Smokin' Seventeen: A Stephanie Plum Novel (Stephanie Plum Novels)

Lives in the same housing complex as Merlin and works at a deli on upper Stark. It’s about a block down from no-man’s-land, next to Green’s Mortuary.”
    “I know where that is,” Lula said. “I used to go to that deli all the time when I was a ho, and I was in the neighborhood. They got the best chili dogs ever made. I could eat those chili dogs ’til I throw up. If we go check this guy out now I could have a dog for lunch.”
    • • •
     
    I made a pass through Brown’s parking lot and looked for his car. When I couldn’t find the car I called his home phone. No answer.
    “I bet he’s out for lunch,” Lula said. “I bet he’s eating with his brother-in-law.”
    For the most part, if you park your car on Stark Street and you don’t keep your eye on it, at least some of it, if not all of it, will be gone when you return. If I had a black Cadillac Escalade, Mercedes SLS AMG, or a Porsche 911 Turbo no one would touch my car for fear I was high up on thegangsta’ food chain, and in that case, stealing my car was a death sentence.
    Since I was driving a P.O.S. seen-better-days Ford Escort, I made sure I parked directly in front of the deli.
    “I’m gettin’ a chili dog, a kraut dog, and a barbecue dog,” Lula said. “And I might get some curly cheese fries to round it out, so I get some extra vegetable and dairy. I decided I’m improving my diet by gettin’ a balance of shit in my meals. I bet I’ve just about got all the food groups in the meal I’m plannin’.”
    “Cracker might not be friendly to us if he knows we shot the toe off his brother-in-law, so we need to be cool.”
    “Sure. I can be cool. What do you want?”
    “I want a hot dog. Any kind is fine.”
    The deli was small. Take-out service only. Two gangly kids in homeboy clothes stood at the counter, waiting on their order. Two men in food-stained, sweaty T-shirts worked in the kitchen. Both cooks looked like they weighed in the vicinity of three hundred pounds. Hot dogs boiled on the stove and grease ran down the walls from the fryer.
    I hung in the doorway, watching my car, and Lula stepped up to the counter. “I want a chili dog, a kraut dog, a barbecue dog, and curly fries with extra cheese. And my friend wants a chili dog. And which one of you guys is Lionel Cracker?”
    One of the men scooped four dogs out of the water and looked at Lula. “Who wants to know?”
    “I want to know,” Lula said. “Who the heck do you think?”
    “Do I know you?”
    “It’s that I know your brother-in-law Merlin. He said you work here.”
    Cracker laid out four hot-dog rolls on his workstation and dropped the dogs into them. “What else did he say?”
    “That’s it. I used to be friends with Merlin, and I haven’t seen him in a while, and I was wondering how he’s doing?”
    “He owes you money, right? What are you, collection agency? Human services?”
    “We just came in for a hot dog and I was wondering about Merlin.”
    Cracker laid down a smear of yellow mustard on all the dogs. “I could tell you’re lying. I know body language, and you’re a big fat liar.”
    “To begin with I’m about the best liar you ever saw. If I’m lyin’ you’re not gonna know. And on top of that, did you call me fat? ’Cause you better not have called me fat. ’Specially since you’re one big ugly tub of lard.”
    “That’s mean,” Cracker said. “You can kiss these dogs goodbye. I don’t serve dogs to fat mean, ol’ trash.”
    Lula leaned over the counter to get into his face. “Fine by me on account of I don’t want your nasty dogs, but I don’t put up with no one disrespecting me.”
    “Oh yeah? Well kiss my behind.”
    And Cracker mooned her.
    Lula grabbed the mustard dispenser and blasted Cracker in the ass with a double shot of mustard. Cracker scooped up a handful of chili and threw it at Lula. And after that it washard to tell who was throwing what. Hot dogs, buns, coleslaw, pickles, ketchup, relish, sauerkraut were flying through the air. Lula was batting them away with her purse, and I was trying to pull her through the door.
    “Let go,” Lula said to me. “I’m not done with him.”
    Cracker dropped below the counter and popped up with a shotgun.
    “Now I’m done,” Lula said.
    We bolted through the door, jumped into the Escort, and I laid down rubber getting away from the curb.
    I drove one block and turned off Stark. “You have to dial back on the fat thing,” I said to Lula. “You can’t go