Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum #24)(6)

We saw no sign of Ethel on the way in and no sign of Ethel when I parked in front of the double-wide. It was morning, and all was quiet in Diggery’s neighborhood. I left Lula in the car and carefully walked to the makeshift steps and open door. It was eerily still. No snorting, slurping animal sounds. No sound of an elephant crashing into furniture. I crept to the top step and looked in. It wasn’t as bad as I’d feared. Cabinet doors were open, cereal boxes and jelly jars were scattered around, an upholstered chair had been ripped apart. For all I know the chair might have looked like that when Diggery was in residence. The double-wide didn’t smell all that great, but again, it never smelled good. I didn’t see Ethel.

“Hello,” I called. “Anybody home?”

No answer.

The bedroom and bathroom doors were open. I suppose Ethel could have been curled up snoozing in one of those rooms. I wasn’t about to investigate. Doorstep was as far as I was willing to go.

I got halfway across the yard, on my way back to my SUV, and I stopped. This was stupid. I went into filthy, dark, rat-infested buildings looking for rapists and murderers, but I was chickening out on Diggery’s double-wide. I blew out a sigh, rolled my eyes, turned, and marched up to the door and stepped in. Not so bad, I told myself. No raccoons, no cats, no rats, dead or otherwise, no snakes in sight. I made my way to the back bedroom and took a quick look around. No Ethel anywhere. I left the double-wide and returned to Lula.

“Well?” Lula asked.

“Empty.”

“Good,” Lula said. “Let’s roll. I’m feeling creeped out. I think there’s zombies around here somewhere. I could feel them watching me. Probably the only reason there’s no cats left in that crap-ass double-wide is on account of the zombies scared them off.”

“I thought zombies only came out at night.”

“No way. That’s vampires. Zombies never sleep. Okay, so they like the dark, but I’m guessing they could use sunscreen and be okay. The thing is at night they’re the most dangerous because that’s when they get hungry and want to eat brains.”

“Good to know.”

“You bet your ass. You gotta be real careful of zombies at night.”

I put the car in gear and headed out of Diggery’s neighborhood. “What’s the address on Slick’s file?” I asked Lula.

“He hasn’t got an address. Probably he’s living under the bridge.”

“Did Connie give us his parents’ address?”

“They’re in that big apartment complex by the senior citizen place. Unit 106.”

I took Hamilton to Klockner and turned off Klockner into Majestic Mews Apartments. I rolled through the maze of two-story garden apartment buildings, finally locating 106. It was a ground-floor unit with a pot of fake yellow mums at the front door. Very cheery.

“Who we gonna be this time?” Lula asked. “How about if we’re Girl Scouts selling cookies? We haven’t done that one in a long time.”

I parked in the lot in front of the apartment. “How about if we’re bond enforcement and politely ask a few questions?”

“That never works. No one likes us when we’re bond enforcement.”

I got out of the car, hung my bag on my shoulder, walked to the door, and rang the bell. A motherly looking woman in her fifties answered.

“Mrs. Slick?” I asked.

“Goodness, no,” she said. “I’m Mrs. Krakowski.”

I introduced myself and told her I was looking for Zero Slick.

A man came up behind the woman. “Who is it?” he asked.

“She’s looking for Zero Slick,” the woman said.

The man squinted at me. “Are you a prostitute?”

“No,” I said. “I work for Vincent Plum Bail Bonds.”

Lula leaned forward. “You got something against prostitutes?”

I stepped in front of Lula. “I was given this address for Zero Slick’s parents.”

“That’s us,” the man said. “Our name wasn’t good enough for him. He had to make something up.”

“He’s very creative,” the woman said. “He’s always been a free spirit.”

“Free spirit my ass,” the man said. “He’s a damn snowflake. I didn’t even know what a snowflake was until I heard it on the news, and here I am . . . I got one.”

“Snowflakes are beautiful,” the woman said. “Each one is unique.”

“For crissake, Marie,” the man said. “Give it up. He’s twenty-nine years old, and he’s never had a job. He doesn’t even know if he’s a boy or a girl. What’s with that? I changed his diaper. I guess I know what he is.”

“It’s complicated,” Marie said.

“It’s not complicated. If it hangs outside you’re a boy.”

“I think he’s making a social statement,” Marie said. “He’s at the forefront of human rights.”

“I’d like him to be at the forefront of getting a job. How long am I going to have to support this freeloader?”

“You don’t support him,” Marie said.

“I know you give him money,” the man said. “I’m working double shifts at the plant, and you’ve got a food budget that would feed forty people. Where’s all that food go to?”