PROBLEMATIC

Chapter 1

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What's that song, I wondered as I entered the Bonds Office? Subconsciously, I found myself humming it, an earworm, like one of those stuck song syndrome things. Of course. It reflected my mood perfectly. It was that one by Michael Bublé. Or, originally by Nina Simone, as my Grandma Mazur always reminded me. "Feeling Good". Yeah. That was me at this moment, feeling good as I handed Connie my six receipts while juggling the three coffees and a small box of doughnuts. That totalled nine for the week and I was justifiably smugly pleased with myself. My best haul yet in all the years of fugitive apprehension. Yeah. Feeling good.

Some of these skips were relatively easy, like my frequent flyers, Mooner and Dougie, a great two-for-one deal. I'm beginning to think they do it on purpose by deliberately forgetting their court appearance date, hoping that I will be their Bond Enforcement Agent. Their antics are nearly always the same with food and snacks, from egg rolls and Cheetos, to cookies and brownies, some of which the latter have been known to be laced with some Mary Jane. The number of times I sat and watched a Star Trek marathon with them I could count on more than two hands. Mooner and I go way back to high school where he was the class stoner, Walter "Moon Man" Dunphy. Drunk and disorderly was their usual MO. They always made me smile, even without the laced brownies.

This week also included another regular in Eula Rothridge. Someone had tried to steal her bench but when they tried to ditch her shopping trolley with all her worldly goods, there was a huge altercation. Shontelle Jacobson was arrested for disorderly conduct and disturbing the peace in her attempt to be a bench poacher. I had obtained a locker to safely stash Eula's belongings, like we usually did, before heading to the TPD. The young rookie cop had tried to arrest both ladies, evidently having a difficult time keeping them apart and together. I already had Eula in my custody, shoving my FTA paperwork in his arrogant face. He was roasted by his partner because he didn't think first before acting, and once more at the TPD, I observed, while Eula was being processed at the charge desk. Community respect and care, and social awareness, were skills he still needed to finesse. Everyone knew Eula was the bag lady who had that bench near the station. But, she had failed to appear in court, for stealing undies, again. I gave her some snacks and a coffee which I had brought with me. Yes, young arrogant rookie did not have diplomacy in his arsenal of community policing. He was being cocky, and seriously underestimated the conflict with the older ladies involved, although Shontelle was anything but ladylike.

However, the rest of the skips were hard work. No food or dumpster episodes, if you discount the groceries Matty Jones started tossing at me when he recognised me. The chase was on while I deftly dodged the cans of beans flung my way, which shattered the front window of the supermarket. He dropped his grocery bag along the way as he bolted down the alley creating a trip hazard. Because he didn't wear a belt, he tripped over his saggy baggy pants as they slipped down to his ankles. It wasn't a hard chase and since he fell with a firm face-plant, I was able to cuff him easily. Thank goodness he was wearing his Spiderman shorts underneath and not going commando! I really hate when that happens. He was wanted for DUI. I collected his bag of groceries as we back-tracked along the alley to my car, avoiding the supermarket with the window he shattered along with those cans of beans. No beans for him this time. He can deal with that later since it wasn't part of my role to mediate damages.

The other skips were resistant to being brought back into the system, but I tracked them and caught them. Each time I brought a new skip into the TPD, I was met with unwelcoming surprise, coming in clean with only the skip looking somewhat worse for wear, like Matty Jones from his self-inflicted face-plant. In their reluctance, the others were also featuring some accidental injuries, just bruises and scrapes, but not me. Although, Samuel Smart had a broken nose and a black eye, where he ran into my fist. He tried to fight me as I dodged a half-hearted right cross, so I showed him the correct technique, thanks to the training from Junior. He will be so pleased with my technique. Samuel Smart just wasn't being smart, with DUI and car stealing on his rap sheet. He looked a bloody mess. Phil the Pillman, AKA Philip Pickering, was on drug charges as his name implies. He ran into a car at the end of an alley chase and then, quite conveniently, was hit by the passenger door opening out, thus stopping him in his tracks. He was easy to cuff from then on, walking a bit dazed back to my car.

