Hardcore Twenty-Four

by Janet Evanovich

  I rolled my eyes and blew out a sigh. It wasn’t a spectacular eye roll. I didn’t really have my heart in it. Truth is, I was getting weary of the zombie routine. I took the camera and walked it back to Slick. He was sitting with his back to a tree, and he was writing in a journal.

  “What are you writing?” I asked him.

  “A book. I’m going to send it to Oprah when I’m done.”

  “You have big plans.”

  “I’m short. I have to think tall.”

  I nodded acknowledgment. It was an admirable philosophy. It would be even better if he threw some common sense into the tall thinking.

  “I don’t suppose you’ve spotted any zombies,” I said.

  “Not yet. I’m hoping for some good activity tonight.”

  I handed the camera to him. “This is from Lula. It didn’t come with an instruction book, but hopefully you can figure it out.” I gave him my card. “Call me if you see any zombies, or if you get tired of sitting here and want to get carted off to jail.”

  “I don’t suppose you have any weed on you?”

  “Nope. No weed.”

  I left him sitting under the tree, and I returned to Lula.

  “How’s he doing?” she asked.

  “He’s okay.”

  “He see any zombies yet?”

  “Nope. No zombies.”

  “Well, they’re out there, sneaking around. I can feel them watching me. And I think they might be sending me mental messages.”

  “What are they saying?”

  “They’re saying . . . brains, brains, brains.”

  I did a 360-degree scan. I didn’t see any zombies, and I wasn’t getting any mental messages.

  “I need to get more food for Ethel,” I said to Lula. “Something inexpensive.”

  “How inexpensive are you thinking? Roadkill? Dumpster pickings?”

  “More like almost expired rotisserie chicken.”

  “That’s still going to add up to money. If you could find a woodchuck on the side of the road it would last Ethel a couple days.”

  “Are you going to pick it up?”

  “Hell, no. You’re the one who promised to take care of Ethel. I’m not picking up no dead woodchuck.”

  I pulled into a Shop and Bag and got six rotisserie chickens. Four for Ethel, one for me, and one for Lula.

  “Those chickens smell delicious,” Lula said. “I’m having a feast tonight. I’m going to stop at the deli on my way home and get some potato salad and a banana cream pie.”

  After buying all those chickens, banana cream pie would not fit into my budget. Roadkill for Ethel was looking more attractive.

  I turned onto Broad, and saw Johnny Chucci come out of the hardware store and walk down the street.

  “That’s him!” I said. “That’s Johnny Chucci in the blue shirt and jeans.”

  I pulled to the side of the road and parked at a bus stop. Lula and I got out of the car, crossed the street, and ran after Chucci. He got into a silver Honda and drove away before we got to him. Lula and I ran back to my car and took off after him. He was in sight, with two cars between us. He turned off Broad and onto Liberty. He was heading into the Burg.

  “When I get close enough I want you to get his plate,” I said to Lula. “Just in case we lose him.”

  “I’m on it.”

  I closed the distance between us, and Chucci suddenly turned into an alley and sped up.

  “He’s onto us,” Lula said.

  I was on his bumper. Chucci clipped a garbage can, and it flipped up and smashed into the side of the Lexus.

  “Keep going,” Lula said. “That didn’t hardly do any damage.” She had her gun out and her window rolled down. “You want me to shoot him?” she asked. “I could shoot out his tires.”

  Lula couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn if she was two feet away. She is the worst shot of anyone I know.

  “No!” I said. “No shooting.”

  Chucci made a hard left onto Myrtle Street and an immediate right into another alley. I stayed with him until he suddenly turned left into a backyard, raced between two houses, and came out on Clifton. I didn’t react fast enough to follow him through the yard. By the time I got to Clifton he was gone.

  I drove around the Burg, looking for the silver Honda, while Lula called the plate in to Connie.

  “Connie says the car belongs to Little Pinkie.”

