“Yeah.”
“Are you mean?”
“No. I’m nice.”
I put an onion on the chopping block and started to slice it.
“What about special talents?” he asked. “Are you good in bed? Can you give a deep-tissue massage?”
“Good grief.”
“I’m just trying to get a grip on this,” Diesel said. “Suppose the situation was reversed, and I was fat and ugly. Would you still like me?”
“Half the time I don’t even like you now.”
“I get that, but what about the other half?”
“I don’t know. What are your skills? Can you give a deep-tissue massage?”
“Honey, I’m going so deep on you tonight I might not be able to find my way out.”
I almost sliced my finger off.
“Looks like you nicked yourself,” Diesel said. “Want me to kiss it and make it better?”
“No! I want you to go into the living room and watch television with Carl. I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
The dinner dishes were in the dishwasher, the kitchen was clean, and we were watching a ball game drag on between the Red Sox and the Mets. Diesel stood and stretched. When he stretched he raised his arms and his T-shirt rode up giving me a glimpse of tanned, perfectly defined abs. I’d seen them before, plus a lot more, but it didn’t matter…it was always good.
“Do you need anything from the kitchen?” he asked.
“Nope, I’m okay,” I said.
Diesel ambled off and Rutherford called me.
“I found it! I found the stone. I know it’s the stone because it’s in the leather pouch. It was buried under an azalea bush. How soon can we get the treasure moved back to the vault?”
“I’ll need at least a couple hours to gather it together. I’ll call you when we can arrange the transfer.”
“Remember, we need to do this before Mr. Ammon is released from the hospital.”
“No problem. I’ll get back to you later tonight.”
Diesel returned to the living room with a couple cookies. “What’s up?”
“Rutherford found the stone. He wants to make the trade tonight so everything is in place when Ammon leaves the hospital tomorrow morning.”
“Call Clara and ask her to bring the van to Gramps’s garage.”
—
Clara was waiting for us when we pulled up to the garage. The van was parked inside.
“We have a problem,” Clara said. “Follow me.”
We entered the tunnel through the garage and walked the short distance to the speakeasy. The door was open and Gramps was inside, sitting in one of the comfy club chairs.