Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum #24)(50)

“You’re bleeding!” I said.

“It isn’t serious. The bullet grazed my arm. Hard to believe he could be such a bad shot at such close range.”

“We should get you to a doctor.”

“Not necessary. I’m a good healer. I’m going to drop you at Morelli’s, and then I’ll stop off at your place to get a clean shirt. I still have work to do tonight.”

“Would you like some help?”

“Thanks for the offer, but I have to do this alone.”

Diesel was silent for the rest of the drive. I had the measuring cup on the floor by my feet, and I was trying to think of something other than the knife in the guy’s eye and the blood on Diesel’s shirt. I conjured up the sand and surf of Long Beach Island, my mom’s pineapple upside-down cake, and Ranger naked. I thought about kittens and puppies and grilled cheese sandwiches. I was cycling back to Ranger naked when Diesel pulled to the curb in front of Morelli’s house.

He walked me to the door, leaned in, and kissed me. Friendly. No tongue. No groping. A little disappointing.

“I’ll catch up with you tomorrow,” he said. “Keep your doors locked.”

I nodded yes, stepped back, closed and locked the door. Bob galloped into the foyer, slamming into me, almost taking me to the floor. I told him he was a good boy, and we danced into the kitchen. I set the cup on a paper towel in the kitchen, and let him out to tinkle or do whatever in the backyard. I kept a watch for red eyes.

I filled Bob’s bowl with dog kibble and gave him fresh water. Two hours later we were both asleep on the couch, in front of the television, when Morelli came home.

Bob awoke first. He was off the couch when the door opened. I was slower to come out of the sleep fog. Morelli hugged Bob and ruffled his ears. He leaned down and kissed me. Friendly. No tongue. No groping. What the hell?

Morelli shuffled into the kitchen and got a beer out of the fridge. “I’m beat,” he said. “I’m getting too old for this overtime crap. I’m ready to go back to being a uniform.”

I followed after him. “You don’t mean that.”

“No. But I’m flat-out done.”

“Did you catch any zombies?”

“We came close, but no. They were there. We could smell them. Carnations and rot. They must have another den somewhere in the woods. We’ll go back tomorrow when it’s light.” He spotted the measuring cup on the counter. “What’s this?”

“I went to the cemetery on Morley Street to look for Slick, and stumbled across two guys who were cooking something in this cup. They tossed the cup when they saw me and ran away. Whatever was in the cup glowed iridescent green and evaporated. Poof. There were a bunch of syringes lying around. I think this is some new street drug. And it occurred to me that it might be like the drug bath salts. Maybe something that makes people think they’re zombies.”

“Flakka?” he asked.

“Maybe a derivative of flakka,” I said.

“I’ll have CSI take a look at it. As it is, they’re working overtime. You can’t imagine what we found in the hole in Diggery’s woods.”

“Bones? Brains?”

“No brains. Everything else.” Morelli got a bag of chips out of the cupboard. “Talk to me about the cemetery. You went there alone?”

“Do you remember Diesel?”

“Big guy. Blond hair. Makes Ranger look normal.”

“Yeah. He was with me.”

“Do I want to know about this?”

“Nothing to tell. I’m letting him stay in my apartment since I’m here with you. He’s never in town for long.”

Morelli looked at the measuring cup. “So these guys just ran away?”

“Yep.”

“And whatever was in this evaporated?”

“Yes. It went hissss and evaporated. Okay, actually the one pulled a gun and shot Diesel. But it was just a nick. And then Diesel threw a knife that got stuck in the guy’s eye. And then they ran away.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“No. That’s the way it happened. I almost threw up. The knife was sticking out of his eye.”

“You could have a nice safe job stacking oranges at the grocery store. You could get a job at the button factory. Is it really necessary that you continue to be a bounty hunter?”

“You sound like my mother.”

Morelli put the chips back. “I’m too tired to eat these.”

We trudged upstairs, and Morelli headed for the bathroom.

“I’m going to take a fast shower,” he said. “Feel free to get started without me.”

“I thought you were tired.”

“Cupcake, I’m never that tired.”





TWENTY-ONE


I WAS IN the kitchen, waiting for the coffee maker to dispense my coffee, when Morelli and Bob came in from their Sunday morning run. Hard to say which looked worse. Bob with his tongue hanging out of his mouth or Morelli dripping sweat.

“Looks like you guys had fun,” I said.

“Yeah, I love these Sunday morning runs,” Morelli said.

“What’s the plan for the day?”

“I promised Anthony I’d help him put in a new tub. He’s renovating his bathroom.”