Eleven on Top (Stephanie Plum 11)

The pain was radiating out from my eye into all parts of my head, and little men in pointy hats and spiky shoes were running around in my stomach. I had to get Lula out of the store. If Mama Macaroni called Lula a pumpkin one more time, Lula was going to squash Mama Macaroni, and Mama Macaroni was going to be Mama Pancake.

I shoved Lula's clothes at her, but Mama got to them first. “Gimme those clothes,” Mama said. “She can't have them until she pays full price. Maybe I don't give them to her at all. Maybe I keep them for evidence that you steal from us.”

“Well okay, now that I think about it, probably you're fired,” Lula said.

“It was a nasty job anyway. You had to look at that mole all day. And I'm sorry, that's no normal mole.”

“It's the mole from hell.”

“Friggin' A,” Lula said. “And you shouldn't worry about getting another job. You could get a better job than that. You could even get a job here. Look at the sign by the register. It says they're hiring. And there'd be advantages to working here. I bet you get free chicken and fries.” Lula went back to the counter. “We want to see the manager,” she said. “My friend's interested in having a job here. I'm not interested myself because I'm a kick-ass bounty hunter, but Stephanie over there just got unemployed.”

I had Lula by the arm, and I was trying to drag her away from the counter.

“No!” I whispered to Lula. “I don't want to work here. I'd have to wear one of those awful uniforms.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn't ruin any of your real clothes that way,” Lula said.

“Probably you get a lot of grease stains here. And I don't think the uniform's so bad. Besides, your skinny little ass makes everything look good.”

“The hat!”

“Okay, I see what you're saying about the hat. Suppose the hat had an accident? Suppose the hat fell into the french fry machine first thing? I bet it would take days to get a new hat.”

A little guy came up behind me. He was half a head shorter than me, and he looked like a chubby pink pig in pants. His cheeks were round and pink. His hands were pink sausages. His belly jiggled when he moved. His mouth was round and his lips were pink . . . and best not to think about the pig part the mouth most resembled, but it could be found under the curly pig tail.

“I'm the manager,” he said. “Milton Mann.”

“This here's Stephanie Plum,” Lula said. “She's looking for a job.”

“Minimum wage,” Mann said. “We need someone for the three-to-eleven shift.”

“How about food?” Lula wanted to know. “Does she eat free? And what about takeout?”

"There's no eating on the job, but she can eat for free on her dinner break.

Takeout gets a twenty percent discount."

“That sounds fair,” Lula said. “She'll take the job.”

“Come in a half hour early tomorrow,” Mann said to me. “I'll give you your uniform and you can fill out the paperwork.”

“Look at that,” Lula said, claiming her tray of food, steering me back to the table. “See how easy it is to get a job? There's jobs everywhere.”

“Yeah, but I don't want this job. I don't want to work here.”

“Twenty percent off on takeout,” Lula said. “You can't beat that. You can feed your family . . . and friends.”

I took a piece of fried chicken from the bucket on the tray. “My car is back at the dry cleaner.”

“And I didn't get my sweater. That was my favorite sweater, too. It was just the right shade of red to flatter my skin tone.”

I finished my piece of chicken. “Are you going back to get your sweater?”

“Damn skippy I'm going back. Only thing is I'm waiting until they're closed and it's nice and dark out.” Lula looked over my shoulder and her eyes focused on the front door. “Uh oh,” Lula said. “Here comes Officer Hottie, and he don't look happy.”

Morelli moved behind me and curled his fingers into the back of my jacket collar. “I need to talk to you . . . outside.”

“I wouldn't go if I was you,” Lula said to me. “He's wearing his mad cop face. At least you should make him leave his gun here.”