Look Alive Twenty-Five (Stephanie Plum #25)(6)

I cruised past the deli, looking for a parking place. There weren’t any open spaces, so I drove down the one-lane alley that intersected the block and found parking next to the deli’s small dumpster. Lula and I entered through the back door and tiptoed through the kitchen.

Raymond was working the fry station and griddle. Stretch was assembling sandwiches and plating. A twentysomething woman with a blond ponytail and a lot of tattoos was waiting tables. She was wearing jeans and a tank top and looked like she could kick my ass.

“Howdy,” Lula said to her. “I’m Lula, the new assistant manager, and this is Stephanie Plum, standing next to me. She’s the new manager.”

“Dalia Koharchek,” the woman said, extending her hand to me, looking down at my feet. “Congratulations, you’ve still got two shoes.”

“About those managers . . . ”

I said. “Number seven up,” Stretch said.

Dalia grabbed two plates off the service counter and whisked them away to a booth.

“I want my lunch now,” Lula said to Stretch. “A number twelve with extra bacon and a sixteen.”

“Yeah, and I want a BJ,” he said. “You know what our chances of getting any of those anytime soon are?”

“You should be more careful,” Lula said. “That might be considered a sexually improper response.”

Stretch sliced a hoagie roll and threw some shredded lettuce in it. “Bite me.”

I grabbed Lula by the arm and dragged her out of the kitchen.

“He’s lucky he said that to me on account of those off-color remarks don’t bother me,” Lula said. “I even kind of like them, but there’s less-fun people who would report him to the PC police, and he could be in big trouble.”

“Hey, Cookie Puss,” Stretch yelled. “I got shorted by my purveyor. You’re gonna need to do a market run.”

“My name is Stephanie,” I said. “Stephanie.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Stretch said. “We got an account at the market two blocks down. I need six dozen eggs and four loaves of thick-cut white bread.”

“I’ll keep an eye open here,” Lula said to me. “Since you’re going shopping anyway, I’d appreciate it if you could pick up a Star magazine.”

I walked the two blocks, bought my eggs, bread, and Star magazine, and walked back. Lula was standing on the sidewalk in front of the deli, and she was waving at me.

“I need a Xanax,” Lula said. “I’m having hallucinations. I just saw a man disappear in a puff of smoke. He wasn’t any ordinary man, either. He was like Satan, if Satan was totally hot and wearing black Armani. I could tell this wasn’t even an Armani knockoff. Actually, it might not have been Armani. It might have been Tom Ford. I’m having a hormone attack. He looked me in the eye and I think I might have had an orgasm. Maybe it was just a rush. I was too flustered to appreciate it. Am I sweating? Is my face red? Maybe I don’t need a Xanax. Maybe I just need a sandwich. I could be hallucinating from hunger.”

“Where was this man?” I asked.

“He popped out of the little alleyway between the buildings. I came out here to get some air, and he just suddenly appeared.”

“Did he say anything?”

“No,” Lula said. “He just stood there, staring. It felt like my skin was on fire. And then he waved his hand, and there was a flash of light and a whoosh of smoke, and he was gone.”

“Dark hair, dark eyes, slim?” I asked. “About six foot tall?”

“Yeah,” Lula said. “And wicked hot. Do you know him?”

“Maybe. A while back I ran across a man who had a flair for the dramatic and fit that description.”

“And he could disappear in smoke?” Lula asked.

“He’s a magician. Among other things. His name is Gerwulf Grimoire. Most people know him as Wulf. He’s Swiss born, and he speaks perfect English with a slight British accent.”

“ ‘Gerwulf Grimoire’ is a horrible name,” Lula said. “It could leave you damaged to have a name like that. You could be tainted.”

I didn’t think Wulf was tainted, but I didn’t think he was normal, either. Wulf was a slightly scary enigma.

I gave Lula her magazine and handed the bread and eggs over to Stretch.

“We got a big takeout order,” Stretch said. “It’s on the counter behind me. Takeout boxes are on the overhead shelves.”

“And?”

“And fill it. I’m going flat-out, and Raymond’s up to his tits in fries.”

I looked at the list on the counter. Ten sandwiches, four fries, six sides of slaw, two mac and cheese, one rice pudding, and two pieces of apple pie.

“Move over,” Lula said. “I’m all about this.” She took a red flowered scarf out of her purse and wrapped it around her hair bandanna style. “Where’s my hat? I need my hat.”

I gave her one of the hats and took a step back.

“You get to be the sous chef,” Lula said, taking the list from me. “Put your hat on and get me a loaf of bread. It says here we gotta start with a number seven. What the heck is a number seven?”

“I thought you had the menu memorized.”

“I only memorized the ones I wanted to eat. Some fool don’t know better than to order a number seven. Maybe we should do him a favor and give him a number twelve.”