Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum 24)

“This stinks,” Lula said.

“I know. The snake got away.”

“No. I mean it really stinks. You trashed an outhouse.”

The entire front end of the Mercedes was bashed in, and the SUV was resting on the outhouse remains. Both the outhouse and the SUV were leaking. I rescued my messenger bag from the car and called Ranger.

“It wasn’t my fault,” I said. “There was a snake in the car.”

“Babe, you’ve had the car for less than two hours.”

Lula was backing away, holding her nose and fanning the air.

“If you’re sending someone to take care of this you’ll want to send him in a hazmat suit,” I said to Ranger. “I sort of ran over an outhouse.”

There was silence on the other end.

“Hello?” I said. “Are you still there? Do I hear you laughing?”

“You never disappoint,” Ranger said.

An hour later, Lula was loaded into a Rangeman SUV and shuttled off to the office. The Mercedes was winched onto a flatbed tow truck. And Ranger and I were in his Cayenne, watching Ethel follow the newly laid out trail of hot dogs that led into Diggery’s double-wide. When all of Ethel was inside, I ran to the door, told her I’d be back with her pizza, and locked her in.

“Finally,” I said to Ranger. “Success.”

“I was

thinking the same thing. You owe me a night.”

“Maybe not. The car might not be totaled.”

“Babe, you rolled it over an outhouse.”

“I don’t suppose you’d want to give me another chance?”

Ranger smiled. “Double or nothing.”

“Deal.”

EIGHT

RANGER DROVE ME home and parked in the lot behind my building.

“Diesel is still there,” Ranger said, looking up at my second-floor apartment windows.

“How do you know?”

“I just know.”

“What’s this strange connection between the two of you?”

“There’s no connection,” Ranger said. “We’ve crossed paths.”

“You don’t like him.”

Ranger studied me for a beat. “I understand him. I know who he is.”

“He’s like you,” I said.