Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum #24)(39)

“I like it.”

I disconnected, went to the foyer, and pulled Slick’s notebook out of my messenger bag. I returned to the table and started reading. I drifted into a coma on page five. Oprah might love it. Me not so much. It was about a person named Zero who was a lost soul. Zero had given up his humanoid and sexual identity and was wandering naked in the woods. The idea was interesting but the writing was atrocious. Zero explained on page one that he was inventing a new writing form called stream of unconsciousness, and that he didn’t believe in the use of punctuation.

I skimmed from page five on. Not a lot happened to Zero. Mostly Zero was thinking about food and having sex with itself. These were complicated issues for Zero because, having no identity, he didn’t know what he was supposed to eat. The sex came easier, and was explained in great detail, but was difficult to follow without punctuation. On page twenty-two, Zero wrote about coming across another thing. It didn’t have a name, but it was also having sex with itself. Fortunately, the writing ended on page twenty-three, shortly after ejaculation. Hard to tell which of them was ejaculating. Maybe both.

? ? ?

I got baked beans and pulled pork from the deli and fresh-made rolls from the bakery. Morelli wasn’t home when I arrived at his house, so I stowed the beans and the pork in the fridge, and I put the rolls in the cupboard where Bob couldn’t get at them. Bob and I went for a walk around a bunch of blocks, and when we returned to the house, it was still empty. I fed Bob and made myself a pulled pork sandwich. I called Morelli, but he didn’t pick up.

It was eight-thirty when I fetched Lula.

“Did you notice how I’m all dressed in black for night surveillance?” Lula said, buckling herself in. “Between my black clothes and my chocolate skin, I’m a total shadow. I’m like invisible. I’m the black bomb.”

I was dressed in the same clothes I’d worn all day, and my skin did me no favors when it came to the shadow-blending thing. Fortunately, I was average enough that I almost never attracted attention.

I parked Morelli’s car on the opposite side of the street from Judy Chucci’s house, and Lula and I settled in to wait. Lights were on in her house but curtains were drawn. It was an overcast night. No moon. By nine o’clock I realized I was going to have to leave the car and get closer to the house. It would be too easy for Johnny to sneak around in the dark, drop a package on Judy’s porch, and run off into the night.

Lula and I crossed the street and hid behind a car belonging to the neighbor next door. There was no street traffic. Residents were inside watching television, putting kids to bed, and Facebooking.

“I can’t wait to see what present Judy’s getting tonight,” Lula said. “It’s like she got Christmas every day.”

I checked my watch at nine-thirty. “Not a creature is stirring, not even a mouse,” I said to Lula.

“Tell me about it,” Lula said. “This is tedious. I’m tired of standing here. I can’t even do anything on my phone on account of the screen would light up.”

“I think I just saw movement on the far side of Judy’s house,” I whispered.

We froze and squinted into the darkness.

“I see it,” Lula said. “It’s him. I can see his raggedy undies on his head.”

I didn’t see any undies. I saw a shadowy figure move in front of a tree and disappear. I thought I heard the rustle of cloth, or maybe it was something brushing against the tree.

“Wait until he goes to the door,” I whispered. “We don’t want to have to chase him through everyone’s backyard in the dark.”

“Sure, I get that,” Lula said, “but what if he doesn’t go to her front door? What if he’s going to her back door? I’m gonna sneak between these two houses, and see if he’s at the back door.”

“No!”

Too late. She was off and tippy-toe running to the back of the house. And then she was out of sight, around the corner of the building.

“Stop!” she shouted. “You’re under arrest, sort of. Actually, we can’t arrest you, but we can apprehend you.”

I took off at a dead run. It was pitch-black between the houses, and there wasn’t much light at the back. I heard something crash. I heard Lula cussing. More crashing.

“Damn fucking gnomes,” Lula said.

I turned into the backyard and ran into a gnome.

“I got him!” Lula yelled. “I got Mr. Underpants! I got . . . YOW!”

She was on the other side of the yard, by the back door, and there were about a hundred gnomes between us.

“Help!” Lula yelled. “Holy crap!”

I kicked a bunch of gnomes out of the way and crossed the yard. I saw Lula but no Johnny.

“Did he get away?” I asked.

Lula was dancing around. “It was a zombie. I touched a zombie. I got zombie cooties. It was awful. He smelled like doodie and carnations. I can’t get it out of my nose. I gotta cut off my nose. Get me a knife.”

“Are you sure it was a zombie?”

“I got cooties. I got cooties. They’re on my clothes. He grabbed me, and he touched my clothes.”

Lula ripped her black spandex tank top off and peeled her black spandex tights off. She was left wearing a black thong.

“Good God,” I said. “If you take any more off you’re not getting in Morelli’s car.”