Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum #25)(50)

“What’s a ‘nuevonini’?” I asked.

“It’s when I use the panini machine to fabulitize an ordinary plain-ass sandwich,” Lula said. “My peeps have expectations.”

“Why don’t we have any condiments?”

“On account of nobody ordered any,” Lula said.

“You’re using hot sauce and mayo like it was water,” Stretch said. “How am I supposed to know we’re out of everything? It’s not like I’m the manager here.”

Everyone looked over at me.

“What?” I said.

“You are the manager,” Raymond said. “You are the place where the buck stops. You should be more diligent in your job. If you were doing your job we would not have to listen to this large woman going bat-shitty.”

“You’re right,” I said. “I promise I’ll take inventory tonight. Give me a list and I’ll make a store run.”

Lula glared at Raymond, her hands on her hips. “What do you mean by ‘large woman’? Are you making some politically incorrect comment on my size? Are you engaging in body shaming?”

“You are a big woman,” Raymond said. “It is a fact.”

“I’m not tall, though,” Lula said.

“No, you are not tall,” Raymond said. “You are robust.”

“Okay,” Lula said. “I can live with that.”

Customers were beginning to trickle in. Ella was serving water and distributing menus. Lula gave me her list.

“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.”

“They wanted a tuna sandwich on rye but that’s lame. I can’t give those poor people tuna on rye. I got more pride than that.”

I stocked Lula up on chips and an assortment of condiments and went back to Ranger.

“Things seem to be going okay,” I said. “We’ve gone back to the normal number of customers.”

“I want to talk to Eddie. Tell your crew we’ll be back by closing.”

Eddie’s Tattoos was on the second block of Stark. It was a great location because it was next to a popular bar. People got drunk and they got a tattoo.

The second block of Stark was respectable enough to require only the standard SUV security of a deafening alarm. We parked and walked half a block back to Eddie’s. It was still early in the day for tattoos, and Eddie was alone in his shop.

Eddie was a rangy guy in his fifties who was covered in tattoos. His hair was gray and pulled into a ponytail. He obviously knew Ranger because they did one of those elaborate man-greetings with the knuckle bumps and hand-clasping routines.