I PULLED TO the curb in front of the deli and parked behind a Rangeman SUV. The deli door was unlocked, and Ranger’s tech guy was inside, on a ladder. No surprise that he could let himself in. His name was Randy, and he was a master electrician, a pickpocket, a locksmith, a safecracker, and a sharpshooter. His work history prior to Ranger was south of the law.

“Good morning,” Raymond said to Lula and me. “As you can see, we have a man in black working to bring us into the age of surveillance.”

Lula went straight to the fridge. “Stephanie wants to have video for YouTube when she gets snatched up.”

“She is a woman with vision,” Raymond said.

“Where’s that carrot cake from yesterday?” Lula asked. “I don’t see it here.”

“Bottom shelf,” Stretch said. “If you eat it all you have to make a bakery run.”

“I see two cakes down here,” Lula said.

Stretch was setting up his prep area. “Yeah, like I said, if you eat it all you have to make a bakery run.”

“Hunh,” Lula said. “ Smart-ass.”

I walked through the kitchen to the back door and looked outside. There was no sign that anything out of the ordinary had taken place. The crime scene tape had been taken down. The lone shoe had been removed.

A man appeared at the edge of the parking area. It was Wulf. He crooked a finger at me and motioned me forward. I gave a single shake of my head, no. I mimicked his gesture, motioning him to come to me. He smiled. There was a flash of light, a burst of smoke, and he was gone.

I stepped back, closed the door, and sucked in some air. Hard not to get rattled by Wulf. I wasn’t bothered by the theatrics. That was just Wulf having fun. I was bothered by the man. I knew him on a superficial level, as my drop-in friend Diesel’s mysterious and complicated cousin. He was a man who tended to live in shadows and to come and go like thunder and lightning. And by “thunder and lightning” I’m not referring to his exit act, but by the disturbing magnetic, almost electric energy that surrounded him. He aroused my curiosity and simultaneously set off stranger-danger alarms. And I was a little freaked out that he was suddenly being seen in the two areas where people had vanished.

Everything seemed to be business as usual at the deli, so I called Connie and asked her to get me some information on the band members. Ten minutes later she texted back.

“I’m going to try to talk to the Armpit guys,” I said to Lula. “I’ll be back for the lunch rush. Do you want to stay here or come with me?”

“I’ll come with you. Just in case you get beamed up off-site, I don’t want to miss it.”

Zigmund Klug was first on the list. He was nineteen and shared the same address as Victor Waggle. His parents lived in Arizona. He had no employment history. I moved him to last on the list.

Jaimie Rolls was living with his parents on Mayberry Street and was a pizza delivery specialist for Noohana’s Pizza Emporium. I was familiar with Mayberry. It was tucked in behind the bonds office on Hamilton. It was a nice neighborhood of well-kept modest houses. I moved Jaimie to the top of the list.

“I heard about Noohana’s,” Lula said. “I saw it advertised on television the other day. They got emporiums all over the country, and if you order before noon and get them delivered after midnight, the pizza is only ninety-nine cents. I think that’s because they must make them in China and ship them over here.”

I found the Rolls house, and Lula and I went to the door. An older woman answered. Her hair was gray and cut short. Her skin was wrinkled and slack. She had a cigarette stuck to her lower lip and an overweight white cat under her arm.

“The cat tries to run out when you open the door,” she said. “Either come in or go away. I can’t hold this cat forever.”

Lula and I stepped inside and closed the door. The woman put the cat down. It gave itself a quick couple licks, and walked away.

“We’re looking for Jaimie Rolls,” I said.

The woman squinted at us. “Are you hookers?”

“Not anymore,” Lula said. “Only once in a while if I really need the money. Like sometimes when Macy’s has a shoe sale.”

I gave the woman my card. “We’re trying to locate Victor Waggle,” I said. “We thought Jaimie might be able to help us.”

“Jaimie is in the cellar,” the woman said. “It’s his man cave. He goes down there to play with himself.”

“Nice to see you’re open-minded about it,” Lula said.

“My daughter-in-law doesn’t like it,” the woman said, “but I don’t see anything wrong with all those video games.”

“Sure,” Lula said. “I knew you were talking about video games.”

The woman led us through the house to the cellar door. “Anyway, playing those games is better than when he tries to sneak the women in. Hookers and groupies and gropers. The worst is that mud wrestler Animal. He says he knows all these women because he’s a rock star, but I think it comes from delivering pizza.”

The cellar was unfinished, with beams and electrical wires overhead. The floor was concrete. Lighting was utilitarian. The furnace and water heater took up one corner, and a lot of the rest of the space was given over to storage. In the midst of all this Jaimie had positioned a bedraggled couch, a large scarred wooden coffee table, and a television on a card table.

He was slouched on the couch in half-darkness, gamer remote in hand, concentrating on digitally killing people. He flicked a look at Lula and me and went back to his game.

“Ten bucks or a BJ for an autograph,” he said.

“We’re looking for Victor Waggle,” I said. “Do you know where we can find him?”

“He’ll be at the Snake Pit on Thursday.”

“How about today?” Lula asked, moving in front of the television.

“Jeez, bitch,” Jaimie said. “You got your fatness in front of my screen. I’m laying waste to the kingdom here. I’m like on a siege.”

“Victor Waggle,” I said. “Where is he?”

“He’s nowhere. The dude is loose.”

