SHADES WERE DOWN, the closed sign was in the window, and the door was locked when we got to the office. I knocked on the door, and Connie opened it a crack and looked out.

“Thank goodness, you’re here,” she said. “I have a . . . situation.”

We stepped inside and gave a collective gasp. Vinnie was standing in the middle of the room. He was buck naked, and he was swaying back and forth, back and forth.

“I can tell you right off I’d rather be looking at Raymond’s butt cheeks,” Lula said.

“I found him standing by the trash can in the parking lot,” Connie said. “He was just standing there, swaying.”

His eyes were completely dilated, his mouth was open, and he was drooling.

“What happened to you?” I asked him.

“I don’t think he can talk,” Connie said. “I think he might be drugged.”

“This looks to me like the work of aliens,” Lula said. “I bet they sucked out his brain.”

“Did you call the police?” I asked Connie.

“No. I only called you. I wasn’t sure what to do with him. I was hoping he would come around.”

“We should call Lucille,” I said.

“Yeah, and tell her to bring some clothes on account of her husband is in his altogether,” Lula said.

We all stared down at Vinnie’s foot. It was in his shoe. “I guess I could amend that to his almost altogether,” Lula said. “You gotta respect an alien that has the decency to return a man in his shoe.”

“Vinnie!” I yelled. “Blink if you can hear me.”

“Yuh,” Vinnie said without blinking. “Yuh, yuh.”

I called Morelli. “I need you to come to the bonds office,” I said. “Now.”

There was a beat of silence. “Can you be more specific?”

“I don’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“Are you naked?”

“No, but you’re in the ballpark.”

“I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”

“What’s that mark on Vinnie’s forehead?” Lula asked.

I leaned in and looked at the mark. “It’s a number,” I said. “It looks like it’s been tattooed on. Vinnie is number thirty-seven.”

“I saw that in a movie,” Lula said. “The aliens tattooed numbers on people they abducted, so they could keep track of them after they sucked their brains out. The aliens were breeding the humans like cattle. Every morning they would collect the sperm from the brainless males and then they would use a turkey baster to impregnate the females. It was a product of the adult film industry, but it had some thoughtful content.”

Hal was looking up at the ceiling and down at his shoes, trying not to stare at naked Vinnie.

“Maybe Vinnie wants a donut,” Lula said to Connie. “You have any left?”

Connie took the donut box out of the trash. “There’s one left,” she said. “It’s a little stale but it looks okay.”

Lula offered it to Vinnie. “Would Vinnie like a donut?”

“Yuh,” Vinnie said. He snatched the donut from Lula and shoved it into his mouth. There was a lot of chewing and drooling, and through it all he kept swaying. A chunk of donut fell out of his mouth, onto the floor. He didn’t seem to notice.

“Good Vinnie,” Lula said. “Good boy.” She turned to me. “Someone should take him outside to tinkle.”

“He’s not a dog!” I said.

“They did that in the film,” Lula said. “The brainless males were like dogs. They went outside to tinkle and poop. They did the sperm collection inside. It was pretty interesting. They had a lot of different ways to go about getting the sperm. Do you want to know what they did?”

“No,” Connie said. “Not without a glass of wine.”

Hal made a sound like he was swallowing his tongue.

“Maybe some other time,” I told Lula.

Morelli knocked once and came inside. He looked at me, and then he looked at Vinnie.

“Holy crap,” Morelli said.

“Connie found him in the parking lot,” I said. “He’s got the other shoe on.”

“Yeah, I noticed that right away,” Morelli said. “That and the fact that he’s naked and has a number tattooed on his forehead.”

“I got a theory about that,” Lula said.

“What’s the theory about the dilated eyes and the drooling?” Morelli asked.

“He seems to be a little drugged,” I said. “Maybe we should have him checked out.”

“Can he talk?”

“Yuh,” Vinnie said.

Morelli squelched a grimace. “Can he say anything besides ‘Yuh’?”

“Not yet,” I said. “We were hoping he would come around.”

Morelli put a call in for an EMT transport.

A half hour later Vinnie was being wheeled into the ER, and Lucille was on her way to the hospital.

Morelli took me aside. “What’s with the Rangeman guy?”

“I asked Ranger to install security cameras at the deli, and he decided I needed personal security as well. So, I have Hal.”

“Lucky you. Is Hal watching the game with us tonight?”

“No game. I have a takedown tonight after I close at the deli. Hal’s going to help.”

“Do I want to know about this?”

“No.”

Morelli kissed me on the forehead. “I have to get back to my desk to finish today’s paperwork. Be careful tonight.”

