Free High Five by Janet Evanovich Page A

locks. Worthless pieces of junk. I locked them anyway, including the bolt. I didn’t know what more I could do.
    I went into the bedroom, dropped the towel, and shimmied into a sports bra and Jockey bikinis. This wasn’t going to be one of those silk and lace days. This was going to be a no-nonsense Jockey day all the way through.
    Half an hour later, I was out the door, dressed in jeans and a denim shirt. I buckled myself into Big Blue and motored out of the lot. Two blocks later, I turned onto Hamilton and noticed a car close on my tail. I swiveled in my seat and looked at the driver. Bunchy. I pressed my lips together, getting a smile and a wave from him. This guy was unreal. He’d pulled a gun on me, and probably he had something to do with the body in the garbage bag, but I was having a hard time working up any real fear of him. In all honesty, he was sort of likeable . . . in an annoying kind of way.
    I swerved to the curb, yanked the emergency brake up, got out, and stomped over. “What are you doing?” I shouted into his window.
    â€œFollowing you.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI don’t want to miss anything. In case you get lucky and find Fred, I want to be there.”
    â€œI don’t know how to break this to you, but between you and me, I think it’s unlikely that Fred is going to be in any shape to repay your money if and when I find him.”
    â€œYou think he’s fish food?”
    â€œIt’s a possibility.”
    He shrugged. “Call me crazy, but I’m an optimist.”
    â€œFine. Go be an optimist someplace else. I don’t like you following me around. It’s creepy.”
    â€œI won’t be any bother. You won’t even know I’m here.”
    â€œYou’re driving six inches from my rear. How am I going to not know you’re here?”
    â€œDon’t look in your mirror.”
    â€œAnd I don’t think you’re a bookie, either,” I said. “Nobody knows you. I’ve been asking around.”
    He smiled, like this was pretty funny. “Oh, yeah? Who do you think I am?”
    â€œI don’t know.”
    â€œLet me know when you find out.”
    â€œAsshole.”
    â€œSticks and stones,” Bunchy said. “And I bet your mother wouldn’t like you using that language.”
    I huffed off to the Buick, jammed myself behind the wheel, and drove to the office.
    â€œYou see that guy parked behind me?” I asked Lula.
    â€œThe one in the piece-of-shit brown Dodge?”
    â€œHis name’s Bunchy, and he says he’s a bookie.”
    â€œHe don’t look like no bookie to me,” Lula said. “And I never heard of anyone named Bunchy.”
    Connie squinted out the window, too. “I don’t recognize him, either,” she said. “And if he’s a bookie, he’s not doing all that good.”
    â€œHe says Fred owes him money, and he’s following me in case I find Fred.”
    â€œDoes that float your boat?” Lula wanted to know.
    â€œNo. I need to get rid of him.”
    â€œPermanently? ’Cause I got a friend—”
    â€œNo! Just for the rest of the day.”
    Lula took another look at Bunchy. “If I shoot out his tires, will he shoot back?”
    â€œProbably.”
    â€œI don’t like when they shoot back,” Lula said.
    â€œI thought maybe I could trade cars with you.”
    â€œTrade my Firebird for that whale you drive? I don’t think so. Friendship don’t go
that
far.”
    â€œFine! Great! Forget I asked!”
    â€œHold on,” Lula said. “Don’t have to go getting all snippy. I’ll have a talk with him. I can be real persuasive.”
    â€œYou aren’t going to threaten him, are you?”
    â€œI don’t threaten people. What kind of woman you think I am?”
    Connie and I watched her sashay out the office over to the car. We knew what kind of woman she was.
    Lula was