Free 11 Eleven On Top by Janet Evanovich Page B

good.”
    “The hat!”
    “Okay, I see what you're saying about the hat. Suppose the hat had an accident? Suppose the hat fell into the french fry machine first thing? I bet it would take days to get a new hat.”
    A little guy came up behind me. He was half a head shorter than me, and he looked like a chubby pink pig in pants. His cheeks were round and pink. His hands were pink sausages. His belly jiggled when he moved. His mouth was round and his lips were pink... and best not to think about the pig part the mouth most resembled, but it could be found under the curly pig tail.
    “I'm the manager,” he said. “Milton Mann.”
    “This here's Stephanie Plum,” Lula said. “She's looking for a job.”
    “Minimum wage,” Mann said. “We need someone for the three-to-eleven shift.”
    “How about food?” Lula wanted to know. “Does she eat free? And what about takeout?”
    “There's no eating on the job, but she can eat for free on her dinner break. Takeout gets a twenty percent discount.”
    “That sounds fair,” Lula said. “She'll take the job.”
    “Come in a half hour early tomorrow,” Mann said to me. “I'll give you your uniform and you can fill out the paperwork.”
    “Look at that,” Lula said, claiming her tray of food, steering me back to the table. “See how easy it is to get a job? There's jobs everywhere.”
    “Yeah, but I don't want this job. I don't want to work here.”
    “Twenty percent off on takeout,” Lula said. “You can't beat that. You can feed your family... and friends.”
    I took a piece of fried chicken from the bucket on the tray. “My car is back at the dry cleaner.”
    “And I didn't get my sweater. That was my favorite sweater, too. It was just the right shade of red to flatter my skin tone.”
    I finished my piece of chicken. “Are you going back to get your sweater?”
    “Damn skippy I'm going back. Only thing is I'm waiting until they're closed and it's nice and dark out.” Lula looked over my shoulder and her eyes focused on the front door. “Uh oh,” Lula said. “Here comes Officer Hottie, and he don't look happy.”
    Morelli moved behind me and curled his fingers into the back of my jacket collar. “I need to talk to you... outside.”
    “I wouldn't go if I was you,” Lula said to me. “He's wearing his mad cop face. At least you should make him leave his gun here.”
    Morelli shot Lula a look, and she buried her head in the chicken bucket.
    When we got outside Morelli dragged me to the far side of the building, away from the big plate glass windows. He still had a grip on my jacket, and he still had the don't-mess-with-me cop face. He held tight to my jacket, and he stared at his shoes, head down.
    “Practicing anger management?” I asked.
    He shook his head and bit into his lower lip. “No,” he said. “I'm trying not to laugh. That crazy old lady shot at you and I don't want to trivialize it, but I totally lost it at Kan Klean. And I wasn't the only one. I was there with three uniforms who responded to the call, and we all had to go around to the back of the building to compose ourselves. Your friend Eddie Gazarra was laughing so hard he wet his uniform. Was there really a shoot-out between the old lady and Lula?”
    “Yeah, but Mama Macaroni did all the shooting. She trashed the place. Lula and I were lucky to get out alive. How'd you know where to find me?”
    “I did a drive-by on all the doughnut shops and fast-food places in the area. And by the way, Mama Macaroni said to tell you that you're fired.” Morelli leaned into me and nuzzled my neck. “We should celebrate.”
    “You wanted to celebrate when I got the job. Now you want to celebrate because I've lost the job?”
    “I like to celebrate.”
    Sometimes I had a hard time keeping up with Morelli's libido. “I'm not talking to you,” I told Morelli.
    “Yeah, but we could still celebrate, right?”
    “Wrong. And I need to get back inside before Lula eats all the food.”
    Morelli