Connie stayed with Vinnie. Lula, Hal, and I went back to the deli. Raymond was alone in the kitchen when we walked in.

“Where’s Stretch?” I asked.

“I have him locked in the pantry. He took some of the bonus pills, and he got very silly.”

“How silly?” I asked.

“He is a little hallucinogenic. There was a moment when he was talking to his chef’s knife, and I became concerned, so I bribed him into the pantry with a jar of mayonnaise, and then I locked the door.”

“Is he in there with the knife?”

“No. I confiscated the knife. He and the knife appeared to be having a disagreement.”

I went to the pantry and knocked on the door. No answer. I knocked again.

“Maybe he has fallen asleep,” Raymond said.

I unlocked the door and peeked inside. Stretch was sitting on the floor, eating out of the mayonnaise jar with his finger. He looked up at me and giggled. I closed and locked the door.

“He’s okay,” I said.

Dalia rushed in. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I had car trouble.”

Several customers had come in behind her.

“We need someone to be the new Stretch,” Raymond said. “I must tend to my fry station.”

I blew out a sigh. “I’ll do it. Give me a menu so I have a cheat sheet.”

Dalia slapped an order onto the counter. “I’ve got a sixteen, and a thirty-two with extra cheese, and a number nine, hold the onions.”

“A nine is a burger,” Lula said. “Here’s your roll. Put it on the grill with the burger. I got the sixteen.”

Thirty-two was a chili dog. I could do that. I threw a hot dog on the grill with the burger.

Dalia put another order on the counter. “I need two number twelves and a side of fries,” she said.

“I need fries,” I yelled at Raymond. “And two twelves.”

“I do not do twelves,” Raymond said. “Twelve is a microwave.”

Lula handed me a plate. “Here’s my sixteen. You need to finish it off.”

I stared down at it. “What is it?”

“It’s a number sixteen,” Lula said.

“Yes, but what is it?”

“It’s egg salad on a croissant. I ran out of egg salad, so I mixed in some tuna salad. I figure it’s all done with mayo, right?”

“It’s not on a croissant.”

“I thought it would go better on a hamburger bun.”

I put lettuce, tomato, and some pickles on the plate and set it on the counter for pickup. I put the burger in the bun and plated it up with pickles and fries.

“Where’s my thirty-two?” Dalia said.

“Coming!” I yelled.

I had the hot dog but no bun. The hot dog buns were still in the pantry. I ran to the pantry, opened the door, grabbed the package of buns, and ran back to my station.

“Order up,” I yelled, throwing some chopped onions and chili on the hot dog.

“Fries for the twelve,” Raymond said.

I had no idea what constituted a twelve. “I need something that looks like a twelve,” I said to Lula. “I need two of them.”

“There’s no cheese on my extra cheese dog,” Dalia said. “And I need a party Italian to go.”

I turned and bumped into Stretch. He’d escaped from the pantry.

“Mary had a little lamb,” he said. “Its fleece was white as snow.” He looked up and stuck out his tongue like he was catching snowflakes.

Hal was watching from the end of the counter. “Do you want me to put him back in the pantry?”

“Can you make two twelves?” I asked Stretch.

“Yes,” Stretch said. “I’m Princess Twilight Sparkle, and I can do anything because I ate the magic whiteness.”

“First off, he isn’t nearly Princess Twilight Sparkle,” Lula said. “That happens to be my favorite Little Pony. And what the heck is the magic whiteness? Is that some racial thing?”

“He ate a jar of mayo,” I said. “The big one.”

“That’ll go through you like goose grease,” Lula said. “We all might want to stand back in case . . . you know.”

“I am Princess Twilight Sparkle,” Stretch said. “I know because I can see inside my head, and it’s rainbow colors.” He pulled two cutlets out of the under-the-counter fridge. He put his nose to the cutlets and sniffed. “They smell like pink and green happiness,” he said. “Pink and green is the best kind of happiness.”

“So true,” I said. “About the number twelve?”

Stretch put the cutlets into the microwave and gave them a minute while he sang a la la la la song. He added marinara sauce and cheese and gave it all thirty seconds. “Do you like my ponytail?” he asked me. “It’s more rainbow color, and it’s sprinkled with pixie dust so I can fly.”

I looked over at Hal, and I mouthed, Is he kidding?

Hal grinned and shrugged.

“Would you like to see me fly?” Stretch asked.

“Maybe later,” I told him. “Can you make a party Italian to go?”

“Yes, and I can catch the snowflakes on my tongue while I make it.”

“Princess Twilight Sparkle can stay,” I said to Hal. “Just don’t let him near any knives.”

