Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum #25)(17)

I found the Rolls house, and Lula and I went to the door. An older woman answered. Her hair was gray and cut short. Her skin was wrinkled and slack. She had a cigarette stuck to her lower lip and an overweight white cat under her arm.

“The cat tries to run out when you open the door,” she said. “Either come in or go away. I can’t hold this cat forever.”

Lula and I stepped inside and closed the door. The woman put the cat down. It gave itself a quick couple licks, and walked away.

“We’re looking for Jaimie Rolls,” I said.

The woman squinted at us. “Are you hookers?”

“Not anymore,” Lula said. “Only once in a while if I really need the money. Like sometimes when Macy’s has a shoe sale.”

I gave the woman my card. “We’re trying to locate Victor Waggle,” I said. “We thought Jaimie might be able to help us.”

“Jaimie is in the cellar,” the woman said. “It’s his man cave. He goes down there to play with himself.”

“Nice to see you’re open-minded about it,” Lula said.

“My daughter-in-law doesn’t like it,” the woman said, “but I don’t see anything wrong with all those video games.”

“Sure,” Lula said. “I knew you were talking about video games.”

The woman led us through the house to the cellar door. “Anyway, playing those games is better than when he tries to sneak the women in. Hookers and groupies and gropers. The worst is that mud wrestler Animal. He says he knows all these women because he’s a rock star, but I think it comes from delivering pizza.”

The cellar was unfinished, with beams and electrical wires overhead. The floor was concrete. Lighting was utilitarian. The furnace and water heater took up one corner, and a lot of the rest of the space was given over to storage. In the midst of all this Jaimie had positioned a bedraggled couch, a large scarred wooden coffee table, and a television on a card table.

He was slouched on the couch in half-darkness, gamer remote in hand, concentrating on digitally killing people. He flicked a look at Lula and me and went back to his game.

“Ten bucks or a BJ for an autograph,” he said.

“We’re looking for Victor Waggle,” I said. “Do you know where we can find him?”

“He’ll be at the Snake Pit on Thursday.”

“How about today?” Lula asked, moving in front of the television.

“Jeez, bitch,” Jaimie said. “You got your fatness in front of my screen. I’m laying waste to the kingdom here. I’m like on a siege.”

“Victor Waggle,” I said. “Where is he?”

“He’s nowhere. The dude is loose.”

“He’s ‘loose.’ What does that even mean?”

“It means he moves around. The bitches love him. They all want his seed.”

Great. The moron with a snake tattooed on his neck is a seed spreader. Just what the world needs.

“How do you get in touch with Victor?” I asked.

“Sometimes he checks his text messages,” Jaimie said. “Depends if he’s having a good day or a bad day.”

“Yeah,” Lula said. “He stabs people on a bad day. And then he pisses on their dog.”

“It was wrong of him to piss on the dog. We all called him on that,” Jaimie said.

Lula and I returned to my car.

“I wouldn’t want him delivering my pizza,” Lula said. “He was rude and unattractive.”

Martin Kammel was next up. He was a barista at Julio Coffee on State Street. His address was 415 Stark Street, apartment 3B. That was the fourth block of Stark and marginally safe.

“At least he has an address,” Lula said. “And he’s even got a good job, in spite of the spider on his forehead.”

Julio Coffee was in a strip mall on the fringe of the state capitol complex. I parked in the strip mall lot, and Lula and I walked into the coffee shop. It looked a lot like a Starbucks except it was called Julio. Two men and three women were working behind the counter. None of them had a spider tattooed on their forehead. Lula ordered a Double Chocolate Chip Frappuccino, a Rice Krispies Treat, and a Morning Glory muffin. I ordered a Caramel Frappuccino.

“I was hoping Martin would be here today,” I said to the woman who took my order.

“He’s off today,” she said. “He’ll be here tomorrow.”

“Are we going to his apartment now?” Lula asked me.

“No. There’s not enough time for that. We’ll go after the lunch rush.”

Lula and I got back to the deli a little before noon, and people were already lining up outside. I opened the front door, and they followed me in. Raymond was at the fry station. Dalia was on the phone, taking down an order. Stretch was working at the prep table. Hal was standing behind Stretch. Hal was the elephant in the room. He’s the size of a Volkswagen bus and not built to fit in a galley kitchen.

“Randy has all the cameras installed and working,” Hal said to me. “And I’m supposed to stay here and make sure nothing bad happens to you.”

“Very thoughtful but entirely unnecessary,” I said. “I’ll be okay. I even have a gun in my bag.”

“I’m not supposed to let you out of my sight,” Hal said. “Ranger won’t be happy if I disobey orders. And it’s not good when Ranger isn’t happy.”