Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum 25)

“He flew away?” I said.

“Well, it looked like he was flying because he had his bat wings out, but I guess you could say he was dropping.”

“From the third floor?”

“Yeah, except he touched down on a little awning over a back door, and sort of swooped off to the ground. He folded his wings, turned and walked between two buildings and disappeared. I was a distance away, but I’m pretty sure it was Wulf.”

“I don’t suppose you could have mistaken a cape for bat wings,” I said.

“I guess that’s a possibility,” Lula said.

“Where was the alley?” Ranger asked.

“It was one street over,” Lula said. “The awning he landed on said ‘KitKat.’ It’s a bar. I think there are apartments over it.”

“Someone needs to turn the sign in the door and start letting people in,” Stretch said. “It looks like it’s getting ugly out there.”

Three minutes later, every table was full, and there were ten people in line at the takeout counter. I was the only waitress, and customers were getting surly. The first food came up before I was done taking orders. I grabbed the plates and plunked them down on a table.

“This isn’t our food,” a woman said. “We ordered the number seven and ten.”

I picked the plates up and turned to the room. “Who ordered whatever this is?”

Three tables claimed it. I looked over at Ranger and caught him smiling.

“Order up,” Stretch said.

Crap! I gave the plates away and ran to get the new order.

By eight o’clock no one was smiling. Not me. Not Lula. Not Ranger. Not Stretch, Raymond, or Ella. And certainly not the customers. Turns out, I’m not the world’s best waitress, and Lula’s patience gets thin after forty-five minutes of phone orders.

We shut down at nine o’clock. My feet were killing me and my brain was numb.

“I vote we discontinue phone orders,” Lula said. “I’m underappreciated on the phone. I give these fools my happy sunshine voice and all they do is bark orders back at me. It’s a demoralizing experience, and after a while I find myself getting phone rage and wanting to smash something. Toward the end I was thinking I got a gun in my handbag and I could kill the phone.”

“It does not sound like a terrible idea,” Raymond said. “I often feel just that way about my fries. Sometimes I leave them in the oil too long on purpose because I hate them. Kill the fuckers, I think to myself. Kill the fucking fries.”

“Damn,” Lula said. “Do you kill a lot of fries?”

“No,” Raymond said. “After I kill just one or two I take a break and smoke a big doobie and I feel much better.”

“I guess that’s the difference between you professionals and us amateurs,” Lula said. “You got good work habits established.”

Ranger was holding a garbage bag. “Someone needs to take this to the dumpster,” he said.

“I’d do it but I just got my nail repaired,” Lula said. “I’m not taking no chances at getting it broken again.”

“Pass me by,” Stretch said.

“I would not do this if all of the earth was on fire with the exception of the parking lot,” Raymond said. “I would not go out that back door. There is evil waiting in the darkness.”

Ranger handed the bag over to me. “Showtime,” he said. “Don’t rush it. We want to give these guys a good shot at you. I don’t know how many more days I can take working in this deli.”

It took me a couple beats to process, and then it hit me. Ranger was sending me out to get kidnapped. Crap!

“Suppose they shoot me or stab me?” I said.

“That’s not the way they work,” Ranger said. “There’s no evidence of violence.”