Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum #24)(15)

“Rekko said he saw you at the Korean grocery protest. He said you started a riot.”

“I wasn’t the one who started the riot. I tried to make an apprehension and it went south, and then one thing led to another. How’s the head count going?”

“It’s going freaky. Bad enough we’ve got these heads in cold storage, it turns out they haven’t got brains.”

“Say what?”

“I’m not going to repeat it. I shouldn’t have told you because it hasn’t been released, but I’m creeped out, and I’ve had two whiskeys straight up. No fucking brains.”

“Do you think it’s the zombies?”

“No. I think it’s some sick psychotic asshole. Or maybe a bunch of assholes. Or hell, I guess it could be zombies.”

“I still haven’t found Ethel.”

“I’d like to help, but I haven’t got time. I’m pulling double shifts, running down decapitation leads.”

“Grandma will be happy when you find the head thief. Leonard Friedman had to have a closed casket. And you know how Grandma hates a closed casket.”

“I knew Leonard. A closed casket would have been a good idea even if his head was attached. He wasn’t an attractive man.”

I said good night to Morelli and stepped into the shower. I have an ugly 1970s-era bathroom. I tell myself the avocado wallpaper and baby-diarrhea yellow fixtures are retro, but truth is they were a bad idea in the ’70s and they’re a worse idea now. I scrubbed the egg away and stood under the hot water until it started to go cold. I toweled off, blasted my hair with the dryer, got into my pajamas, and went out to see if Diesel was still in my living room.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” he said. “Come cuddle.”

“Gonna pass on the cuddling and go straight to bed.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“No. It’s a declaration. I’m beat.” I put my finger to my eye and tested it for puffiness. “How does my eye look?”

“It looks like you smashed it into someone’s fist.”





SIX


I WOKE UP a little after midnight and realized I was in bed alone, and there were no television sounds drifting under my door. I got out of bed and walked through my apartment. No Diesel. Lights were off. The front door was locked. Rex was running on his wheel. On my way back to bed I caught sight of Diesel’s beat-up knapsack resting against the side of the couch. He was gone but not forever.

The next time I awoke it was morning. The sun was shining, and Diesel was sleeping peacefully beside me. His arm was draped across my chest. The clothes he’d been wearing were on the floor. All of them.

Best to sneak out of bed before he wakes up and gets amorous, I thought. I maneuvered out from under the arm and tiptoed into the bathroom. When I emerged a half hour later I was dressed and ready to start my day, and Diesel was still asleep. I made coffee, and ate a peanut butter and banana sandwich. I returned to the bathroom to brush my teeth and take another look at my eye. The swelling was down but the bruise was worse. Diesel was still sleeping.

“Hey!” I shouted, standing over him.

He rolled over onto his back and opened his eyes. “What?”

“Just wanted to make sure you weren’t dead.”

“Late night,” he said. “I smell coffee.”

“Where were you?”

“Working.”

“Night watchman?”

“More or less.” He threw the covers off, stood, and stretched.

“God’s sake!” I said. “Don’t you have any modesty?”

“None. You just noticed?”

I noticed lots of things. Actually, everything. The man was stupefyingly gorgeous.

“I’m going to work,” I said. “Will you still be here when I return?”

“Probably. You might want to pick up more mac and cheese.”

He padded off to the bathroom, and I left the apartment. I walked out into the parking lot and realized I didn’t have a car. A moment later a black Mercedes SUV pulled up in front of me and stopped. A Rangeman guy got out and handed me a key fob.

“From Ranger,” he said. “Registration is in the glove compartment, and it’s equipped with the usual.”

That meant it had a GPS tracker stuck somewhere, and a loaded gun in a lockbox under the driver’s seat.

A black Ford Explorer drove up, the Rangeman guy got in, and the SUV left the parking lot.

? ? ?

Lula was already at the office when I arrived.

“Whoa,” she said. “You got a hideous eye.”

“The swelling is down and my nose doesn’t feel broken.”

“Yeah, your nose looks okay. Good thing too because you have an excellent nose. People pay big money to get a nose like that.”

“Anything new?” I asked Connie.

Connie looked up from her computer. “No new FTAs, but my cousin Miriam told me that the funeral home on Liberty Street lost two heads last night. Miriam works there as a cosmetologist. She came to work this morning to get Mrs. Werner and Mr. Shantz ready for their viewings and when they pulled them out of the drawer they didn’t have their heads.”

“I don’t like this,” Lula said. “This is creeping me out. Who goes around taking dead people’s heads? It’s just not right. Hold on, do you think it’s terrorists?”