Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum #24)(49)

“Not thirty.”

“Does it seem like thirty?”

“Is this going somewhere?” I asked him.

“Just curious.”

“What’s the longest relationship you’ve ever had?”

“Forty-eight hours,” Diesel said. “I thought it would never end.”

“Seriously.”

A pitcher of beer was delivered, and we both chugged some down.

“Define ‘relationship,’” Diesel said. “Does it involve cohabitation? Is it sexual? Is love involved? Do you have to share a bathroom?”

“Pick any two out of those four things.”

“Then you’re probably one of my longer relationships . . . off and on.”

“Is your mother upset about this?”

“My mother is a strange woman.”

No doubt.

The bartender brought our burgers, fries, and onion rings to the table, and we dug in. I finished my burger and called Morelli while I picked at the cheese fries.

“Just checking in,” I said to him. “Are you finding anything?”

“CSI is at work in the pit. You said you saw three zombies here, correct?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve sealed off as much as we can, and we’re combing the woods. Unfortunately, we’re hampered by the dark.”

“Did you get a blood sample from the broken glass?”

“Yes. And I had someone board the window up, so Ethel doesn’t sneak out. I’ve got thirteen men searching the woods. None of them wants to get friendly with Ethel.”

“When do you think you’ll get back to the house?”

“At this rate, it’ll be Tuesday.”

I disconnected and gave up a sigh.

“Honey,” Diesel said, “you need a man you can count on.”

“Like you?”

“No. I make Morelli look good. I’m fun, but I’m not someone you’d want to count on.”

“Good to know.”

Diesel grinned and paid the check. “Let’s go for a walk through a cemetery.”

It was dark when we left the bar. The sky was overcast with just a hint of moon low on the horizon. There was traffic on the street behind us, but the cemetery in front of us was deathly silent.

We went a short distance on the path, and Diesel stopped.

“Do you smell that?” he asked.

“Yes, but I don’t know what it is. It reminds me of an electrical fire I had in one of my cars. And at the same time, it’s sweet.”

“Like carnations.”

“Oh crap. Zombies?”

He took my hand and tugged me forward. “Let’s go say hello.”

Diesel left the path and cut across several graves to an aboveground crypt. I could make out two figures huddled next to the crypt. They appeared to be heating something in a metal measuring cup with a large Bic-type lighter. They saw us approach, and they extinguished the lighter.

“Back off,” one of them said to us. “Or die.”

“We’re looking for Slick,” Diesel said.

“Look someplace else. There’s no Slick here.”

“What’s in the cup?” Diesel asked.

The guy holding the lighter pulled a gun and fired. In the next instant, he had a knife stuck in his eye. It happened so fast I didn’t see the knife thrown. He screamed and fell back, dropping the gun. The other guy tossed the cup, grabbed his friend, and they scrambled away into the shadows. The cup hit the ground with a splash of iridescent green and a hiss of steam.

I almost lost my burger and fries. One second I was terrified that I’d get shot, and the next I was dumbstruck at the sight of the knife stuck in the gunman’s eye. I clapped my hands over my mouth and swallowed back the horror.

“Holy cow!” I said. “How did you do that? Where did the knife come from?”

“Reflex action,” Diesel said. “I have a strong sense of survival.”

“Did you mean to put it in his eye?”

“Lucky throw,” Diesel said.

I didn’t believe it was a lucky throw. I thought it was an accurate throw.

Diesel played the light from his iPhone over the patch of grass where the cup had landed, but there was no remnant of the cup’s contents. Only the lingering scent of carnations.

“Morelli might like to see this measuring cup,” Diesel said.

I took a tissue from my messenger bag and used it to pick the cup up.

“What do you think was in this?” I asked.

“Probably a street drug. Difficult to see in the dark, but I’ve been through here before, and there are discarded syringes in this area.”

“A street drug that turns people into zombies? Something similar to bath salts?”

Diesel stared at me for a beat, and moved toward the path. “Time to head out.”

I stayed close to him on the way back to the car. There were some far-off, eerie moaning sounds, but I didn’t suggest that we investigate. I didn’t know how many secret weapons Diesel carried, and I didn’t want to risk another knife in the eye episode. I was barely holding on to my cheese fries.

Diesel was wearing a long-sleeved black T-shirt untucked with the sleeves pushed up to his elbow. We got into the car, and I realized his right sleeve had a tear in it and was soaked with blood.