Hard Eight (Stephanie Plum 8)

I was still hearing the rustling sounds, so I got my gun out of the cookie jar, found a bullet in the bottom of my purse, put the bullet in the gun, and opened the door. There was a dark green canvas bag hanging from my doorknob. The bag had a drawstring pulled tight at the top and something was moving in the bag. My first thought was an abandoned kitten. I removed the bag from the doorknob, opened the drawstring, and looked inside.

Snakes. The bag was filled with big black snakes.

I shrieked and dropped the bag on the floor, and the snakes slid out. I jumped back into my apartment and slammed my door shut. I looked out my peephole. The snakes were scattering. Shit. I opened the door and shot a snake. Now I was out of bullets. Shit again.

Mr. Wolesky opened his door and looked out. “What the . . . ?” he said, and slammed his door shut.

I ran into my kitchen to look for more bullets, and a snake followed me in. Another shriek and I climbed onto my kitchen counter.

I was still on the counter when the police arrived. Carl Costanza and his partner, Big Dog. I'd gone to school with Carl, and we were friends, in a strange, distant sort of way.

“We got a weird call from your neighbor about snakes,” Carl said. “Since there's one shot to shit on your doorstep, and you're up there on the counter, I suppose the call isn't a hoax.”

“I ran out of bullets,” I said.

“So by a rough estimate, how many snakes do you think we got here?”

“I'm pretty sure there were four in the bag. I shot one. I saw one go down the hall. I saw one head for my bedroom. And one is God knows where.”

Carl and Big Dog grinned up at me. “Is the big, bad bounty hunter afraid of snakes?”

“Just find them, okay?” Yeesh.

Carl adjusted his gun belt and swaggered off with Big Dog a step behind him.

“Here, snakey, snakey, snakey,” Carl crooned.

“I think we should look in her panties drawer,” Big Dog said. “That's where I'd go if I was a snake.”

“Pervert!” I yelled.

“I don't see any snakes here,” Carl said.

“They go under things, and they hide in corners,” I told him. “Did you check under the couch? Did you look in my closet? Under my bed?”

“I'm not looking under your bed,” Carl said. “I'm afraid I'll find some knuckle dragger hiding there.”

This got a laugh out of Big Dog. I didn't think it was funny since it was one of my constant fears.

“Listen, Steph,” Carl called from the bedroom, “we really have searched everywhere, but we're not seeing any snakes. Are you sure there's one in here?”

“Yes!”

“How about her closet?” Big Dog said. “Did you look in the closet?”

“The door's closed. A snake couldn't get in there.”

I heard one of them pull the closet door open, and then they both started shouting.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Holy shit!”

“Shoot it. Shoot it!” Carl yelled. “Kill the motherfucker!”

There was a lot of gunshot and more shouting.

“We didn't get it. It's coming out,” Carl said. “Goddamn, there are two of them.”