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I almost lost my burger and fries. One second I was terrified that I’d get shot, and the next I was dumbstruck at the sight of the knife stuck in the gunman’s eye. I clapped my hands over my mouth and swallowed back the horror.
“Holy cow!” I said. “How did you do that? Where did the knife come from?”
“Reflex action,” Diesel said. “I have a strong sense of survival.”
“Did you mean to put it in his eye?”
“Lucky throw,” Diesel said.
I didn’t believe it was a lucky throw. I thought it was an accurate throw.
Diesel played the light from his iPhone over the patch of grass where the cup had landed, but there was no remnant of the cup’s contents. Only the lingering scent of carnations.
“Morelli might like to see this measuring cup,” Diesel said.
I took a tissue from my messenger bag and used it to pick the cup up.
“What do you think was in this?” I asked.
“Probably a street drug. Difficult to see in the dark, but I’ve been through here before, and there are discarded syringes in this area.”
“A street drug that turns people into zombies? Something similar to bath salts?”
Diesel stared at me for a beat, and moved toward the path. “Time to head out.”
I stayed close to him on the way back to the car. There were some far-off, eerie moaning sounds, but I didn’t suggest that we investigate. I didn’t know how many secret weapons Diesel carried, and I didn’t want to risk another knife in the eye episode. I was barely holding on to my cheese fries.
Diesel was wearing a long-sleeved black T-shirt untucked with the sleeves pushed up to his elbow. We got into the car, and I realized his right sleeve had a tear in it and was soaked with blood.
“You’re bleeding!” I said.
“It isn’t serious. The bullet grazed my arm. Hard to believe he could be such a bad shot at such close range.”
“We should get you to a doctor.”
“Not necessary. I’m a good healer. I’m going to drop you at Morelli’s, and then I’ll stop off at your place to get a clean shirt. I still have work to do tonight.”
“Would you like some help?”
“Thanks for the offer, but I have to do this alone.”
Diesel was silent for the rest of the drive. I had the measuring cup on the floor by my feet, and I was trying to think of something other than the knife in the guy’s eye and the blood on Diesel’s shirt. I conjured up the sand and surf of Long Beach Island, my mom’s pineapple upside-down cake, and Ranger naked. I thought about kittens and puppies and grilled cheese sandwiches. I was cycling back to Ranger naked when Diesel pulled to the curb in front of Morelli’s house.
He walked me to the door, leaned in, and kissed me. Friendly. No tongue. No groping. A little disappointing.
“I’ll catch up with you tomorrow,” he said. “Keep your doors locked.”
I nodded yes, stepped back, closed and locked the door. Bob galloped into the foyer, slamming into me, almost taking me to the floor. I told him he was a good boy, and we danced into the kitchen. I set the cup on a paper towel in the kitchen, and let him out to tinkle or do whatever in the backyard. I kept a watch for red eyes.
I filled Bob’s bowl with dog kibble and gave him fresh water. Two hours later we were both asleep on the couch, in front of the television, when Morelli came home.
Bob awoke first. He was off the couch when the door opened. I was slower to come out of the sleep fog. Morelli hugged Bob and ruffled his ears. He leaned down and kissed me. Friendly. No tongue. No groping. What the hell?
Morelli shuffled into the kitchen and got a beer out of the fridge. “I’m beat,” he said. “I’m getting too old for this overtime crap. I’m ready to go back to being a uniform.”
I followed after him. “You don’t mean that.”
“No. But I’m flat-out done.”