We hung the closed sign on the door at nine o’clock. Mike was a no-show. Princess Twilight Sparkle was on the floor behind the register, sleeping off his blue pill hangover. Connie had reported that Vinnie was admitted to the hospital for observation. Seven garbage bags were lined up in the hall leading to the back door.

“What about all this garbage?” Hal asked.

“We’ll take it out in the morning when the Central GP truck shows up,” I said. “That seems to be a safe time.”

“Not for me,” Lula said. “I’m not going out that back door no matter what time of day it is. I don’t want to end up being one of the brainless breeder women.”

“Are you talking about the film where the aliens abducted people to raise them like cattle?” Raymond asked. “That was an excellent film. Thought provoking. And I was surprised at some of the methods they used to extract sperm. Some were shockingly innovative. Although many were labor intensive.”

“My feelings exactly,” Lula said.

I looked around. The place was a mess. Food on the floor. Mustard and ketchup smeared on workstations. Cheese melted onto the grill. Grease everywhere. It had been a nerve-racking, exhausting dinner shift. And now we were faced with the cleanup.

“Sometimes when we are coming down from the many drugs we must take to make it through the night in this hellhole kitchen, we leave the cleanup to morning,” Raymond said.

“Everyone in favor raise their hand,” Lula said, raising her hand.

“That’s okay with me,” I said, “but we should at least shovel the food off the floor.”

“It will be an easier job in the morning if you allow the roaches and rodents to eat their share,” Raymond said. “I have had some experience in this area.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” Lula said.

We roused Stretch and shuffled him out the door. Once we had him outside, we loaded him into the Rangeman SUV along with Lula and me. He lived within walking distance of the deli, but we didn’t trust him to walk home. He no longer thought he was Princess Twilight Sparkle, but he looked like he was on the low side of smart. Hal parked, walked Stretch to his door, and turned him over to his roommate, Bucky.

“How’d that go?” Lula asked Hal.

“Bucky will keep an eye on him,” Hal said. “It’s kind of a shame the pill wore off. He was so happy being Twilight Sparkle.”

“When will Armpit be playing?” I asked Hal.

“They’re not the first band. They usually  start around ten or eleven. They play for a couple hours and then another band takes over. Usually the Beggar Boys or the Howling Dogs.”

“You know the Snake Pit,” I said. “What’s the best way to do this?”

“Everyone comes and goes from the left side of the stage,” Hal said. “They keep a corridor sort of clear for the band people. And there’s a door to the outside. I don’t know what’s out there. Probably a bunch of people hanging around. Maybe a parking area. I guess I’d wait until the band was done, and then I’d either take Victor down when he goes out the door, or I’d follow him when he leaves and wait for the right time.”

“Will we be able to get to the stage door?”

“I don’t know,” Hal said. “I’ve never tried. Melton Street runs parallel to Stark. I’ll drive down Melton and try to get a look at the back of the Pit.”

We saw the lights when we were blocks away. Bright ambient light from floods in an area that was otherwise dark. Buildings were gutted and unoccupied for several blocks at this end of Stark. Streetlights had been shot out and never replaced. Car traffic was usually minimal here. Tonight, though, there was activity.

“Damn,” Lula said. “This is lit up like Vegas. How come I didn’t know about this? They got a party going here.”

“It’s an open-air drug fair,” Hal said. “They sell stuff here that makes the blue pill Stretch took look like kids’ candy.”

Melton Street wasn’t high-rent, but it wasn’t Stark either. People lived on the end blocks of Melton. There were seniors sticking it out because they had no other place to go, homeless souls hunkered down in buildings that had been condemned, and runaway drugged-out kids sheltered in hallways and abandoned apartments.

Hal cruised down Melton and stopped when he thought he was behind the Pit.

“This isn’t helping,” Lula said. “I can’t see past these broken-down buildings.”

Tenement-style row houses were smashed together, blocking our view. We could see strobe lights flashing across the sky, emanating from Stark, but we couldn’t see between the grimy, graffiti-covered structures.

There was on-street parking here, but no one dared leave a car unattended. This wasn’t a problem for the residents because if you were unfortunate enough to need to live here, you for sure couldn’t afford a car.

Hal turned at the corner and drove toward Stark. He stopped at a checkpoint, handed over a fifty-dollar parking fee, and was allowed to proceed and park wherever he could find a spot in the two-block area that had been cordoned off. He pulled into a slot, cut the engine, and got a windbreaker from the back seat. Cars were streaming in behind us. The people getting out of the cars were young. High schoolers. Millennials. The cars, for the most part, were new and compact. Clothes were a mix of early Britney Spears and Seattle grunge.

