IT WAS FRIDAY morning. The sun was shining. My Rangeman escort was on my bumper. I was on my way to the bonds office.

I was going more out of habit than necessity. Realistically speaking, I only had one open file, and chances of making that capture this morning were close to zero—unless Victor Waggle staggered into the road in a drug-induced stupor and I accidentally ran over him.

Lula was eating the Boston Kreme donut when I walked in.

“I never expected to get the good donut today,” Lula said to me. “It took me forever to figure out what to do with my hair. I couldn’t get a salon appointment until tomorrow. Why are you late?”

“I didn’t want to start my day.”

“I hear you,” Lula said. “I’m getting the feeling our life is going south. We’re not having a lot of luck being bounty hunters, and the deli is turning into the kitchen from hell. I’m not even sure about my career as a sandwich maker anymore. I feel like I’m underappreciated by some of the customers.”

“Maybe because they never get what they order.”

“Yeah, but I’m giving them a unique culinary experience. It’s called haute cuisine. I read about it in a magazine while I was waiting to get my nails done. I’m all about haute cuisine and haute couture. I bet I could haute couture the hell out of anyone in Trenton.”

No doubt. At the moment, she was wearing a blond Farrah Fawcett wig, a fire-engine-red sequined tank top, a short spandex purple skirt that had metallic silver threads running through it, and five-inch silver platform heels.

“What’s the word on Vinnie?” I asked Connie.

“He’s supposed to go home today.”

“Is he talking? Did he say what happened to him?”

“He’s talking, but I don’t think he can remember anything about his abduction. At least that’s what he told Lucille. Morelli might know more.”

I called Morelli and asked him about Vinnie. “He seems to be healthy,” Morelli said. “No signs of torture or abuse. Turns out the number on his forehead wasn’t tattooed. It was put on with a marker pen. The last thing he remembers is getting out of his car in the parking area behind the agency. Toxicology reports haven’t come back yet, but I’m sure they’re going to find some sort of amnesiac drug in his system. He had needle tracks on his arm.”

“And his shoe?”

“Clean, but, again, all the lab work isn’t back.”

“I wish you would solve this, because the deli job is getting old.”

“I hate to pass this on to you, but we’ve got zip. We’re counting on you to figure it out.”

“Oh boy.”

“I have to get back to my blood and guts job,” Morelli said. “I’ll see you tonight. We’re still on for dinner at your parents’ house, right?”

“Crap, I completely forgot. I have to work at the deli.”

“I thought this was a birthday party for your sister.”

“Double crap!”

I disconnected and looked at Lula. “I need to get a birthday present for Valerie.”

“You forgot your sister’s birthday, didn’t you?” Lula said. “That’s terrible. Shame on you.”

“I have other stuff on my mind.” Like staying alive.

“What are you going to get her?” Lula asked.

“I don’t know. I hate the whole present thing. I never know what to get anyone.”

“I give people gift cards,” Lula said. “You could buy them in the supermarket. They’re easy. There’s gift cards for everything from Starbucks to Target and in between. I like them on account of the message they send. I figure it puts people on notice. A gift card says I feel obligated to get you something, but I don’t care enough to put any effort into finding just the right gift. Gives people some idea of their place in your life, you see what I’m saying?”

“You gave me a gift card for Christmas,” I said to Lula.

“Yeah,” Lula said, “but I put some thought into which one to get you. I gave you a card for that big liquor store on Liberty Street.”

“I’m heading for the deli,” I said. “The kitchen needs cleaning.”

“We need one of them cleaning services,” Lula said. “You can’t expect a sandwich artist like me to be scrubbing floors. I need to focus my energy in the direction of ham and cheese.”

I wanted to focus my energy in the direction of turning the deli into a pile of smoldering cinders, but that wasn’t going to help me find Wayne Kulicki.

“A cleaning service is a great idea,” I said. “You’re in charge of finding one. In the meantime, someone needs to scrape the grease off the grill and scoop up the dead roaches before we start serving lunch.”

It was nine-thirty when we got to the deli. Stretch was already there, sitting on the sidewalk with his back to the front door. He stood when he saw me.

“Did I put sauerkraut on a number twenty-two?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “And ketchup. You put ketchup on everything, including lemon meringue pie.”

“I thought it needed a splash of color.”

“You were in My Little Pony Land.”

“It was my happy place,” Stretch said.

“It wasn’t my happy place,” Lula said. “You were out there, whackadoodle. I take my sandwiches seriously, and I don’t want some doper coming around adding extra condiments.”

Raymond ambled down the street and nodded in greeting. “I’m hoping that when we open the door, the deli will be magically cleaned,” he said. “I have it on very good authority that sometimes the tooth fairy has a light day and does these things.”

“I’m hoping that’s your sense of humor and not coming from something extra you put in your wake-up weed,” Lula said.

Raymond did more head bobbing. “I have a very excellent sense of humor.”