Only Eddie Gazarra gave me that look of pride and a thumbs up when I walked in with Matty Jones. Carl Costanza winked at me with a proud smirk on my next visit with the not so smart Smart. Big Dog and Robin grinned and high fived me as they left for their patrol as they eyed Pickering. They knew. I could always count on their support.

The money changing hands had stopped lately. No cars went to car heaven. No burning buildings. No fire bombs. No food in my hair and no dumpsters were involved. The other TPD officers looked rather disappointed in me, not expecting my success. Not wanting my clean success. No congratulations either. Assholes. Regardless, it was a great week. Smug I was, justifiably so. Not that I was expecting any response. I had a job to do. I was not seeking their approval. It was a nice change not to be the target of their ridicule.

Now here in the Bonds Office, Lula looked up from her magazine, a scowl of dissatisfaction evident as she squared her shoulders in her hot pink spandex boob tube and leopard print mini skirt.

"What's wrong with you Skinny White Girl? Only half a box of doughnuts? Are we on rations? You might be on a diet but I have to maintain my voluptuous figure, you know. You wouldn't understand that."

Her eyes watched the transaction of receipts with Connie suspiciously.

"What's with all those receipts there? You didn't need Lula's assistance?" She pouted with a cynical glare as she closed the magazine, slamming it down on the Naugahyde sofa. Without so much as a thank you she grabbed her coffee and snatched a doughnut from the box, with a disdainful huff. You're welcome, Lula. Connie, however, did say thank you with a wink. She knew. She understood.

"Nothing's wrong with me, Lula. Just that you were not here each time I came in. Meh. I figured you were busy doing other things," I lobbed back at her nonchalantly with a raised eyebrow, "so I couldn't very well ask you if you wanted to be my wingman because you weren't here, now could I?"

She blushed and quickly gathered up the magazine to flip to the intended page she was reading, stuffing the remains of her doughnut in her mouth so she couldn't respond while turning and giving me the cold shoulder. Ooh. I definitely hit a nerve there. Connie eyed me with a knowing look, eyes beckoning to Vinnie's office. Oh no. Eeuw. I am so not going there. She nodded and mouthed, "Morelli, too". Double Eeuw!

"Sorry. No files for you, Steph," Connie said, as she carefully held her doughnut trying to keep her freshly painted nails from smudging.

"Oh. That's great news. Suits my plans perfectly. By the way, Connie," I said quietly, "I won't be available until Tuesday. I'm taking a mental health day, especially after this week. I think I have earned a long weekend."

Vinnie's office door slammed open, "What do you mean a long weekend?! You work for me Plum, and there will be no long weekending for anyone. You have skips to catch!"

"The bastard!" Connie growled. "You bugged my office! Again?"

Scowling, she immediately began hunting for the bug. Uh oh! Two bugs. She hammered them with her heels before stomping on them with her stilettos, grinding them vehemently, right in front of Vinnie.

"Don't even think about it!" Connie glared at her boss pointing her long Love Struck lacquered index fingernail at him. Yeah, he didn't like the wagging warning of her finger.

I didn't respond to his rant, but held my ground without flinching, sipping my coffee as I stared at him steely-eyed over the rim of the lid. When my hand went to my hip and I changed my balance, while silently glaring at him before subtly glancing at Lula and back at him, with a raised eyebrow, it was Vinnie who suddenly flinched. He knew I was making a veiled threat, and I was just in the right sort of mood to follow up on my speculations. After all, I got this job in the first place because I threatened to share some of his extra-curricular activities and proclivities with Lucille, his wife. Some people would call that blackmail. Meh. I call it suggestive influence, and encouragement, to reconsider his initial stance. I was desperate for work then.

"How is Lucille lately, Vinnie? Maybe I should catch up with her one of these days for lunch," I teased with a malevolent knowing look at him, using my best perky voice. His Adam's apple bounced up and down as he gulped.