Hal shrugged into the windbreaker, hiding his Rangeman patch and holstered gun. Lula fluffed up her magenta hair and tugged her spandex skirt down over her ass. I followed behind, feeling like Frump Girl in my jeans and T-shirt and plain brown ponytail.

The parking area and the front of the warehouse were lit. Not quite as bright as daylight, but bright enough to buy and sell drugs, sex, and Snake Pit T-shirts.

Two garage bay doors had been rolled up, allowing people to enter and exit what had now become the Snake Pit. A band called the Romanian Slippery Unicorn was already onstage, blasting out music that was so bass-heavy I was getting heart arrhythmia. The lighting was lower inside. A cannabis and menthol vapor haze hung over the crowd.

Hal took point to get to the front, plowing through what appeared to be an army of stoner zombies. Lula followed Hal, waving her arms in the air, bobbing her head, and swinging her ass like she was on Soul Train. I stayed in Lula’s wake.

We got close enough to see when Rockin’ Armpits and Victor Waggle were about to take the stage. Hal changed direction and moved us left so we’d be in a good position when they finished playing and headed for the exit.

Hal watched the band and the crowd in full-on Rangeman protective mode. Lula took selfies, posted them for her Facebook  friends, and looked like she knew what the band was  playing. I focused on Victor Waggle and did shallow breathing, hoping to minimize the contact high.

At eleven-thirty I saw Victor look to the side of the stage and nod to someone. Hal saw it too and began to move us toward the side exit. Ten minutes later, the band played their last song, waved at the audience, and bounded off the stage. We made an effort to follow them but were stopped at the door.

Lula adjusted the girls and leaned forward. “Hold on here,” she said to the doorman. “We’re special friends of all them Armpits. We have a personal relationship. You can ask anybody, except for the little guy with the green hair. We don’t know him  personal. Furthermore, I’ve had a request from certain members of the band to pay a visit and work my magic. They gonna be unhappy if you don’t let Lula through to work magic.”

“Okay, you can go in,” the doorman said. “But only you.”

“No way,” Lula said. “I don’t go nowhere without my security  detail. When you got talents like I got you need people around who know CPR and shit.”

Most of Lula’s boobs had jiggled out by now with only her massive nipples caught inside the bustier. The doorman was having a hard time looking past the trapped nipple to the security detail.

“Whatever,” he said. “Maybe you want to save some of that magic for me.”

“When I’m done with you, your dick will never be the same,” Lula said. “I’ll ruin you.”

We all hurried through the door and looked around for Victor Waggle. Lighting was minimal, supplied mostly by Maglites and cellphone flashlights. There were thirty to forty people milling around in the small outdoor space. Some looked like the band about to go onstage next. Some looked like groupies and roadies. Some looked like event security. I spotted Russel Frick off to one side, packing his drum set into a cart.

“Hey,” I said, “remember me?”

“Bounty hunter.”

“Yeah. Is Victor here somewhere?”

“He went up front to find a meal ticket.”

“How do I get up front from here?”

Frick pointed to the narrow alley between the buildings. “Follow the yellow brick road.”

I grabbed Hal and Lula, and we ran down the alley to Stark. People were standing around talking, smoking, checking out street vendors. Victor Waggle was with several women in front of a food truck that was selling hot dogs. It looked like he was autographing photos.

We did a flanking maneuver and sneaked up behind him. I had my cuffs ready and was about to clap one on his wrist when one of the women yelled, “PIG!”

Victor whirled around, saw the cuff, and jumped away. One of the women kicked me in the knee, and two others pulled out guns.

“That’s rude,” Lula said to the woman who kicked me. “What’s the matter with you? You don’t kick sisters for no cause.”

“I got lots of cause,” the woman said. “I’m loaded with cause.” And she kicked Lula.

Lula swung her purse and hit the woman square in the face, knocking her off her feet.

Someone squeezed off a couple shots that took out a piece of Lula’s magenta hair before they embedded themselves in the hot dog truck. Everyone either hit the ground or ran for cover.

“I’ve been shot!” Lula screamed. “Lordy, someone help me. I’ve been shot.”

“She just got you in the hair,” I said.

Hal had the shooter by the back of her shirt. He was holding her at arm’s length with her feet not touching the ground. He had her gun in his other hand.

“What do you want me to do with her?” he asked.

“Put her down. We lost Waggle. He ran when she started shooting.”

Hal looked around. “It’s going to be hard to find him now.”

“We can try again tomorrow,” I said.

“Not me,” Lula said. “I’m not coming back here. These people have no respect. I got shoved and kicked and shot at. And I got my hair ruined.” She felt around where her hair had been shot off. “It’s not like hair grows on trees,” she said.