Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum #25)(4)

“Looks like she’s sleeping off all that orange juice,” Lula said. “Seems a shame to wake her. Maybe we should just crack a window and lock her in.”

“Hey!” I said. “Annie!”

No response.

Two men were standing in front of the deli. One was Caucasian and the other looked Indian subcontinent. They were wearing baggy striped chef’s pants, white chef’s coats, and Red River Deli ball caps turned backward. They were smoking weed and texting.

“Guess those are our chefs,” Lula said. “They look real professional. They got chef suits and everything. Maybe we should put our hats on.”

“Maybe not,” I said.

“Personally, I’m all about being an assistant restaurant manager,” Lula said. “It’s a excellent advancement opportunity. I hope you’re not going to rain on my parade.”

“There is no parade. We know nothing about running a restaurant. We have no experience.”

“That’s not true. I eat in restaurants all the time. And I saw Ratatouille.”

“Ratatouille is a cartoon.”

“Well, I watch other shows too. I used to watch Hell’s Kitchen with that cranky Ramsay guy.”

I got out of the car and Lula followed. I introduced myself and asked the two men if they were our chefs.

“We are very much so,” the smaller man said. “My name is Raymond. I have my green card.”

The other chef was lanky and about six foot tall. He had black hair, a soul patch, and a gold tooth. He looked down at me through a weed haze.

“Stretch,” he said.

“Even I do not know his true name,” Raymond said. “He has always been Stretch.”

I unlocked the front door and told them they couldn’t smoke weed inside.

“This is not a good beginning,” Raymond said. “I’m hoping you do not have more onerous rules we must follow.”

Stretch playfully put his hand on Lula’s boob, and Lula kicked him in the nuts. Stretch doubled over and sucked air.

“Onerous that rule,” Lula said, and she sashayed inside.

The deli consisted of one room with booths lining two walls. Six tables for four were positioned in the middle of the room, and there was counter seating on the far end. The floors were scarred wood. The booths were red leather. Lighting was close to daylight and appropriate for a deli. There was a very slight lingering odor of fried onion rings, but overall it didn’t smell bad. In fact, it smelled good if you were a fan of onion rings.

I walked past the counter seating and entered the kitchen. It was a galley setup with a large pantry to one side. It looked almost clean. I didn’t see any roaches that were sneakers-up. I took that as a good sign.

I looked at a plastic-coated menu. Sandwiches, hot and cold. The usual sides. Standard deli desserts. Nothing complicated. Maybe Lula and I could pull this off.

“Okay,” I said to Raymond and Stretch. “I’m sure you know what you’re doing here. Lula and I will check back around noon.”

“Whoa, not so fast,” Stretch said. “What about the deliveries?”

“What about them?”

“You have to take inventory and schedule them. Then you have to make sure we get the right stuff on time. And you have to arrange for payment.”

“You don’t do that?”

“I make sandwiches, Cookie Puss.”

I looked over at Raymond. “What about him?”

“He’s the fry guy.”

“Who did it yesterday?” I asked.

“No one,” Stretch said. “So, we’re up shit’s creek today. We had a manager, but he disappeared. Went out for a break two days ago and never came back. He’s the third manager in two weeks to disappear.”

“And we always find one shoe,” Raymond said. “One manager shoe by the dumpster, but no manager.”

“Do the police know about this?”

“Oh yes,” Raymond said. “They have been fully informed. They said it is a great mystery.”

“I’m glad I’m not the new manager,” Lula said to me. “I wouldn’t want to be in his shoes . . . especially since sometime soon he could be left with only one. I would hate that. I take my shoes seriously.”

“I’m the new manager,” I said.

“Oh yeah,” Lula said. “I forgot for a minute. Bummer. On the other hand, you could see the bright side and think this might be like Cinderella. She left a shoe behind and look how good it turned out for her.”

“I can’t take inventory right now,” I told Stretch. “You’re going to have to do it. Order whatever you need. I’ll be back before you open at noon.”

“I need a raise,” Stretch said. “Can I order that?”

Lula and I walked out of the deli and stopped in the middle of the sidewalk.

“Where did we park the car?” Lula asked.

“Here,” I said. “We parked it right here in front of the deli.”

“I don’t usually like to jump to conclusions, but I think someone stole your car,” Lula said. “It might have been that Annie Gurky. She could have woke up and needed more orange juice.”

That would be the best-case scenario. The worst would be that some thug took the car with Annie Gurky in it. I hauled my cellphone out of my bag and placed a call.