Hal drove up, my night-shift Rangeman guy drove off, and Hal parked in his spot behind my Nova. I plugged my key into the deli’s front door, reached in and switched the light on, and we all waited outside for a moment while the roaches scurried out of sight.

The laundry pickup and delivery came at ten-thirty. The butcher truck came ten minutes later, and Central GP honked their horn in the back lot a little after eleven.

“Sorry I’m late,” Frankie said. “Fridays are always nuts. Everyone ordering for the weekend. Except the deli. You get commuter trade here. Weekends not so much.”

“I’m sure we’re one of your smaller accounts,” I said. “I’m surprised that you stop in every day. The other suppliers come twice a week.”

“You’re in between Munchers Italian and the Corner Grille. They get fresh bread daily, so it’s no biggie for me to stop here.”

Plus, he distributes drugs, I thought. Stretch and Raymond were good customers.

“I hear you’ve got a new menu,” Frankie said. “How’s it doing?”

“It’s not exactly a new menu,” I said. “It’s mostly like the sandwich maker is overly creative.”

“Who’s making these sandwiches? Is it the big guy?”

“Hal? No, Hal is working the phone and keeping an eye on things.”

“You mean, like, he’s the manager now?”

“He’s more like security.”

“Yeah, you got a problem. It’s gotta be scary to work here and wonder who’s gonna be the next one to disappear and lose a shoe. I’m surprised this place is still in business.”

“You know about that?”

“Everyone knows about that,” Frankie said.

I signed the receipt for the day’s delivery of rolls, paper towels, avocados, mayo, and a quart-size plastic bag labeled OREGANO.

“Who gets the oregano?” I asked Frankie.

“Raymond. It’s for the French fries.”

A news crew from one of the local television stations walked through the front door at one o’clock and began filming. They panned around the dining area and made their way back to the kitchen.

Raymond grabbed his bag of oregano and ducked down. “I must go to the little boys’ room,” he said. “Do not let my fry station go out of control.”

Stretch and Dalia went about business as usual.

Lula ripped her apron off and adjusted the girls. “I bet they heard about my sandwiches,” Lula said. “This could be the start of a big television career for me. I even got a name for my show. I’m gonna call it Lula’s Buns on account of my best sandwiches are made on those smushy hamburger buns we get from the truck.”

I wasn’t nearly so excited about the television crew. My mind was racing down black roads of panic. I didn’t want to announce  to the world that I was the manager of the deli. I didn’t want publicity that might bring in more customers when we could barely service our regulars. Plus, we had giant roaches, mutant rats, half the stuff in the fridge expired months ago, and there was green fuzzy stuff growing in the pantry. Raymond was probably flushing his oregano down the toilet, but God knows what everyone had in their lockers.

The television crew consisted of a cameraman, a reporter in a wrinkled suit, and a guy who said he was the producer. The producer was wearing Jesus sandals and looked like he slept in a cardboard box under the bridge.

The reporter went directly to Lula. “How does it feel to be an Internet sensation?” he asked her.

Lula leaned forward. “Say what?”

“Yesterday you had twenty thousand likes on your YouTube video.”

“I didn’t post no video,” Lula said. “I saw it,” Dalia said. “It was posted by a customer. It was titled ‘S& M Sandwich Bitch,’ and it was you in your black leathers, making sandwiches and cussing out Stretch.”

“He was ruining my sandwiches,” Lula said. “He was putting ketchup on everything. I take my sandwiches seriously.”

“Who are you today?” the reporter asked Lula. “Are you Doris Day?”

“I could see you don’t know much about Doris Day,” Lula said. “If I was Doris Day I’d have on a pillbox hat and I’d be wearing a fluffy pink sweater. And anyways I’m always Lula. I don’t do that other people shit.” Lula looked at the camera guy. “Can I say ‘shit’ on television?”

“No,” he said. “We’ll have to bleep that out.”

“That’s too bad,” Lula said. “I emoted it with real conviction. It could have been a good sound bite.”

The reporter looked at the sandwich Lula was making. “What is this?” he asked.

“It’s a chicken parm,” Lula said.

“It doesn’t look like a chicken parm.”

“That’s because without any extra charge I’m giving this person a chicken parm supreme à la Lula. I added bacon and brown gravy on account of everything is better with bacon and gravy.”

The cameraman zoomed in on the supreme à la Lula.

“Order up,” Stretch yelled. “Where’s my chicken parm? Where are my fries?”

“There aren’t any fries,” I said. “Raymond is in the little  boys’  room. It might have something to do with the oregano.”

“I need a number twenty-three and a number four,” Dalia said.

The cameraman swung around to get a shot of Dalia and clipped Stretch’s arm with his camera. The chef’s knife got knocked out of Stretch’s hand, fell to the floor, and impaled the producer’s foot.

Time stood still for a full minute while everyone stared in shocked horror.

“Holy bleep,” Lula said.

Stretch pulled the knife out of the guy’s foot and blood spurted everywhere. The cameraman went in for a close-up, and Hal fainted. Crash!

