Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum 25)

“What happened next?” Lula asked.

“He gave me the finger and squirted mustard at me. It got all over my shirt and tie. And I guess I snapped. It was like I turned into the Hulk.”

“It says on your report that you destroyed personal property and then set fire to it.”

“The fire was an accident. One of the counter people tried to throw a pot of water at me but spilled it into the fryer by mistake, and WHOOSH next thing the whole kitchen was on fire.”

“In my book, you’re a hero,” Lula said.

“You’re the only one who thinks like that,” Kulicki said. “My wife is divorcing me. She got a restraining order against me and kicked me out of my house. My kids won’t talk to me. And I got fired, and no one else will hire me. So that’s why I’m thinking about killing myself.”

Lula nodded. “Those are all good reasons.”

“No, they aren’t good reasons,” I said. “I’m sure your kids will eventually understand. And maybe you’ll be better off without your wife. She’s not exactly supportive.”

“Yeah,” Lula said. “Do you have a good lawyer?”

“I can’t afford a lawyer,” he said. “I don’t have a job.”

“What kind of job are you looking for?”

“Any kind of job,” Kulicki said.

“Have you ever heard of the Red River Deli?” Lula asked him.

“No,” Kulicki said.

“Well, then, I have a good job for you,” Lula said. “How would you like to be manager of the Red River Deli?”

“I don’t know anything about running a deli.”

“Don’t matter,” Lula said. “We’re in charge of hiring, and we’d be willing to give you a shot at it.” She looked over at me. “Right?”

“We’re supposed to be returning him to the court,” I said to Lula.

“Yeah, but we could do that tomorrow,” Lula said. “I bet if we got this nice man a good job he’d be willing to turn himself in and get rebonded. And if he had a good job he probably wouldn’t even want to kill himself.”

“How much does it pay?” he asked.

“Five hundred a week on salary plus you get lunch,” Lula said.

“I guess I could try out the manager job,” he said. “It might be interesting after all those years at the bank.”

“You’d be working with some real colorful characters,” Lula said. “If you put some clothes on we could start you off right now.”

CHAPTER FIVE

IT WAS A couple minutes before five when we rolled up to the deli. People were trickling out of the train station, and there was more than the usual amount of traffic on the street. I circled the block three times before finding a place to park.

Kulicki was dressed in gray slacks and a blue button-down shirt with a small RGC logo embroidered on it. The shirt and slacks were slightly wrinkled, and I thought they were probably the clothes he’d had on when he got fired and locked out of his house.

Half the booths were filled when we walked into the deli, and there were two people standing at the takeout counter.

Raymond looked up from his fry station when we brought Kulicki into the kitchen. Stretch went hands on hips.

“Who’s this?” Stretch asked.

“This is Wayne Kulicki,” Lula said. “He’s the new manager. We’re delegating authority.”