  I drove past Little Pinkie’s house. Car wasn’t there. I drove past the gym. Car wasn’t there either.

  I gave up searching for Johnny and went to feed Ethel. The sky was overcast, and by the time we reached Diggery’s road, the sun was hidden behind the trees.

  “It’s not nighttime,” Lula said, “but it’s dark enough back here in the woods that it’s spooky.”

  I thought it was spooky in full daylight. It was like being in a second-rate goblin forest. It wouldn’t surprise me to find flying demon monkeys living in one of the yurts.

  I parked in Diggery’s front yard, let myself into the double-wide, and arranged the chickens on the small kitchen table. I heard the whisper of a sound from the bedroom, and a chill ran down my spine. Ethel was on the move. Her head poked into the hallway, and at the same time Lula barreled through the front door and slammed it shut.

  “They’re out there. The zombies are coming to get me. I got out of the car for a minute to stretch my legs, and I saw them. They were heading for the car, so I ran in here.”

  I looked out the window. I didn’t see any zombies.

  “I don’t even have my gun,” Lula said. “I left my purse in the car.”

  “I don’t see them,” I said. “You must have scared them away.”

  “Maybe they went invisible. Crack the window and see if you can smell them.”

  “I can’t smell anything but rotisserie chicken,” I said.

  Lula caught sight of Ethel oozing closer, hunting down dinner.

  “Holy hell!” Lula said. “I’m caught between a giant snake and the zombies. I gotta get out of here. Give me one of those chickens.”

  “What are you going to do with it?”

  “I’m gonna give it to the zombies. They can have chicken brain.”

  “These are supermarket chickens,” I said. “They don’t have heads.”

  “Say what?”

  “Look at them. No head. No brain. Didn’t you ever notice that supermarket chickens don’t have a head?”

  “I never thought about it. Maybe the zombies won’t notice.”

  “Of course, they’ll notice,” I said. “These are rotisserie chickens.”

  Ethel was almost entirely in the hall, looking bigger in the small space than when she was curled in the tree.

  “That’s the biggest freaking snake I’ve ever seen,” Lula said. “I’m gonna get diarrhea.”

  “That would be bad,” I told her. “The bathroom is on the other side of Ethel.”

  Lula was dancing around, waving her arms in the air. “I got to get out of here. I got to get out of here.”

  I opened the front door, and Lula rushed through it and down the makeshift stairs. I stepped out of the double-wide, locked the door, and came up behind her. She was standing dead still in the middle of the yard. Her eyes were wide, and her mouth was open. No sounds were coming out of Lula, but there were low, guttural moans coming out of the woods surrounding us.

  “W-w-what the hell is that?” Lula whispered, pointing to the patch of scrubby bushes beyond the car.

  The area was in deep shadow, but I saw two pairs of red eyes and what appeared to be two human forms.

  “Get in the car,” I whispered.

  “W-w-what?”

  “GET IN THE CAR!”

  I gave her a shove, and we jumped into the car. I roared out of the yard and down the road. I fo
llowed a curve in the road, and something sprang out of the woods at us and bounced off my front right quarter panel. I hit the brake, jerking to a stop.

  “What was that?” I asked Lula.

  “It was a zombie! Lordy, lordy, you ran over one of the zombies. Okay, so they’re already dead, but I’m guessing they aren’t gonna be happy about this. Nobody likes getting run over.”

  “It was an accident.”

  “Yeah, but you ran over him all the same. You smacked right into him!”

  I turned in my seat and looked at the road behind us. I couldn’t see anything. I got out of the car and looked around. Nothing lying in the road. Nothing lying in the scrub brush on the side of the road. I got back in the car and was about to drive away when a large man in rags rushed out of the woods at us. His arms were outstretched, his fingers were gnarled and curled, his hair was patchy and clogged with dirt. His skin was dark and shredding off his face. His eyes were glowing red.

  “YOW!” Lula yelled. “In the name of the father and the son and the holy someone else . . .”

