Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum #25)(10)

“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.”

“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.