Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum 25)

“Anyone else want to add to the list?” I asked.

“I would like a nubile virgin,” Raymond said. “You can surprise me on the sexual orientation.”

Ranger was smiling again.

“I’ve never seen you smile this much,” I said.

“Babe, your life is a train wreck.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

MY SHOPPING CART was filled with ketchup, mustard, mayo, hot sauce, horseradish, barbecue sauce, bags of chips, white bread, and cans of cranberry sauce. I pushed it to the checkout, and while I was standing in line I noticed a guy walking through the store, carrying a handbasket. He was wearing a hoodie and a ball cap, and he had a snake tattoo on his neck.

I grabbed Ranger’s sleeve. “I think that’s Waggle! I saw his tattoo.”

We stepped out of line and walked toward the guy with the tattoo. He was heading down the aisle with the cooking oil, vinegar, pasta, and marinara sauce. He was sauntering along, checking out the oils, pausing to read ingredients. Ranger and I moved behind him.

“Victor Waggle?” I asked.

The guy turned and looked around, wide-eyed. “Where? Where is he?”

“Sorry,” I said. “I saw the snake tattoo, and I thought you were Waggle.”

“I wish,” he said. “The dude’s awesome. My snake is different from his. I got a cobra. He has a rattler.”

“Did you get this at Eddie’s on Stark Street?” Ranger asked.

“Yeah. Eddie does the best snakes. Victor got his snake there too.”

“Do you know Victor?” I asked.

“No. Do you?”

“Not as well as I’d like to know him,” I said.

The guy grinned. “That’s what all the girls say. They all want his seed.”

“I don’t suppose you know where I could find him,” I said.

“Naw. Sorry. I hear he floats around.”

“Spreading his seed,” I said.

“Exactly!”

Ranger and I went back to the checkout.

“I have to give you points,” I said to Ranger. “You kept a straight face through the whole seed-spreading conversation.”

“It wasn’t easy,” Ranger said. “Points to you too. I thought you did an excellent job of indicating you might want seed.”

“I’m a professional,” I said. “All part of being a bounty hunter.”

We brought our bags of ketchup and mayo and whatever back to the deli and dumped them in the pantry.

“Where’s the chips?” Lula said. “I need chips. I’m having a meltdown here. I can’t make my world-famous Spam Chip Burger without no chips.”

“Someone wants a Spam Chip Burger?” I asked. “It’s not even on the menu. I didn’t know we even had Spam.”