Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum 25)

“So, what are we going to do now?” Lula asked.

“We’re going to see if Wayne Kulicki is home.”

I knocked on his door, and he answered on the second knock.

“What?” he said.

He was fifty-six years old, five foot ten, balding, and soft around the middle. He was wearing a stained T-shirt and boxer shorts, and he was holding a gun.

“Whoa,” Lula said. “That’s no way to answer a door. Where’s your manners? You don’t say ‘What?’ in that tone. You say ‘Hello’ and you smile on account of there’s two ladies on your doorstep. And besides, what’s with the gun?”

“I’m thinking of killing myself.”

“If I was you I’d change my shirt first. You don’t want to clock out with a stained T-shirt,” Lula said.

“I represent Vincent Plum Bail Bonds,” I said to Kulicki. “You missed your court date and need to come with us to reschedule.”

“I can’t go now. I have an important decision to make.”

“Maybe we can help you,” Lula said. “What are you thinking about?”

“Killing myself.”

“There’s lots of decisions associated with that,” Lula said. “I assume you’re gonna shoot yourself in the head.”

“Yeah,” Kulicki said.

“Well, your head will most likely explode and make a big mess when you shoot yourself, so best to do it in the bathroom or kitchen. And then are you going to leave a note? And you’ll probably poop your pants so you gotta decide if boxers are the best choice or do you want to be wearing something more sturdy?”

“Mostly I was just thinking if I should do it,” Kulicki said.

“I’d advise against it,” Lula said. “It’s not something you can change your mind on after you do it. And suppose the bullet doesn’t go in exactly right and you turn yourself into an unsightly vegetable?”

Kulicki nodded. “That’s a concern.”

“You bet your ass,” Lula said. “Why do you want to kill yourself?”

“To begin with, I’m going to jail.”

“It might not be so bad,” Lula said. “I know lots of people in jail, and they’re doing okay. Besides, you could get off with community service or something. You don’t know for sure if you’ll get jail time.”

“Even if I don’t go to jail my life is ruined. All because of some stupid fries.”

“You got shorted at the drive-thru window, right?” Lula said.

“Yes. So, I went inside and asked for the manager.”

“And there was no manager, right?” Lula said.

“Right! And then some green-haired imbecile with a nose ring who was behind the counter told me I was fat and didn’t need more fries.”

“I had that same thing happen to me,” Lula said. “I hate that place.”

“So, I was still polite,” Kulicki said. “I told him he was rude and his comments were unprofessional and inappropriate.”

“You exhibited excellent self-control,” Lula said. “I told him he smelled like cucumber and cat pee, and I went around back where all the employees park and I keyed all their cars.”

“I never thought of that.”