  The raggedy creature slammed himself against the car, grabbing for the door handle.

  “I can smell him!” Lula shrieked. “Carnations and doodie! It’s hideous. I’m going to throw up. I’m going to poop.”

  I stomped on the gas, and the Lexus jumped forward. The raggedy thing lost its grip, and I sped away.

  I turned onto Broad with my hands clenched on the steering wheel and my heart pounding in my chest. Breathe, I told myself. Relax the fingers. Concentrate on the road.

  I cut my eyes to Lula. “You didn’t, did you?”

  “What?”

  “Poop yourself.”

  “I don’t think so. I’m almost positive. But I need a drink, or a donut, or bacon. I don’t even have a word for what happened back there.”

  I didn’t have a word for it either. I hit something I couldn’t identify. I heard some scary sounds coming from the woods. Something charged my car. It looked like a zombie. Don’t even go there, I thought. Zombies only live in Hollywood. Okay, and I feel stupid thinking that it might have been a zombie, but I saw it, and it looked like a zombie. Truth is, I saw something else. I saw a teenage boy standing in the middle of the road. I saw it for a split second before the big raggedy man rushed out of the woods at me. When I turned my attention back to the road the boy was gone.

  “Did you see a boy in the middle of the road?” I asked Lula.

  “A boy? Like a zombie boy?”

  “No. An ordinary boy. Maybe fourteen or fifteen.”

  “I didn’t see nothing but my life flashing in front of me. I’ll tell you what would be a good idea. They should stuff the chicken’s head up its butt with the rest of the giblets. Then it would be there if you need it.”

  FOURTEEN

  I VERY CAREFULLY and deliberately drove to the office. I parked at the curb, and Lula and I got out and looked at the Lexus. It had a dent and a gash in the front right quarter panel, and a strip of filthy cloth was caught in the gash.

  “That’s a zombie rag,” Lula said. “I’d know it anywhere. It even smells like zombie. Boy, I’m glad I’m not the one who ran over him. They got no sense of humor about stuff like that. Zombies are mean buggers. You piss them off and they come to get you.”

  “How do you know so much about zombies?”

  “I saw that Brad Pitt movie. And then I googled zombies.”

  Connie came out of the office and looked at the Lexus.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  “Stephanie ran over a zombie,” Lula said.

  Connie looked at me. “Really?”

  “I ran over something. I guess it looked like a zombie.”

  “Bummer,” Connie said.

  “Yeah, it’s a problem on account of you don’t want to piss off a zombie,” Lula said. “Am I right?”

  I pulled the rag off the car and tossed it into the back seat with the rotisserie chicken. “See you tomorrow.”

  “Hope so,” Lula said. “Remember, in case they come to get you, you have to shoot them in the brain, so you should put some bullets in your gun.”

  I gave Lula a thumbs-up, and I got back into the Lexus. Lula was right about the rag. It didn’t smell good. When you combined it with the chicken it was a total gag. I called Morelli and asked where he was.

  “Home,” he said. “And I can actually spend the night here unless someone finds a headless body.”

  “I’m on my way,” I said. “I have something to show you.”

  “I have something to show you too.”

  “We might not be on the same page.”

  “Work with me,” Morelli said.

  Ten minutes later, I walked into Morelli’s house, and Bob galloped in from the kitchen to greet me. He got to the middle of the living room and stopped. His nose twitched, hackles rose on his back, and he growled. The only other time I’ve heard him growl was when he stole a Virginia baked ham off the table and Morelli tried to get it back.

  Morelli came up behind Bob.

  “What’s going on?” he asked. “What’s that smell? Did you run over another outhouse?”

  “I ran over a zombie.” I held the rag out for him to see. “This is what’s left of him.”

  “What’s in the other bag?”

  “Rotisserie chicken.”

  Morelli grinned. “That’s a killer combination.”

  “I thought you might want someone to examine the cloth.”

  “And the chicken?”

  “Dinner.”

