“No doubt,” I said. “Let’s see if Krick is home.”
We left the car and walked the short distance to Krick’s boring front door. I rang the bell and a pleasant-looking man answered.
“Camden Krick?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
I showed him my identification. “I represent your bail bondsman. You missed your court date, and you need to reschedule.”
“I already did that,” he said. “I did it online.”
“You can’t reschedule online.”
“Are you sure? I’m almost positive I rescheduled online.”
“You have to reschedule in person at the courthouse,” I said. “Lula and I can expedite it for you, if you come with us. It’ll only take a couple minutes.”
This was totally bogus. He would have to post another bond, or they would keep him locked up until his new court date.
“This isn’t a good time for me,” he said. “You should have called ahead.”
“We hear that a lot,” Lula said.
I had cuffs in my hand. “We’re going to have to take you in, Mr. Krick.”
“I told you, this isn’t a convenient time. I have a job and I’m already late.”
“What kind of job?” Lula asked.
“I’m a professional mooner,” he said.
This grabbed Lula’s attention. “Seriously?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I have no shame. And I have a really cute behind. Do you want to see it?”
“No,” I said.
“I wouldn’t mind taking a look,” Lula said.
Krick dropped his pants and mooned Lula.
“It’s a cutie all right,” she said.
He pulled his pants up and grinned. “Thanks. I get a lot of compliments.”
“Is that how you got the indecent exposure ticket?” Lula asked. “Were you just plying your trade?”
“Someone sent me to moon a cranky old lady who didn’t want to be mooned. It’s my first arrest. Usually, people think it’s funny. I get a lot of ladies’ luncheons. Birthday parties and baby showers. Lately I’ve been doing baby reveals. That’s where people find out if it’s a boy or a girl. I write the baby’s gender on my butt cheek.”
“That’s clever,” Lula said. “Entrepreneurial. And I’m all about that. How’s the pay?”
“I’m doing okay.”
“I could drop my pants,” Lula said. “I’d be a good mooner.”
“There aren’t a lot of women in the profession,” Krick said. “You could corner the market.”
“Getting back to your court appearance,” I said.
“Yeah, but he said he had a job,” Lula said. “I’m interested in this. Where are you working, honey?”
“It’s a birthday luncheon,” Krick said. He took a note card out of his shirt pocket. “Mae Horowitz is turning sixty-five today and a bunch of her lady friends are throwing her a lunch party. It’s at one of their houses. It’s on Jigger Street.”
“I know where that is,” Lula said. “It’s on our way to the courthouse. We could drive him to Mae’s party and then after the ladies all get to look at his behind, we could take him to the courthouse.”
“I guess that would be okay, as long as he doesn’t spend too much time with Mae.”
“A couple minutes tops,” he said. “That’s the good part about mooning as opposed to being a stripper or a clown. No one expects you to stay and entertain. I go in and sing happy birthday, I drop my pants and wiggle my butt, and I leave.”
“I’m learning a lot here,” Lula said. “I’m taking notes.”
I had big plans when I was a kid. I fully expected that Tinker Bell would seek me out, douse me with fairy dust, and I’d be able to fly. When I grew out of my Peter Pan fixation, I had a secret life as a superhero. The superhero phase morphed into more adult aspirations and delusions of grandeur. I toyed with ideas of being a doctor, a supreme court judge, a microbiologist, a fashion designer, a fireman, a marine biologist.
None of those aspirations stuck, and when I graduated from college, I got a job in retail. Retail was an epic fail, and now here I am attempting to capture a professional mooner who probably makes more money than I do. How did this happen? When did my bright future go astray and get lost on the road to the shitter? I’m pretty sure this is all Tinker Bell’s fault.
We loaded Krick into my car, and I drove us to Jigger Street. I parked at the curb, behind three other cars.