“I need that chicken parm,” Dalia said, “and table three wants apple pie.”

“Chicken parm’s up,” Stretch said. “It’s the plate that looks like diarrhea on bacon.”

I wrapped a towel around the producer’s foot, and Lula bound it up with plastic wrap.

“What’s happening?” one of the customers asked. “What’s going on?”

“We got a issue here,” Lula told him. “Any of you people a podiatrist?”

No one was a podiatrist, so we scooped the producer up and helped him hobble out to the news van.

“Sorry about this,” I said to the reporter. “I hope it won’t reflect badly on the deli.”

“Lady, with the reputation this deli is getting, a stabbing can only enhance it,” the reporter said.

Hal was sitting in a booth when we got back inside, but he wasn’t looking great. Lula gave him a number three with extra gravy and a glass of orange juice. Dalia took a mop to the blood on the kitchen floor. Stretch washed his chef’s knife and poured bleach over it. We comped the checks for all the customers, and got Raymond out of the bathroom.

“Now we’re all back to normal,” Lula said. “I might take the time to get my nails done before the dinner rush, since I’m changing out my hair tomorrow. I’m liking this blond wig. And I might want to stay blond for a while so people can recognize me after I’ve been on television. I’m thinking I’ll go blond and maybe I want some champagne nail varnish.”

“I have to get Valerie a birthday present,” I said. “And then I need to show up for a party at my parents’ house. I’ll get back to close, but I won’t be here for dinner.”

“No problem,” Lula said. “We got it covered.”

“What about Mr. Muscle?” Stretch asked. “Is he going to the party or can he work phones for us?”

“Do you mind working phones?” I asked Hal.

“If it’s okay with Ranger, it’s okay with me,” Hal said.

“Where are you going shopping?” Lula asked. “Do you have ideas for Valerie?”

“I have no ideas. I thought I’d go to the mall and look around.”

“That’s the worst,” Lula said. “That’s like shopping death. You’d better take me with you. I’m good at shopping.”

“I thought you were getting your nails done.”

“I’ll get them done tomorrow. I can see you need my help here.”

Hal parked in the lot at Quaker Bridge Mall, and we all trooped into Macy’s.

“What’s Valerie’s size?” Lula asked.

“I don’t know. She’s put some weight on since the last baby, and she doesn’t discuss size.”

“What about a scarf? A scarf fits all sizes.”

“I don’t think she’s a scarf person.”

“How could someone not be a scarf person? Everybody is a scarf person.”

“I’ve never seen you wear a scarf.”

“Yeah, but that’s me. I don’t like to wear something that takes attention away from my girls.”

We wandered past the scarfs, handbags, and lingerie. Nothing jumped out at me as being perfect for Valerie and in my price range.

“Perfume?” Lula asked. “Candle?”

“Albert has allergies to certain scents.”

We moved out of Macy’s into the mall. Lula led the way, I followed Lula, and Hal followed me.

“Here’s one of my favorite jewelry stores,” Lula said. “They got the best fake diamonds. You can’t tell the difference. And they got stuff that looks like it’s old. It’s the ‘Family Heirloom’ collection.”

“Valerie doesn’t wear jewelry anymore,” I said. “The baby grabs it.”

“They got an Arthur Murray Dance Studio here,” Lula said. “You could give her dance lessons. Or how about a hat? You could get her name embroidered on it. They do it while you wait.”

We all stopped and had giant pretzels and ice cream and went to the second level. We passed by Mr. Alexander’s, Classy Nails, and a wig shop.

“There’s a novelty store here that has all kinds of good stuff,” Lula said. “They have about forty different kinds of vibrators. You could get Valerie one of those. What girl doesn’t want a vibrator?”

Somehow, I couldn’t see Valerie at the table, unwrapping a vibrator while my mother cut the birthday cake.

“There’s a bookstore here somewhere,” Lula said. “I’ve never been in it, but I saw it advertised. Maybe she would like a book.”

“She has four kids,” I said. “She hasn’t got time to read.”

“That’s a shame,” Lula said. “Everyone should read.”

“Do you read?”

“No. But I think about it sometimes. Problem is, I go to a bookstore and there’s so many books I get confused. So, I get coffee. I know what I’m doing when I order a coffee.”

Hal looked like his feet hurt, and he would be thankful for a lobotomy.

“We’ve been walking around for hours,” Lula said. “I’m out of ideas, and Hal and me need to get back to the deli.”

“Suppose it was your sister,” I said to Lula. “What would you get her?”

“That’s easy,” Lula said. “I’d get her one of them BeDazzler kits. They got them in that novelty store with the vibrators.”

Done and done. We stopped at the card store on the way out of the mall, and I got a big gift bag, some pink tissue paper, and a card. I stuffed the BeDazzler into the bag, signed the card, and I was ready to party.

I called Ranger and told him I’d be with Morelli for Valerie’s birthday dinner, so I was sending Hal back to the deli with Lula.

“I’m going to have to give Hal a combat bonus,” Ranger said. And he disconnected.