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...Kitty and Eugene lived in a narrow row house at the corner of Baker and Rose, across from the old Milped Button Factory. The front door sat flush to the sidewalk without benefit of yard or porch. The exterior was maroon asphalt shingle with weathered white trim. Curtains were drawn in the front room. Upstairs windows were dark.
I had pepper spray easily accessible in my jacket pocket, and my cuffs and stun gun stuck into my Levis. I knocked on the door and heard scrambling going on inside. I knocked again, and a man's voice shouted something incoherent. Again, more shuffling sounds, and then the door opened.
A young woman peered out at me from behind a security chain. "Yes?"
"Are you Kitty Petras?"
"What do you want?"
"I'm looking for your husband, Eugene. Is he at home?"
"No."
"I heard a man's voice in there. I thought it sounded like Eugene."
Kitty Petras was rail thin with a pinched face and large brown eyes. She wore no makeup. Her brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She wasn't pretty, but she wasn't unattractive either. Mostly, she was nothing. She had forgettable features that abused women get after years of trying to make themselves invisible.
She gave me a wary look. "You know Eugene?"
"I work for his bonding agent. Eugene missed his court date yesterday, and we'd like him to reschedule." Not so much a lie as a half-truth. First we'd reschedule him, and then we'd lock him up in a dingy, smelly cell until his new date came around.
"I don't know..."
Eugene reeled into my line of sight through the crack in the door. "What's going on?"
Kitty stepped away. "This woman would like you to reschedule your court date."
Eugene shoved his face up close. All nose and chin and squinty red eyes and 100-proof breath. "What?"
I repeated the baloney about rescheduling and moved to the side so he would be forced to open the door if he wanted to see me.
The chain slid free and clanked against the jamb. "You're shitting me, right?" Eugene said.
I positioned myself halfway into the door, adjusted my pocketbook on my shoulder, and lied my little heart out. "This will only take a few minutes. We need you to stop in at the courthouse and register for a new date."
"Yeah, well, you know what I have to say to that?" He turned his back to me, dropped his pants and bent over. "Kiss my hairy white ass."
He was facing in the wrong direction to give him a snootful of pepper spray, so I reached into my Levi's and pulled out the stun gun. I'd never used it, but it didn't seem complicated. I leaned foward, firmly pressed the gadget against Eugene's butt, and hit the go button. Eugene gave a short squeak and crumpled to the floor like a sack of flour.
"My God," Kitty cried, "what have you done?"
I looked down at Eugene, who was lying motionless, eyes glazed, drawers at his knees. He was breathing a little shallowly, but I thought this was to be expected from a man who'd just taked enough juice to light up a small room. His color was pasty white, so nothing had changed there. "Stun gun," I said. "According to the brochure it leaves no lasting damage."
"Too bad. I was hoping you'd killed him."
"Maybe you should fix his pants," I said to Kitty. There was already too much ugliness in this world without having to look at Eugene's Mr. Droopy.
Copyright © 1995 by Evanovich, Inc.
