Free 11 Eleven On Top by Janet Evanovich Page A

them up. You make a mess of everything. You ruin our business. We gonna be out on the street.”
    The tinkle bell attached to the front door jangled, and I looked up to see Lula walk in.
    “Hey, girlfriend,” Lula said to me. “What's shakin'? What's hangin'? What's the word?”
    Lula's hair was gold today and styled in ringlets, like Shirley Temple at age five. Lula was wearing black high-heeled ankle boots, a tight orange spandex skirt that came to about three inches below her ass, and a matching orange top that was stretched tight across her boobs and belly. And Lula's belly was about as big as her boobs.
    “What word?” Mama Macaroni asked. “Wadda you mean word? Who is this big orange person?”
    “This is my friend Lula,” I said.
    “You friend? No. No friends. Wadda you think, this is a party?”
    “Hey, chill,” Lula said to Mama. “I came to pick up my dry cleaning. I'm a legitimate customer.”
    I had the merry-go-round in motion, looking for Lula's cleaning. The motor whirred, and plastic-sleeved, hangered orders swished by me, carried along on an overhead system of tracks.
    “I'll take Vinnie's and Connie's too,” Lula said.
    Mama was off her stool. “You no take anything until I say so. Let me see the slip. Where's the slip?”
    I had Lula's cleaning in hand and Mama stepped in front of me. “What's this on the slip? What's this discount?”
    “You said I got a discount,” I told her, trying hard not to stare at the mole, not having a lot of luck at it.
    “You get a discount. This big pumpkin don't get no discount.”
    “Hey, hold on here,” Lula said, lower lip stuck out, hands on hips. “Who you calling a pumpkin?”
    “I'm calling you a pumpkin,” Mama Macaroni said. “Look at you. You a big fat pumpkin. And you don't get no pumpkin discount.” Mama turned on me. “You try to pull a fast one. Give everybody a discount. Like we run a charity here. A charity for pumpkins. Maybe you get the kickback. You think you make some money on the side.”
    “I don't like to disrespect old people,” Lula said. "And you're about as old as they get. You're as old as dirt, but that don't mean you can insult my friend.
    I don't put up with that. I don't take that bus. You see what I'm saying?"
    The pain was radiating out from my eye into all parts of my head, and little men in pointy hats and spiky shoes were running around in my stomach. I had to get Lula out of the store. If Mama Macaroni called Lula a pumpkin one more time, Lula was going to squash Mama Macaroni, and Mama Macaroni was going to be Mama Pancake.
    I shoved Lula's clothes at her, but Mama got to them first. “Gimme those clothes,” Mama said. “She can't have them until she pays full price. Maybe I don't give them to her at all. Maybe I keep them for evidence that you steal from us.”
    “Well okay, now that I think about it, probably you're fired,” Lula said. “It was a nasty job anyway. You had to look at that mole all day. And I'm sorry, that's no normal mole.”
    “It's the mole from hell.”
    “Friggin' A,” Lula said. “And you shouldn't worry about getting another job. You could get a better job than that. You could even get a job here. Look at the sign by the register. It says they're hiring. And there'd be advantages to working here. I bet you get free chicken and fries.” Lula went back to the counter. “We want to see the manager,” she said. “My friend's interested in having a job here. I'm not interested myself because I'm a kick-ass bounty hunter, but Stephanie over there just got unemployed.”
    I had Lula by the arm, and I was trying to drag her away from the counter. “No!” I whispered to Lula. “I don't want to work here. I'd have to wear one of those awful uniforms.”
    “Yeah, but you wouldn't ruin any of your real clothes that way,” Lula said. “Probably you get a lot of grease stains here. And I don't think the uniform's so bad. Besides, your skinny little ass makes everything look