Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum #24)(18)

No one came forward.

“She’s currently on someone’s front lawn,” I said.

A woman with short brown hair raised her hand.

“If you want her off your lawn you’re going to have to help me move her.”

“What the heck?” the woman said. “I have three out-of-control kids and a three-hundred-pound husband who snores like a yeti. I guess I can move a snake.”

Everyone but Lula grabbed a piece of Ethel. We wrestled her into the back of the Mercedes and closed the door on her.

“Appreciate the help, ladies,” I said. “I’m sure Ethel will be happy to get home.”

I jumped behind the wheel, and Lula got in beside me.

“That went off easy-peasy,” Lula said. “Bing bang bam. Are we a team, or what? Now all we got to do is get Ethel into the double-wide. I bet you got a plan for that too.”

“I have hot dogs. And I promised her pizza.”

“That would do it for me.”

I turned onto State, drove for ten minutes, and turned onto Diggery’s road.

“This could be a new profession for us,” Lula said. “We could be snake wranglers. I bet there’s good money in it.”

“I think I hear some rustling in the back. Check on Ethel for me. See if she’s okay.”

“It’s just this bumpy, crap-ass road,” Lula said. “Ethel’s sleeping like a baby.”

“Still, just turn around and make sure.”

“No problem. YOW! She’s awake. Lordy, she’s coming to get me. She’s going to eat me alive!”

“Don’t panic. Take my stun gun and give her another shot of electric.”

“Let me out. Stop the car.”

In my peripheral vision, I saw a snake head slither over Lula’s shoulder.

“YOW!” Lula shrieked, flailing her arms. “Let me out of here!”

Lula jumped out of the moving car. The snake slid onto the floor and over my foot. I went into a freak-out, the SUV veered off the road, and I crashed into an outhouse that belonged to one of the yurt people. I fought my way free of the inflated airbag, opened my door, tumbled out, and the snake zigzagged over me and disappeared into the woods.

I lay there for a full minute, struggling to breathe, before Lula gave me a hand-up and pulled me to my feet.

“This stinks,” Lula said.

“I know. The snake got away.”

“No. I mean it really stinks. You trashed an outhouse.”

The entire front end of the Mercedes was bashed in, and the SUV was resting on the outhouse remains. Both the outhouse and the SUV were leaking. I rescued my messenger bag from the car and called Ranger.

“It wasn’t my fault,” I said. “There was a snake in the car.”

“Babe, you’ve had the car for less than two hours.”

Lula was backing away, holding her nose and fanning the air.

“If you’re sending someone to take care of this you’ll want to send him in a hazmat suit,” I said to Ranger. “I sort of ran over an outhouse.”

There was silence on the other end.

“Hello?” I said. “Are you still there? Do I hear you laughing?”

“You never disappoint,” Ranger said.

An hour later, Lula was loaded into a Rangeman SUV and shuttled off to the office. The Mercedes was winched onto a flatbed tow truck. And Ranger and I were in his Cayenne, watching Ethel follow the newly laid out trail of hot dogs that led into Diggery’s double-wide. When all of Ethel was inside, I ran to the door, told her I’d be back with her pizza, and locked her in.

“Finally,” I said to Ranger. “Success.”

“I was thinking the same thing. You owe me a night.”

“Maybe not. The car might not be totaled.”

“Babe, you rolled it over an outhouse.”

“I don’t suppose you’d want to give me another chance?”

Ranger smiled. “Double or nothing.”

“Deal.”





EIGHT


RANGER DROVE ME home and parked in the lot behind my building.

“Diesel is still there,” Ranger said, looking up at my second-floor apartment windows.

“How do you know?”

“I just know.”

“What’s this strange connection between the two of you?”

“There’s no connection,” Ranger said. “We’ve crossed paths.”

“You don’t like him.”

Ranger studied me for a beat. “I understand him. I know who he is.”

“He’s like you,” I said.

“In some ways.”

“That’s pretty scary right there.”

Ranger leaned in and kissed me. “You have no idea.”

I left Ranger and trudged off to my apartment. Diesel was sprawled on the couch when I walked in.

“I’m taking a shower,” I said on my way to the bathroom.

“Good move,” Diesel said. “You smell like an outhouse.”

I stopped and looked at him.

“Lucky guess,” Diesel said.

“How’s the disturbance in the force? Is it getting better?”

“It’s getting worse.”