Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum 24)

“Maybe that’s the way he thinks of himself. Zero slickness.”

“That might indicate low self-esteem. He could be a man trying to find himself. He could be a victim of bullying at a young age. Or maybe he doesn’t want to be one of those phony slick guys. Maybe he’s saying he’s real. If you look at it that way he could be attractively manly.”

“He didn’t look attractively manly when he hit me with his sign. He looked like a brainless jerk.”

“You got a point. And he was insulting about my abundant body. He might be losing some of his appeal for me.”

My plan was to walk the streets surrounding the building Slick destroyed. This was an area of mostly office buildings with occasional ground-floor shops. There was a church nearby that gave out sandwiches to the homeless every day at noon. A small group of men and women never left the area around the church. They moved about like pack animals, sleeping in doorways. Some were crazy because they were off their meds, and others were crazy because they were overmedicated. I thought I’d show Slick’s photo to the crazies, the shopkeepers, and the loiterers and see if anyone had seen him.

I approached the burned-out building and saw the flashing lights of police cruisers a block away.

“Looks like something’s going on at the homeless church,” Lula said. “Maybe it’s a wedding.”

“Looks more like a crime scene. There’s a CSI truck and the ME’s truck stuck in with the cruisers. And it looks like Morelli’s SUV is parked off to the side.”

I pulled to the curb, Lula and I got out, and walked to the church. A couple uniforms were standing hands-on-hips by the cars, but most of the activity was in the back alley. I could see yellow crime scene tape cordoning off an area. Morelli was there, watching the CSI techs work around what I suspected was a body. I ducked under the tape and walked over to Morelli, standing with my back to the body, not anxious to see the victim.

“What’s going on?” I asked him.

“One of the church volunteers came out with trash from lunch and found a homeless man stretched out next to the dumpster. He was one of the regulars who lived on the street.”

“Dead?”

“Yep.”

I was afraid to ask. “Headless?”

“No,” Morelli said. “He still had his head, but someone drilled a hole in the skull, and it appears that the brain might have gotten sucked out. Won’t know for sure until the autopsy.”

A wave of nausea slid through my stomach, and I went light-headed for a moment.

“Are you okay?” Morelli asked.

“No. I’m not okay. That’s horrible.”

“At least they left the head this time. Makes my job easier.”

“Do you have any leads on this?”

“Not a one,” Morelli said.

“Lula thinks it’s zombies.”

“Okay, so now I have one lead. Does she have an address for the zombies?”

“They originally came from the cemetery on Morley Street, but I’m not sure where they’re hanging out now.”

“Well, that’s a start. I’ll check out Morley Street.”

I grimaced and looked at him. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Yes. I’m kidding. There’s some psycho nutjob out there collecting cadaver brains.”

&

nbsp; “So I’m safe as long as I’m not dead?”

“Looks that way.”