. Lula rented a tiny two-room apartment on the second floor of a small house. The house was gray clapboard with touches of Victorian trim. Last year the owner painted the trim pink. In a weird way it seemed just right for Lula.

Lula was on the curb waiting when we drove down her street. She had two huge suitcases with her, a big leather purse hung on her shoulder, and she was holding a large canvas tote.

Tank smiled. “I bet they’re all filled with pork chops.”

“We’re only staying overnight,” I told Lula when she climbed into the backseat next to Connie.

“I know that, but I like to be prepared. And I couldn’t decide what to wear. I got a whole suitcase filled with shoes. You can’t go to Vegas without a change of shoes. How many shoes did you bring?” Lula asked me.

“The shoes I’m wearing and sneakers.”

“How about you?” she asked Connie.

“Four pairs of shoes,” Connie said.

“Dog,” Lula said to Tank. “How many shoes you got?”

Tank looked at Lula in the rearview mirror and didn’t say anything.

Lula turned and checked out the luggage in the back of the SUV. “I don’t even see any Tank suitcases,” Lula said. “Where’s your suitcases?”

“Tank hasn’t got any suitcases,” I said. “Tank’s traveling light.”

“Where’s he keep his extra tighty whiteys?” Lula wanted to know.

Tank cut another look at Lula. “I don’t wear tighty whiteys,” he said.

“You devil!” Lula yelled. “I bet you go commando.”

Lula and Connie fanned themselves in the backseat. Tank kept his eyes on the road, but I could see him smiling.

An hour later, we were in the terminal, standing in line. Seventy-three people in front of us. An airline employee was going person to person, suggesting electronic ticket holders use the automatic ticketing machines. We looked over at the machines with flocks of people gathered around them.

“I don’t know,” Lula said. “Those people trying to use those machines look pissed off. Don’t look to me like they’re having a whole lot of luck getting tickets out of those machines. Looks to me like after they waste some time they give up and get back in line over here.”

We sent Connie over to investigate and we stayed in line. After a couple minutes Connie came back. “I think they’re just decoys,” Connie said. “I never saw anybody have any luck getting a ticket out of them.”

“I bet I know,” Lula said. “You go over there and try to get a ticket and you give them your name and address. And then you don’t get a ticket, but you get put on some list for junk mail and telephone solicitors. I bet the airlines make money selling those lists. I bet they get extra on account of they’re lists of gullible people who’ll buy anything. You didn’t give them your name and address, did you, Connie?”