THE DRIVE BACK was a little tense. I was nursing a black eye. But I got in a few good punches of my own.
Erica Strong whistled nervously as she drove. She avoided looking at me.
Finally, she said, “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” I said.
“I didn’t think you’d actually break his leg.”
“It was an accident. There was so much crap on his lawn. Plus, the plan was confusing.” I turned to look at her. “Is this how process serving is done?”
She cracked a smile, then gulped it back down. “Not usually.”
After a couple of minutes of silence, she stuck a cigarette in her mouth and lit it with a Bic lighter. She exhaled a long plume of smoke, which caressed the windshield and filled the cab with a wind from Flavor Country. And, if, by Flavor Country, you’re thinking Alberta Tar Sands, you’d be correct.
She looked over again. “Look, I’ll level with you. The whole process-serving bit you see on TV isn’t entirely real. Truth is, as long as you can confirm the identity of the person, you can just drop it in front of them and walk away. In fact,” she said, “if you can confirm he’s got a valid address, you can usually drop it in the mail, or leave it by his door.”
“What? You mean I didn’t have to do all that song and dance?”
“Well, yes and no. The property wasn’t in his name; it’s his brother’s place. We got a tip that he’d be there. Still, what you did was hilarious! Plus, it drew him out. The upside is now we’re both witnesses that the order was properly served to him in person.”
“So?”
“So, you get your fifty bucks.”
“Oh, well, I guess that’s pretty good.”
“But …” she said, smiling. “That costume’s a rental. And you’ve ruined it.”
“Oh, no you didn’t.”
Erica Strong laughed and slapped the steering wheel. It sounded like a manatee’s mating call. “I’m just pulling your chain! No hard feelings?”
I laughed. The monstrous laugh was contagious. “It’s cool. I’ve been hit harder!”
“Yeah, you have!” And, with a closed fist, she swung out and smashed me in the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of me. “Oh my God, are you okay, Virtue?!”
I gulped and breathed out slowly. “Fine,” I whispered.
“Maybe this kind of work isn’t for you,” she mumbled, rolling her cigarette to the other side of her mouth.
“… Maybe,” I said. Not gonna lie—there were tears in my eyes. Probably from all the smoke.