Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum #24)(67)

“How do you know about that meeting?”

“I have a transmitter in your messenger bag, and another attached to whatever car you’re driving. And we monitor the police band.”

“Yep. That would do it.”

I texted Ranger’s message to Slick, and got a response back that ten o’clock would be okay.

? ? ?

Ella delivered dinner at seven o’clock. Grilled snapper, asparagus, soft polenta. Fresh fruit for dessert. Delicious but not up to Cluck-in-a-Bucket standards. No rancid grease. No sugar-fortified apple pie. No bacon, full-fat cheese, or deep-fried onion rings.

I finished my fruit and stared down at my empty plate.

“Babe,” Ranger said. “You look like you’d kill for a cookie.”

That had me smiling. “A cookie would be good, but I wasn’t thinking about a cookie. I was thinking about Zero Slick. I have a sick feeling that he wants me to play a role in the shocking new video he promised his viewers.”

Ranger’s phone buzzed, and I saw a picture come up on the screen. I thought Ranger’s initial reaction was annoyance, but that fast changed to amusement. He didn’t smile, but the corners of his mouth tipped up a little. I’d produced this same reaction from him on many occasions.

“Send him up,” Ranger said.

He turned his phone so I could see the screen. It was Diesel. He was relaxed, thumbs hooked into his jeans pockets, smiling up at the elevator camera.

“We have company,” Ranger said.

“Was he invited?”

“No. But he’s not unexpected.”

Ranger opened the door to Diesel, and we all went into Ranger’s office.

“Long time, no see,” I said to Diesel.

“Yeah, I haven’t had much social time on this trip.”

He slouched into a club chair, I sat in the second club chair, and Ranger sat at his desk. Ranger was chairman of the board. If it came to a power struggle between the two men, I couldn’t predict a winner.

“I assume we’re looking for the same man,” Ranger said.

Diesel nodded. “I should have wrapped this up by now, but there are qualities to this person that make him hard to track. And now I have an additional problem. The police are shutting down his playground, and if he stops having fun, he’ll pack up and move on. If that happens, I’ll have to start over.”

“Is this his first playground?” Ranger asked.

“No. He was in Berlin for a short time, and then he moved to Atlanta. This time I have a better shot at catching him because he’s chosen to hang out with Zero Slick. And Zero Slick isn’t smart.”

“Who are we looking for?” Ranger asked.

“His name is Daryl Meadum. He’s brilliant but childlike. He’s a savant. And he’s a sociopath. He’s Canadian born. He has an American passport. He speaks five languages.”

“Do you have a photo?” I asked.

Diesel pulled a photo up on his phone.

Daryl Meadum had an impish grin, pale skin with freckles, and red to blond hair cut short. He was a nice-looking kid. Maybe fourteen. And I was pretty sure he was the boy I saw on Diggery’s road.

“How old is he?” I asked.

“Thirty-two.”

“He looks like he’s fourteen.”

“That’s part of the problem. People tend not to notice kids. And Daryl looks like apple pie. He’s soft-spoken. He appears shy. He exists in shadows. He’s always pleasant. He also has heightened senses and instincts like a cat.

“He isn’t capable of feeling remorse, unless it’s for losing a video game. His emotional age would be somewhere between nine and twelve. His passion is neuroscience. He’s held research positions at various universities since he was eighteen years old. For the last seven years he’s been working for the government. I’m told his knowledge and insight make him irreplaceably valuable. He has handlers who make sure he doesn’t starve or walk in front of a train or kill someone as a scientific experiment.

“Daryl slipped away from his guardian and disappeared from a conference in Munich four months ago. When a new street drug surfaced that was based on brain cells, I was called in to find Daryl.”

“And you think Daryl is the Supreme Ruler of the Zombies,” I said.

Diesel grinned. “Yeah. He loves zombies, vampires, superheroes, werewolves. His dossier says he wears Power Rangers underwear.”

“Why does he need an underground cave to make his drug?” I asked.

“He doesn’t,” Diesel said. “He’s playing. You need to think like a nine-year-old boy. His drug makes zombies. Burrowing underground and playing hide-and-seek in a cemetery is part of his zombie play.”

“How does he survive?” I asked. “Where does he live? How does he get food? All that costs money. Where does he get money?”

“He steals. He cons. He hacks into systems. He improvises,” Diesel said. “And right now, he has Zero Slick to help him.”

“Two mental twelve-year-olds with delusions of fame,” Ranger said. “Engaged in role-playing.”

“Exactly,” Diesel said. “Daryl’s role is Supreme Ruler of the Zombies. It’s not clear if he knows he’s pretending or if he thinks he really is the Supreme Ruler. Slick is easier. He’s convinced he’s making an award-winning video.”