“He’s ‘loose.’ What does that even mean?”

“It means he moves around. The bitches love him. They all want his seed.”

Great. The moron with a snake tattooed on his neck is a seed spreader. Just what the world needs.

“How do you get in touch with Victor?” I asked.

“Sometimes he checks his text messages,” Jaimie said. “Depends if he’s having a good day or a bad day.”

“Yeah,” Lula said. “He stabs people on a bad day. And then he pisses on their dog.”

“It was wrong of him to piss on the dog. We all called him on that,” Jaimie said.

Lula and I returned to my car.

“I wouldn’t want him delivering my pizza,” Lula said. “He was rude and unattractive.”

Martin Kammel was next up. He was a barista at Julio Coffee on State Street. His address was 415 Stark Street, apartment 3B. That was the fourth block of Stark and marginally safe.

“At least he has an address,” Lula said. “And he’s even got a good job, in spite of the spider on his forehead.”

Julio Coffee was in a strip mall on the fringe of the state capitol complex. I parked in the strip mall lot, and Lula and I walked into the coffee shop. It looked a lot like a Starbucks except it was called Julio. Two men and three women were working behind the counter. None of them had a spider tattooed  on their forehead. Lula ordered a Double Chocolate Chip Frappuccino, a Rice Krispies Treat, and a Morning Glory muffin. I ordered a Caramel Frappuccino.

“I was hoping Martin would be here today,” I said to the woman who took my order.

“He’s off today,” she said. “He’ll be here tomorrow.”

“Are we going to his apartment now?” Lula asked me.

“No. There’s not enough time for that. We’ll go after the lunch rush.”

Lula and I got back to the deli a little before noon, and people were already lining up outside. I opened the front door, and they followed me in. Raymond was at the fry station. Dalia was on the phone, taking down an order. Stretch was working at the prep table. Hal was standing behind Stretch. Hal was the elephant in the room. He’s the size of a Volkswagen bus and not built to fit in a galley kitchen.

“Randy has all the cameras installed and working,” Hal said to me. “And I’m supposed to stay here and make sure nothing bad happens to you.”

“Very thoughtful but entirely unnecessary,” I said. “I’ll be okay. I even have a gun in my bag.”

“I’m not supposed to let you out of my sight,” Hal said. “Ranger won’t be happy if I disobey orders. And it’s not good when Ranger isn’t happy.”

“I can’t work like this,” Stretch said. “You gotta get Stegosaurus out of the prep area. And I need a sandwich maker.”

“I’m up,” Lula said. “Where’s my hat? Where’s my apron? Where’s the hot sauce?”

I moved Hal into a corner, and I joined Lula. “I’m getting the hang of this,” Lula said. “I need turkey. Get me more turkey. And put mayo on this roll for me. And add some pickles.”

“Wait,” I said. “This is an order for ham and cheese.”

“Say what?”

“You have to look at the ticket. You can’t just give them anything.”

“This here’s Surprise Day. It’s my new promotional idea. You order something and then you get a surprise. This guy’s surprise is a turkey sandwich. Give me some of that green stuff.”

“That’s wasabi.”

“No shit. I’m gonna wasabi the heck out of this sandwich.”

“Where’s my ham and cheese?” Stretch yelled. “Where’s my pastrami on rye?”

“Keep your shirt on,” Lula said. “I’m working under harsh circumstances. I can’t find no more turkey.”

“Fries are up,” Raymond said. “Rings are up.”

Stretch took the wasabi turkey from Lula, sliced it in half, and sucked in air.

“Damn,” he said. “I cut off part of my finger.”

I looked over and blood was all over his white chef’s jacket, dripping off his finger onto the cutting board.

“Somebody get a Band-Aid,” Lula said. “This boy needs a Band-Aid.”

Stretch calmly picked something off the cutting board and stuck it to his bloody finger. He wrapped a paper towel around it all, took a Band-Aid from Raymond, secured the towel with the Band-Aid, and held his hand above his head.

“No big deal,” he said. “I’ve done this before.”

“Yes, this happens many times,” Raymond said. “He must go to get his finger stitched back on now.”

Hal was standing next to me. His eyes rolled back into his head, and he crashed to the floor.

“This big man just fell to the floor,” Raymond said.

“He faints when he sees blood,” I said. “He’ll come around.”

“I must return to my fry station,” Raymond said. “I have many orders of onion rings that must be done to perfection.”

“Take Stretch to the emergency room to get stitched up,” I said to Lula. “Hal and I will take over here.”

Everyone looked down at Hal. Lula toed him with her Louboutin knockoffs. Hal opened his eyes and blankly stared at the ceiling.

“What?” Hal said.

“You fainted,” I told him. “Stay down until I get things cleaned up.”

“Okay,” Hal said. “Don’t tell Ranger.”

Dalia and I scrubbed everything with soap and bleach. I changed out the cutting board. I got Hal to his feet.

“Are you any good at making sandwiches?” I asked him.

“Yeah. I make good sandwiches. The trick is to put the mustard on the meat side and never use lettuce. Lettuce is for sissies.”

I got him dressed up in a hat and apron and handed him a takeout order for six people.

“You do the takeouts, and I’ll do the table orders,” I told Hal.

He looked at the slip of paper. “No problem. I can do this, but there’s no sliced turkey in the container labeled turkey.”

“Don’t worry about it. This is Surprise Day. Be creative.”