Lolo stood in the station parking lot talking and smiling at Greg Romanelli as he waited for his partner, Dallas Cruz, to come out of the station.
“So, when was the last time you went out after work for a few drinks?” Greg asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. Occasionally, some of my girls and I will sneak out for a cocktail, but it’s been awhile.”
“Where do you go—and don’t say the Bumpus Room.”
She laughed. “I wouldn’t even answer a radio call in that dive. There’s so much DNA on the seats and floor, I’d be afraid of getting some disease.”
“So, where do you and your ladies commune with the spirits?”
“I’m sure you’ll think this is nuts, but sometimes we travel to the bowling alley on Ventura and De Soto. If we get intoxicated enough, sometimes we bowl, too.”
“I’d like to see that. Husbands aren’t allowed, are they?”
She chuckled. “Are you kidding? There’s a reason why a girls’ night out is only for girls.”
Dallas Cruz walked up to the pair. He was threading his keepers, strips of leather that vertically encircled his pants belt, and secured it to his gun-belt. “What did I miss?”
Greg shot an annoyed look at his partner, then smiled. “She was telling me that she and her posse sometimes go drunk bowling at the alley on Ventura and De Soto. I’m trying to wrangle an invite. It sounds like fun.”
Lolo looked at Dallas. “Do you bowl, Cruz?”
“Honey, my balls go right down the center for a perfect score every time.”
She arched her eyebrows. “Impressive,” she said in a melodic voice.
The back door to the station opened, and Lieutenant Mancuso poked his head out. “How about you guys stop jaw-jackin’ and write some tickets or something?”
“Sure thing, L.T.,” Lolo said.
Mancuso nodded and let the door slam closed.
Then she looked at the two cops next to her. “I bet Hoppy and I can get a mover before you do.”
“You’re on,” Greg said. “And if we write a ticket first, Cruz and I get to come to your next drunk bowling outing.”
Lolo laughed as she walked toward her black and white. “You got it…losers!”