Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum #25)(26)

We hung the closed sign on the door at nine o’clock. Mike was a no-show. Princess Twilight Sparkle was on the floor behind the register, sleeping off his blue pill hangover. Connie had reported that Vinnie was admitted to the hospital for observation. Seven garbage bags were lined up in the hall leading to the back door.

“What about all this garbage?” Hal asked.

“We’ll take it out in the morning when the Central GP truck shows up,” I said. “That seems to be a safe time.”

“Not for me,” Lula said. “I’m not going out that back door no matter what time of day it is. I don’t want to end up being one of the brainless breeder women.”

“Are you talking about the film where the aliens abducted people to raise them like cattle?” Raymond asked. “That was an excellent film. Thought provoking. And I was surprised at some of the methods they used to extract sperm. Some were shockingly innovative. Although many were labor intensive.”

“My feelings exactly,” Lula said.

I looked around. The place was a mess. Food on the floor. Mustard and ketchup smeared on workstations. Cheese melted onto the grill. Grease everywhere. It had been a nerve-racking, exhausting dinner shift. And now we were faced with the cleanup.

“Sometimes when we are coming down from the many drugs we must take to make it through the night in this hellhole kitchen, we leave the cleanup to morning,” Raymond said.

“Everyone in favor raise their hand,” Lula said, raising her hand.

“That’s okay with me,” I said, “but we should at least shovel the food off the floor.”

“It will be an easier job in the morning if you allow the roaches and rodents to eat their share,” Raymond said. “I have had some experience in this area.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Lula said.

We roused Stretch and shuffled him out the door. Once we had him outside, we loaded him into the Rangeman SUV along with Lula and me. He lived within walking distance of the deli, but we didn’t trust him to walk home. He no longer thought he was Princess Twilight Sparkle, but he looked like he was on the low side of smart. Hal parked, walked Stretch to his door, and turned him over to his roommate, Bucky.

“How’d that go?” Lula asked Hal.

“Bucky will keep an eye on him,” Hal said. “It’s kind of a shame the pill wore off. He was so happy being Twilight Sparkle.”

“When will Armpit be playing?” I asked Hal.

“They’re not the first band. They usually start around ten or eleven. They play for a couple hours and then another band takes over. Usually the Beggar Boys or the Howling Dogs.”

“You know the Snake Pit,” I said. “What’s the best way to do this?”

“Everyone comes and goes from the left side of the stage,” Hal said. “They keep a corridor sort of clear for the band people. And there’s a door to the outside. I don’t know what’s out there. Probably a bunch of people hanging around. Maybe a parking area. I guess I’d wait until the band was done, and then I’d either take Victor down when he goes out the door, or I’d follow him when he leaves and wait for the right time.”

“Will we be able to get to the stage door?”

“I don’t know,” Hal said. “I’ve never tried. Melton Street runs parallel to Stark. I’ll drive down Melton and try to get a look at the back of the Pit.”

We saw the lights when we were blocks away. Bright ambient light from floods in an area that was otherwise dark. Buildings were gutted and unoccupied for several blocks at this end of Stark. Streetlights had been shot out and never replaced. Car traffic was usually minimal here. Tonight, though, there was activity.

“Damn,” Lula said. “This is lit up like Vegas. How come I didn’t know about this? They got a party going here.”

“It’s an open-air drug fair,” Hal said. “They sell stuff here that makes the blue pill Stretch took look like kids’ candy.”

Melton Street wasn’t high-rent, but it wasn’t Stark either. People lived on the end blocks of Melton. There were seniors sticking it out because they had no other place to go, homeless souls hunkered down in buildings that had been condemned, and runaway drugged-out kids sheltered in hallways and abandoned apartments.

Hal cruised down Melton and stopped when he thought he was behind the Pit.

“This isn’t helping,” Lula said. “I can’t see past these broken-down buildings.”

Tenement-style row houses were smashed together, blocking our view. We could see strobe lights flashing across the sky, emanating from Stark, but we couldn’t see between the grimy, graffiti-covered structures.

There was on-street parking here, but no one dared leave a car unattended. This wasn’t a problem for the residents because if you were unfortunate enough to need to live here, you for sure couldn’t afford a car.

Hal turned at the corner and drove toward Stark. He stopped at a checkpoint, handed over a fifty-dollar parking fee, and was allowed to proceed and park wherever he could find a spot in the two-block area that had been cordoned off. He pulled into a slot, cut the engine, and got a windbreaker from the back seat. Cars were streaming in behind us. The people getting out of the cars were young. High schoolers. Millennials. The cars, for the most part, were new and compact. Clothes were a mix of early Britney Spears and Seattle grunge.