Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum 25)

“He have any experience?” Stretch asked.

“He’s got a lot of experience,” Lula said. “Just not in the deli industry.”

Stretch shook his head and went back to chopping an onion.

“All you gotta do is keep things running smooth,” Lula said to Kulicki. “Sometimes you gotta make an emergency run to the grocery store down the street. And you gotta keep track of the food these guys need and make sure they don’t run out.”

“Sure,” Kulicki said. “I can do that.”

“Does he know about the shoe?” Stretch asked.

“He knows he’s gotta wear them,” Lula said. “We don’t want managers without shoes.”

“No,” I said. “He doesn’t know about the shoe.”

“It would be a bad thing to give him this job and not tell him about the shoe,” Raymond said. “It would put your karma in the shitter.”

“The last three managers have mysteriously disappeared,” I said to Kulicki. “No one knows what happened to them. They went out the back door and never returned.”

“And always there was one of their shoes left by the dumpster,” Raymond said. “It is the best part of the story.”

“What do you think happened to them?” Kulicki asked.

“I’m pretty sure it was space aliens,” Lula said. “It’s something they would do.”

“Order up,” Stretch yelled.

Dalia swooped in, whisked two plates off the service counter, and took them to a booth. Two more people joined the takeout line. Dalia took their orders and handed them over to Stretch. Stretch passed them over to me, and I gave them to Kulicki.

“You’re the takeout order filler,” I said to Kulicki.

“And I’m going to work with you,” Lula said. “I’m the celebrity sandwich maker.” She looked around. “Where are the hats? We need our hats.”

“We can’t all fit in the kitchen,” I said. “I’m leaving, but I’ll be back to close up and drive everyone home.” I turned to Kulicki. “And then I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning at nine o’clock and get you rebonded.”

* * *

¦ ¦ ¦

Morelli lives two minutes outside of the Burg and five minutes from the bonds office. His house is very similar to my parents’ house. The front door opens to a tiny foyer that leads to the living room, the living room leads to the dining room, and the dining room leads to the kitchen. There are three small bedrooms upstairs plus a bathroom. Morelli has added a downstairs powder room and swapped out his aunt’s dining room table for a billiard table.

I let myself in and braced for impact. I could hear Bob galloping through the house to greet me. He’s a big sweetie pie, a floppy-eared dog with shaggy orange hair. He has no manners, and more enthusiasm than brains. He launched himself through the air when he saw me and body-slammed me back against the front door.

“Good dog!” I said.

I ruffled his ears and gave him a hug, and he trotted off, satisfied that he’d given me a proper welcome.

Morelli was in the kitchen. He had a beer in one hand and a spatula in the other. “Just in time,” he said, wrapping an arm around me, giving me a kiss. “I was worried you might not show, and I’d have to eat all these burgers by myself.”

“I left Lula at the deli. I said I would be back to close and drive her home.”

“I heard about Vinnie and the shoe.”

“It’s weird, right?”

Morelli tossed a package of hamburger buns on a tray with the burgers and slices of cheese, and carried it all outside. “Yeah, it’s weird. H

ard to believe anyone would want to abduct Vinnie.”