  “I like it,” Morelli said. “I’ll put the zombie attack dog in the backyard.”

  I followed him into the kitchen and put the piece of cloth into a plastic baggie while he carved the chicken.

  “Tell me about the cloth,” he said.

  I washed my hands and set the kitchen table with plates and silverware, and Morelli brought the chicken to the table.

  “I took some chicken to Ethel this afternoon, and when I stepped out of the double-wide I heard creepy growly moaning sounds coming from the woods. I looked into the woods, and I saw two sets of glowing red eyes that were attached to two bodies that looked human. The bodies were in shadow, and I couldn’t see any details, but it freaked me out enough to want to get out of there.”

  “You were alone?”

  “Lula was with me. We jumped into my car and took off. I was a short distance down Diggery’s road when this thing jumped out in front of me, and I bounced him off my right front quarter panel. I stopped and got out of the car, but the thing was gone. Lula was sure it was a zombie.”

  “Did you think it was a zombie?” Morelli asked.

  “It happened so fast that I barely saw it. Honestly, it could have been a velociraptor or a unicorn. Anyway, I got back into the car, and I was about to drive away when this man, for lack of a better word, came out of the woods and rushed the car. I’m no expert but it looked a lot like a zombie. Dirt-clogged hair, rotting skin, raggedy clothes. It grabbed the door handle, but I had the car locked.”

  “And?”

  “And I drove away. Fast. When I got to the office I looked at the car. There’s a dent and a gash in the right front quarter panel, and the cloth was caught in the ripped part.”

  “And you think it was a zombie?”

  “I think it looked like a zombie. And Lula said it smelled like a zombie.”

  Morelli wiped his hands on a paper towel. “Let’s look at your car.”

  We went outside, and Morelli walked around the Lexus.

  “Ranger?” he asked.

  “Yep.”

  Ranger wasn’t Morelli’s favorite person for many reasons, not the least of which is my ongoing relationship with the man.

  “Nice car,” Morelli said.

  I nodded. “Except it has a dent in it.”
>
  Morelli was on one knee, examining the dent and the torn fiberglass. “I don’t see any blood, but I’d like to have CSI go over this.”

  “Sure.”

  “And I’ll give them the cloth.”

  “Do you think it was a zombie?”

  “No,” Morelli said. “I also don’t think it was a velociraptor or a unicorn.”

  “I need dessert. Do you have any ice cream?”

  “Yes. Chocolate. Do you know what I need?”

  “Yep,” I said. “I have a pretty good idea. Can I have my ice cream first?”

  “As long as you eat fast.”

  FIFTEEN

  MORELLI SHOOK ME awake at six o’clock. The room was dark, and I wasn’t ready to start my day. It had been a long, satisfying, but exhausting night.

  “I’m heading out,” he said. “I’m going to trade cars with you so CSI can take a look at yours.”

  “They’re just going to look at the quarter panel, right?”

  There was a beat of silence. “Something you want to tell me about the car?” he asked.

  “It’s a Rangeman car. It’s . . . equipped.”

  “Legally equipped?”

  I brushed hair back from my face. “I don’t even know what that means.”

  “I’ll check the car out before I turn it over,” Morelli said. “I’m not going to get blown up, am I?”

  “Maybe you should call Ranger first.”

  Morelli grunted. “My favorite thing to do.”

  “I thought you did your favorite thing last night. And then you did your second favorite and third favorite.”

  He smiled, his teeth white in the dark room. “You wouldn’t let me do my fourth favorite.”

  “You can permanently wipe that off the list. That’s disgusting.”

  He kissed me on my forehead and left.

  • • •

  It was almost nine o’clock when I rolled into the office. I’d made a stop at my apartment to shower and change clothes. Diesel wasn’t there, and the bed hadn’t been slept in. I had a twinge of anxiety over his safety and gave myself a mental slap in the face. He was fine. He was always fine. In fact, he might be immortal.

  Connie was applying clear coat to her nails when I walked in, and Lula was pacing.