Hardcore Twenty-Four

by Janet Evanovich

  “We’ll see,” Diesel said.

  Lula speared Slick in the foot with her stiletto heel.

  “Oops, sorry,” she said. “I’m so clumsy. I didn’t see your foot sticking out there like that.” She speared his other foot. “Or that one either,” she said.

  “Police brutality,” Slick said.

  “I’m not no cop,” Lula said. “I’m a former ’ho and now I’m doing some clerking.”

  “I’d like to talk to the Supreme Ruler,” Diesel said to Slick. “How about you take me to him.”

  “I can’t do that,” Slick said. “He comes to me. I never know where he is.”

  Diesel picked Slick up by his ankles and held him at arm’s length over the grave.

  “Does this help?”

  “I don’t know. I swear. He’s spooky. All of a sudden he’s standing behind me, and then he’s gone.”

  Diesel brought Slick in and dumped him on the ground. “All yours,” he said to Morelli.

  Morelli and Ranger were busy doing cleanup, and Diesel disappeared, presumably looking for Daryl. Lula and I walked back to the parking lot.

  “Here’s another night of my life I won’t get back,” Lula said. “I’m going home. I’m going to put my jammies on and watch a movie. It’s not gonna have zombies in it either. I’m done with zombies.”

  Going home sounded like a good idea. Slick was in custody and I’d get my recovery money. I had nothing to fear. Morelli would be busy for hours. And I had no justification for staying with Ranger. I was already feeling the adrenaline letdown. I wanted to crash into bed and sleep for days.

  I drove back to my apartment on autopilot. I managed to get myself into the elevator and down the hall. I plugged my key into the lock, opened the door, and flipped the lights on. Home sweet home. I went straight to my bedroom and kicked my shoes off. I stripped my shirt off and heard someone giggle behind me.

  Daryl Meadum, the kid I saw on Diggery’s road, was standing in my doorway, holding a gun.

  “I see you in your underwear,” he said.

  “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

  “I’m brilliant. Opening doors is a snap for me.”

  “Shouldn’t you be relocating?”

  “Yes, this is my last stop in Trenton.”

  He was speaking so softly I had to strain to listen.

  “I need a healthy culture to take to my new location. Frequently brain cells that are made available to me are inferior and produce an inferior product. Cadaver brain cells, for instance, are never my first choice. It’s difficult to build a good zombie army with inferior product.”

  “Why do you want to build a zombie army?”

  “It’s fun. It’s much more fun than video game zombies.”

  “Don’t you miss doing your research?”

  “No. It was boring. And people were always watching me, ordering me around. Eat your vegetables. Change your socks. Time for bed. Don’t do a lobotomy on the cat.”

  I was feeling a little weirded out, standing in my bra, talking at gunpoint to the Supreme Ruler of the Zombies. Especially since he looked like he was fourteen years old. I was hoping I could distract him with conversation and create an opportunity to snatch the gun away. He didn’t look comfortable holding it. I suspected he had little to no shooting experience.

  “It isn’t necessary to keep the gun pointed at me,” I said. “We’re friends, right?”

  “Actually I have to kill you, so I can get your brain. I don’t usually do the killing, but this is the most efficient way to go about it. I brought my tools with me in my backpack. I have a power drill and a small power saw, so I have options. Probably I’ll go with the saw. It will allow me to remove the whole brain intact. I’m completely prepared. I have an insulated bag and an ice pack.”

  “Gross!”

  “Not at all. It should be an interesting experience. I like that you’ve removed your shirt. It feels very naughty to be killing you when you’re only wearing a bra. I don’t suppose you’d want to take it off?”

  “I’ll trade you my bra for your gun.”

  He thought about it for a moment. “That wouldn’t be a smart trade,” he said. “I can remove your bra after I kill you. In fact, I might remove all your clothes after I kill you.”

  Eeek. Instant nausea. I swallowed back the revulsion and caught a glimpse of motion behind Daryl. It was so fleeting I thought I might have imagined it.

  “So,” I said to Daryl, “where are you going next?”

  “Austin,” he said. “I hear they have a good club scene. I think I can recruit some interesting zombies there.”

  Diesel moved in behind Daryl. “Austin isn’t an option,” Diesel said.

  Daryl spun around and pointed the gun at Diesel. “It is an option. I do what I want now. You have no control over me. If you don’t leave I’ll shoot you.”

  “First off,” Diesel said, “I have total control over you, and your days of doing what you want are over. Second, if you shoot me it’s really going to piss me off, and you don’t want to piss me off.”

  “I could kill you,” Daryl said.

  “I’m not that easy to kill,” Diesel told him. “You should know that. Give me the gun.”

  Daryl squeezed off a shot that hit Diesel in the leg, about three inches above his knee.

  Diesel looked down at the hole in his jeans and shook his head. “This is getting old,” he said. “This is the second time I’ve been shot this week.”

  “I meant to shoot you in the heart,” Daryl said, “but I’m not used to this gun. Hold still while I try again.”

  I grabbed the lamp off my bedside table and took two giant steps closer to Daryl. Daryl turned toward me, I whacked him in the face with the lamp, and he crumpled to the floor.

  Diesel stood with his hands on his hips, looking down at Daryl. Blood was gushing from Daryl’s nose onto his shirt and my bedroom carpet, and his eyes had rolled back into his head.

  “Nice,” Diesel said.

  “Did I kill him?”

  Diesel nudged Daryl with his foot, and Daryl moaned.

  “Nope,” Diesel said. “Not dead. Mostly you just rearranged his face.”

  Daryl blinked to focus his eyes.

  “I had a good run,” Daryl said.

  Diesel nodded. “You had a good run.”

  “And I saw her in her underwear,” Daryl said.

  Diesel grinned. “Something to remember.”

  Diesel hoisted Daryl to his feet and held him steady. Blood was still dripping from Daryl’s nose, but it had slowed to a trickle. Diesel’s jeans were caked with blood where he’d been shot.

  “Are you okay?” I asked Diesel. “You need to get to the ER. You have a bullet in you!”

  “Yeah,” Diesel said. “And digging it out is always a bitch.”

  “Always? How many times have you been shot?”

  “Occupational hazard,” Diesel said. “Not a big deal. I’m a fast healer.”

  “Me too,” Daryl said. “Do I still have a nose?”

  “I have to turn Daryl over to the appropriate agency,” Diesel said. “I’ll get looked at by a medic in transit. And I’ll be back after I deliver Daryl. We have unfinished business.”

  “Me too,” Daryl said. “I’ll be back, too.”

  “Not on my watch,” Diesel said.

  “Your watch will end,” Daryl said. “My life work will continue.”

  I stopped Diesel at my front door and pulled him aside. “Do I have to worry about Daryl coming back?” I asked him.

  “No,” Diesel said. “You have to worry about me coming back. I’m batshit lucky at Old Maid.”

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  JANET EVANOVICH is the #1 New York Times–bestselling author of the Stephanie Plum series, the Fox and O’Hare series, the Lizz
y and Diesel series, the Alexandra Barnaby novels (including the Troublemaker graphic novel), and How I Write: Secrets of a Bestselling Author.

  Evanovich.com

  Facebook.com/JanetEvanovich

  @JanetEvanovich

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