Hardcore Twenty-Four

  “What’s with the gun and the knife?” he asked. “Are you planning to shoot the snake?”

  “I was chased through the woods by three zombies. I couldn’t get into the car, so I locked myself in here and borrowed Diggery’s gun.”

  His eyes focused on the broken window. “Has that window always been broken?”

  “No. One of the zombies put his fist through it. Ethel hissed at him, and he went away.”

  “And you think they were zombies?”

  “For lack of a better word.”

  “Notice anything significant about the window?”

  My breathing was almost back to normal, and my voice had stopped shaking. I looked over at the broken window. “Blood,” I said. “The zombie got cut when he smashed the glass. Unusual for a zombie to bleed.”

  “Unheard-of,” Diesel said.

  I put the gun and the knife back where I found them. We left the double-wide and got into the car.

  “What did you find in the tunnel?” I asked Diesel.

  “It was more cave than tunnel. It looked like it originally might have been a root cellar. There was a burned-down cabin not far away. The cabin isn’t habitable, but someone’s recently used the cave.”

  “The zombies.”

  “Yeah, the zombies. They’ve been doing new digging. There was a decomposed head partially covered with dirt, and I think I saw what might be foot bones. I didn’t do a lot of exploring. Didn’t want to disturb the crime scene. You should call it in to Morelli. And tell him to have CSI check out the bloody window glass.”

  I dialed Morelli, and he answered on the first ring.

  “I went back to Diggery’s,” I said. “I did some exploring and found a hole in the ground that looks like it leads somewhere. You need to check it out. I was standing over it and three zombies appeared out of nowhere and chased me back to Diggery’s double-wide. One of the zombies smashed a window trying to get at me, but Ethel scared him away.”

  “Where are you now? Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just a little freaked. I’m heading back to your house. Where are you?”

  “I’m at the station, doing paperwork.”

  “You want to take CSI with you to Diggery’s. The zombie cut himself when he smashed the window, and he left a blood smear.”

  “Zombies don’t bleed,” Morelli said.

  “Exactly. About a quarter mile before you get to the double-wide, there’s a bend in the road. If you look right you’ll see a path going into the woods. Follow the path to the zombie den.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “How did it go with the woman who got chased out of her house?”

  “She was in her kitchen, and a zombie walked in and told her he wanted her brain. She said he was filthy and his eyes were red, but he was surprisingly short for a zombie. She said he had a brown ponytail and looked confused.”

  “Do you think it could have been Slick?”

  “I guess it’s possible. Ziggy was first on the scene, and he said there was no sign of the intruder. They cleared the house, but the woman was too upset to stay there. She’s spending the night with her sister.”

  Diesel waited for me to end the call.

  “We should be moving out if the police are moving in,” he said.

  • • •

  We drove to Morley Street and cruised the neighborhood. Houses and lots were larger here than in the Burg. Not palatial mansions, but comfortable family homes that had more than one bathroom. There was no police presence in the area. Presumably they had all moved over to Diggery’s dirt road.

  “It all looks so normal,” I said to Diesel. “Hard to believe there are zombies roaming around.”

  Diesel pulled into the cemetery lot and parked. “Let’s look around,” he said. “I didn’t get a chance to see much last time I was here.”

  We walked through the gate and followed the main path. “Do you think the guys you saw could have been zombies?” I asked Diesel.

  “They weren’t zombies when I saw them. They were just hanging out, smoking weed. The south side of the cemetery, by the church and Morley Street, is well maintained. The north side backs up to the projects. It’s littered with trash and discarded drug paraphernalia.”

  We stopped at Slick’s campsite and looked around. It was clear that the grave had been exhumed. Nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. All traces of police activity had been removed. There weren’t any signs warning people of a zombie portal.

  “What do you think?” I asked Diesel. “Are you getting any ideas?”

  “Yeah, but none that relate to zombies.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “What then?”

  “Bacon cheeseburger.”

  “Anything else?”

  “Onion rings, fries, beer.”

  “Does that mean we’re done here?” I asked him.

  “No. It means we need to keep walking. There’s a burger place just before you get to the projects.”

  “Mickey’s,” I said. “I’ve been there. They have excellent cheese fries.”

  We wandered off the path, covering as much of the cemetery as possible, but we found no new dig sites. We exited through the gate just before the projects and crossed the street to Mickey’s. I’d been there a bunch of times before with Lula. Lula could sniff out cheese fries a mile away.

  Mickey’s consisted of a small, windowless room with four booths on one side and a bar on the other. It was so dark the booths could have been occupied by zombies, tree fairies, or gorillas and no one would know. It smelled like burgers and beer and deep fried everything. We slid into a booth and ordered.

  “What’s the deal with you and Morelli?” Diesel asked. “You’ve been seeing him off and on for how long? Thirty years?”

  “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 throug
h 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.

  “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.”

&nb
sp; “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.”

  Anthony is Morelli’s brother. He’s been married a couple times to the same woman. They have a pack of kids. And if I had to give an honest description of him I’d say he’s a likable asshole. The tub will probably take an hour to install, but Morelli will be gone all day. Anthony’s house is a black hole. Morelli will get sucked into playing ball with his nephews, drinking beer with his brother, and by afternoon the house will be filled with guys from the neighborhood watching the game on Anthony’s big flat-screen.

  Bob flopped onto the floor, panting and drooling, and Morelli went upstairs to change. When Morelli returned to the kitchen, Bob had stopped panting and I was on my second coffee. Morelli’s hair was still damp from his shower. He was wearing a T-shirt and jeans, and it was Sunday, so he hadn’t shaved. Morelli with a day-old beard looked sexy and sinister.

  Bob went with Morelli, and I went back to my apartment to feed Rex and get clean clothes. I didn’t see Diesel’s Ferrari in my parking lot when I drove in. Probably out looking for his man.

  I entered the building, stepped into the elevator, and pressed the button for the second floor. I got a chill when the doors closed, and I caught the lingering odor of dirt and carnations. The elevator doors opened, and I looked out at the hall. Empty. No zombies. Just the same sickening stench. A flash of panic ripped through me when I got to my apartment. Someone or something had scratched brains and die into the paint on my door. And there was a red smear across the door and on the knob. I suspected it was blood.

  The door was still locked, so at least they hadn’t been able to get inside. I opened it, stepped in, and called, “Hello?” No one answered. I had a gun in my cookie jar, but I didn’t have any bullets. I had a couple steak knives in my kitchen, but I couldn’t see myself sticking one in someone’s eye. And I was all out of brave. I grabbed Rex’s cage off the kitchen counter, locked my apartment, and used my phone to take a picture of the mess.