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Slick, I thought.
“Where are you now?” I asked.
“We’re finishing up at Diggery’s. We didn’t find any zombies, but we found a second underground cave. And we made a good drug haul. That’s all I can say.”
“Bob is at the bonds office. I didn’t want to leave him alone in your house.”
“Thanks. I’m getting ready to head out. I’ll pick him up on my way home.”
“I think Slick is the Tabasco zombie. And for whatever reason he seems to be targeting me. I drove past a bakery in Hamilton Township this afternoon, and I thought I saw him with a bunch of protesters. By the time I got back to the bakery he was gone.”
“We have a list of persons of interest, and he’s on it. Tomorrow or Wednesday we’ll have the lab report back on items we found today, and it should complete the picture. In the meantime, I’m thinking Mexican tonight. What’s your pleasure? Burrito grande? Chicken fajita?”
“None of the above. I’m a zombie magnet. I don’t want Slick coming back to your house. I’m going to stay at Rangeman. Ranger is out of town until midweek, and I can use his apartment. I’ve stayed there before and it’s safe.”
“I can handle Slick.”
“Yes, but what happens when you aren’t home? What happens when you get called out in the middle of the night because a headless corpse has been found at the multiplex?”
“Slick isn’t a zombie.”
“He’s worse. He’s a human who’s acting and looking like a zombie. He’s unpredictable.”
“You’re right,” Morelli said. “I can’t predict what he might do. I can’t predict what any of these crazies might do. And you probably are safer at Rangeman for the next couple days. I can’t guarantee that I’ll always be here for you.”
I was done pumping gas. It didn’t take long to pump twenty dollars’ worth. And Lula was gesturing to me from inside the car.
“I have to go,” I said to Morelli. “Why don’t I meet you for dinner?”
“There’s a new place by the hospital. El Cheapo Pollo. Bad name but decent food. I ate there last week.”
“Sounds good. I’ll see you at six o’clock.”
“I got the answer to our surveillance search problem,” Lula said while I buckled myself in behind the wheel. “It’s drones. What we need are drones, and I got a source. My friend Stump got a bunch of them that have cameras built in, and he’s got one that’s a heat seeker. He’s on his way to meet us on the street behind the bakery.”
Drones sounded like an okay idea. Sourcing them from a guy named Stump felt sketchy.
“Is this going to cost money?” I asked.
“No, but Stump says if we find a zombie he wants a selfie.”
I drove to the bakery, circled the block, and parked. The bakery was on a busy street, lined with small businesses. The neighborhood behind the bakery was one of modest, neatly maintained single-family houses. The houses had small backyards and single-car garages. The buildings were bordered b
y mature shrubs and hedges. Lots of places for a short zombie to hide.
A jacked-up crew cab pickup truck pulled in behind me, and a middle-age balding guy swung out. His remaining hair was black and kinky curly. His skin was swarthy. He had a lot of tattoos, a thick Hispanic accent, and a body like a beer keg with legs.
“So, we hunting zombies today,” he said to Lula.
“We know there’s one sneaking around the neighborhood,” Lula said. “We just can’t find him, what with all the bushes and stuff.”
“He gonna have no place to hide when I get my birds in the air. I’m putting my quadcopter up for you first. It’ll stay up for almost a half hour and can cover four miles. I got a touch-control screen here so you can see what the bird sees and you can send it where you want it to go.”
“I’d like it to search a grid, two blocks at a time,” I said.
“No problem,” Stump said. “She’ll be up in a minute.”
The picture came up on the screen, the four propellers started to whirl, and the drone lifted off the ground and rose to just above rooftop level.
