Stephanie Plum 12.5 - Plum Lovin
Chapter 3
Larry Burlew was a big guy. He was over six feet tall, weighed maybe 230 pounds, and had hands like hamhocks. He wasn't bad looking, and he wasn't good looking. Mostly he looked like a butcher… possibly because his white butcher's apron was decorated with meat marinade and chicken guts.
The butcher shop was empty of customers when we entered. Burlew was the lone butcher, and he was slicing ribs and arranging them in the display case.
I introduced myself as Annie's assistant, and Burlew blushed red from the collar of his white T-shirt to the roots of his buzz-cut hair.
“Real nice to meet you,” he said softly. “I hope this isn't too much trouble. I feel kind of silly asking for help like this, but Ms. Hart came into the shop and left her card, and I just thought…”
“Don't worry about it,” Lula said. “It's what we do. We're the fixer-upper bitches. We live to fix shit.”
“I understand you want to get together with someone?” I asked Burlew.
“There's this girl that I like. I think she's around my age. I see her every day and she's nice to me, but in a professional way. And sometimes I try to talk to her, but there's always lots of people around, and I never know what to say. I'm a big dummy when it comes to girls.”
“Okay,” I said, “give me all the necessary information. Who is she?”
“She's right across the street,” Burlew said. “She works in the coffee shop. Every morning I go in to get coffee and she always gets it just right. She always gives me the perfect amount of cream. And it's never too hot. Her name is Jet. That's what it says on her name tag. I don't know more than that. She's the one with the shiny black hair.”
I looked at the coffee shop. It had big plate-glass windows in the front, making it possible to check out the action inside. There were three women working behind the counter and a bunch of customers lined up waiting for service. I shifted my attention back to Burlew and saw he was watching Jet, mesmerized by the sight of her.
I excused myself and swung across the street to the coffee shop. Jet was at the register, ringing up a customer. She was a tiny little thing with short, spiky black hair. She was dressed in a black T-shirt, a short black skirt, black tights, and black boots. She wore a wide black leather belt with silver studs, and she had a red rose tattooed on her arm.
She looked to be in her early to mid-twenties. No wedding band or engagement ring on her left hand.
I ordered a coffee. “It's for my cousin across the street,” I said. “Maybe you know him… Larry Burlew.”
“Sorry, no.”
“He's a butcher. And he said you always give him perfect coffee.”
“Omigod, are you talking about the big huge guy with the buzz cut? He comes in here every morning. He talks so soft I can hardly hear him, and then he goes across the street, and he stares in here all day. I'm sorry because he's your cousin and all, but he's kind of creepy.”
“He's shy. And he stares in here because… he'd like more coffee, but he can't leave the shop.”
“Omigod, I had no idea. That's so sweet. That's so sad. The poor guy is over there wishing he had a cup of coffee, and I thought he was one of those pervert stalkers. He should just call over here. Or he could wave, and I'd bring him a cup.”
“Really? He'd love that. He's such a nice guy, but he's always worried about imposing.”
Jet leaned on the counter and did a little finger wave at Larry Burlew. Even from this distance I could see Burlew's cheeks flush red.
I brought the coffee across the street and gave it to Larry Burlew.
“I've got it all set,” I told him. “All you have to do is wave at Jet, and she'll bring you a cup of coffee. Then you'll have a chance to talk to her.”
“I can't talk to her! What would I say? She's so pretty, and I'm so…” Burlew looked down at himself. He didn't have words.
“You're a nice-looking guy” I told him. “Okay, maybe the chicken guts are a turnoff, but you can fix that by changing your butcher apron before she gets here. And try not to stare at her so much. Only stare when you want a cup of coffee. Staring sometimes can be misconstrued as, um, rude.”
Burlew was bobbing his head up and down. “I'll remember all that. Wave for coffee. Don't stare so much. Change my apron before she gets here.”
“And talk to her!”
“Talk to her,” he repeated.
I didn't actually have a lot of confidence that this would work, so I wrote my cell phone number on a scrap of paper and left it with him.