Hardcore Twenty-Four (Stephanie Plum 24)

My mother crammed two more cookies into her mouth.

“Okay then,” I said. “This has been nice, but Lula and I have to move on. It’s about quitting time.”

“Don’t worry,” Grandma said. “You can count on me to find out about Johnny.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’d appreciate any information you can get, but please don’t shoot anyone.”

“Not unless I have to,” Grandma said.

“Can’t ask for more than that,” Lula said.

I gave my mother a hug, told her to hang in there, and maneuvered Lula out of the house and into my car.

“Your granny is a hoot,” Lula said, buckling herself in. “And imagine snagging a guy who looks like George Hamilton. How cool is that? Are you gonna look up Johnny’s two brothers?”

“Not today.”

I drove back to the building Slick destroyed. The crime scene tape was still up, and the CSI people were working. Morelli’s car was still there. I cruised the perimeter and didn’t see Slick, so I took Lula back to the office.

“See you tomorrow,” Lula said. “Have a good night.”

That was worth an eye roll. I had Diesel squatting in my apartment, and my grandmother was going to Emily Molinowski’s viewing with a loaded gun. Not that it was entirely my fault. She would have gone with a loaded gun as a matter of habit. Problem is, now she was on the hunt for Johnny Chucci. It had seemed like a good idea to ask if she’d heard anything. In retrospect, maybe not smart.

This wasn’t going to be a good night.

• • •

My apartment was empty when I walked in. No Diesel. No Morelli. No Ranger. Just Rex asleep in his soup can. I tapped on the side of his cage and said hello.

No answer from Rex.

I opened my laptop and checked my email. I wasted a half hour on Facebook. I logged into a search engine and researched Johnny Chucci and his relatives. Ditto Zero Slick. I didn’t get anything new on Chucci. Slick had applied for a car loan and been declined. Possibly he was declined because he listed his address as “Under the bridge.”

I shuffled off to the kitchen and stared into the refrigerator. I couldn’t get excited about another peanut butter sandwich. Yogurt, no. Cereal, no. Ham sandwich, no. I grabbed a bottle of beer, took a step back, bumped into Diesel, and yelped in surprise.

“Jeez Louise,” I said. “I hate when you sneak up on me like that. I didn’t hear you come in.”

“You were in the zone.”

“I was contemplating dinner.”

Diesel grinned down at me. “I like a hungry woman. Makes life easy. I don’t have to work hard to satisfy her.”

“Are we talking about food?”

“Yeah, that too.” He motioned to two bags on the counter. “I got Chinese. Not especially authentic but should be okay.”

I pulled the cartons out of the bag. Kung pao chicken, fried rice, steamed dumplings, some kind of glutinous vegetable mix.

“This is great,” I said. “Thank you.”

The smile was still in place. “How grateful are you?”

“Grateful enough to let you stay one more night.”

Diesel got a couple forks out of the silverware drawer and handed one to me. “That’s a start.”

We dumped the food out onto a common plate and dug in.