"Stop being an asshole, Vinnie. Stephanie brought all the outstanding skips in this week. That's nine in one week. Get over it. Have fun Steph." She grinned as she handed me the six cheques, promptly shooing me out the door with a knowing wink, assuring me she'd deal with Vinnie. He'd already disappeared into his office with a slam of his door. Those hinges will need replacing soon at this rate.

Tossing my empty coffee cup in the bin, I walked out of the door with a touch of pride. "Later. See you Tuesday."

I grinned as I walked to my car. In my mind I could imagine hearing Ranger say, "Proud of you, Babe."

To be honest, not having Lula as my sidekick lately made the takedowns smoother and less hazardous. She's inclined to mouth off and make shit-for-brains threats while digging for her gun from deep within her bag. Some of these skips had shit-for-brains and didn't react well when provoked. That made them dangerous and unpredictable. It must be the shit-for-brains factor.

God forbid if a skip used the F word. The three letter F word. I'm talking about Fat. Like when they refer to her as a fat chick or something similar. Lula goes into rhino mode from 0 to 100 in a split second. That's usually when things go to shit. Lula does not back down. There is no mute button either.

I realised some time ago how much of a liability she was to me, especially my own personal safety and well-being. Coming in a bit earlier than my usual time, barely a quarter of an hour initially, then half an hour. That was the plan in avoiding her which paid dividends, as evidenced with my extra six receipts. So many times, a skip had been able to get away because of her sassy shit, and let's not forget the number of times she abandoned me!

I decided a change of tactics was essential for my own safety as well as my sanity. It was becoming a necessity. And, let's face it, there was no way I was getting my job done according to Lula's time schedule. Nope. With Lula choosing to come in later than her usual late starts, closer to lunch lately, that was on her. She was wasting my time assuming I would just hang around the Bonds Office waiting for her. Nope. Not on my watch. Lula's agenda almost always involved the purchase of ridiculous amounts of food, especially with her up-size preferences. With my new plan, remarkably, I also saved a lot of my money, and time, not buying those extra coffees or milkshakes, fried chicken, burgers and doughnuts, which she devoured, always at my expense. Really, I don't recall her ever offering to pay, even though she always ordered extra serves of food. Most of all, I didn't have to share the cut of the bond, except when she did help. It was a save-save win-win for me. I suddenly had an epiphany when I realised Lula Time was not conducive to skip apprehension.

Time. Omigod. So much precious time wasted. It really cut into the day. Factor in the late start with Lula, the constant need for food, it often reduced the window of opportunity in capturing a skip, about whom I had done a lot of research. In the beginning she was keen to help and would listen to my suggestions, well, most of the time. Lately, she'd been trying to derail my plans with her perspective and a more provocative action plan. It was more like a game to her, because I don't think she took it seriously. Besides, she admitted that she was getting tired of just being the wingman. Ya. It wasn't working for me either.

Even better, since I made that executive decision, I have had fewer incidents where I was put in danger. The guys at Rangeman, and also at the TPD, made comment about that a lot recently. It was remarkable the number times that Lula inflamed and provoked a situation, which made me have to change tactics for damage control, consequently resulting in the skip escaping. What a pain in the ass. Sometimes it made me feel incompetent especially if I had done a lot of research, or the situation was meant for some delicate handling. Lula does not understand delicate. Lula doesn't want to do delicate.

Problematic. Lula was unpredictable, full of problems and difficulties. When she not-so-subtly suggested she deserved a higher share of the bond because she did more to aid in the capture, I had enough. She wanted more credit. You've got to be kidding, was my first thought. Lula wanted to go in like Dog, the famous reality TV Bounty Hunter, all gun ho and brash. All she did "more" was create more problems, and more interference with her impulsive reactions. I was losing control while she was out of control.

That's when that new song popped into my head. Lose Control. I love that one. But it was more about the frustrations and aggravation with Lula in the mix.

Yeah.

Problematic was Lula's new middle name.

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