Wicked Appetite - By Janet Evanovich Page 0,6
in corners, his ears erect in full listen mode.
“I read somewhere that cats can see ghosts and sense energy fields,” Glo said. “Do you suppose he’s looking for ghosts?”
I took a second slice of pizza. “My guess would be he’s hoping to find food or kitty litter.”
“I’m such a dunce,” Glo said. “I almost forgot. I have food and a kitty litter thing in the car. The shelter gave me a start-up kit.”
Five minutes later, Cat 7143 was locked up in my house with his new kitty litter. I was on the road, sitting next to Diesel, and Glo was in the backseat.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I said, more to myself than to Diesel or Glo.
“We made a deal,” Diesel said. “You wanted a miracle, and you agreed that reading your mind was miraculous.”
“That was not miraculous. You took a couple lucky guesses.”
“This is part of the problem with the world today,” Diesel said. “People don’t believe in the mystical. I happen to be able to read your mind sometimes. Why can’t you just go with it?”
“It’s creepy.”
“It’s petty cash,” Diesel said. “You should walk in my shoes.”
“I believe in the mystical,” Glo said. “I actually think I might be supernatural.”
Diesel’s eyes focused on the rearview mirror and Glo for a moment before returning to the road.
“Where are we going?” I asked him.
“We’re going back to Salem. I have an opportunity to search an apartment, and I need you to help me find an object.”
“Why me?”
“Do you know what an Unmentionable is?”
“Underwear?”
“I know about Unmentionables,” Glo said. “I read about them. They date back about a thousand years. An Unmentionable is a human with special abilities. There’s like a brotherhood or something and a governing body.”
“I work for that governing body,” Diesel said. “I’m commissioned to pull the plug on Unmentionables who abuse their power.”
I saw this as registering high on my bull-crap-o-meter, but I was curious all the same.
“How do you pull the plug?” I asked.
“I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you,” Diesel said.
I’d heard that line before and always knew it was a line. This time I wasn’t sure.
“Why do you need my help?” I asked him.
“You’re one of us. You’re an Unmentionable, and you have a skill I lack. I can find people. You can find empowered objects.”
I was speechless. He actually looked serious. “That’s ridiculous,” I finally said.
Diesel turned off Lafayette Street. “Yeah, and I’m stuck with it. Nothing personal, but you’re not my first choice for a partner. This is a monster assignment, and I could use a professional working with me.”
“An Unmentionable professional? What does that even mean?”
“It means I need someone who understands and respects their gift and the responsibilities that come with the gift.”
“What about me?” Glo wanted to know. “Am I an Unmentionable?”
“Not that I can see,” Diesel said. “You’re more of a Questionable.”
My honest opinion was that I was in the presence of a genuine whacko. If I counted Glo, it would be two whackos. Although I had to give Diesel something for being a whacko with a work ethic.
CHAPTER FOUR
We were riding in a shiny new black Porsche Cayenne. A brown leather backpack that looked like it had gotten kicked halfway across the country was on the seat beside Glo. A couple empty water bottles rolled around on the floor. Diesel stopped for a light, and I debated leaping from the car and running as fast as my feet could carry me. Unfortunately, that would leave Glo with the crazy man.
“I don’t want to agitate you or anything,” I said to Diesel, “but I’m having a hard time with the whole Unmentionable gift thing. It sort of dropped out of nowhere on me.”
“Yeah, well until you’re comfortable with it, maybe you should think of it like a movie. Pretend you’re Julia Roberts and I’m . . .”
“Brad Pitt,” I said.
“I always thought I was more Hugh Jackman.”
“He played Wolverine, right? No way. You’re definitely Brad Pitt.”
“Okay, screw it, I’m Brad Pitt. Can you go with that?”
“Maybe.” I cut my eyes to Diesel. “So you’re taking me somewhere to help you search for something. This search isn’t illegal, is it?”
“Not by my standards.”
“Oh great. What the heck is that supposed to mean?”
“It means the ends justifies the means.”
We were within walking distance of the bakery, but unlike the area around the bakery, this part of Salem was mostly newer brick buildings built for commercial use. The street was wide. The sidewalk was unadorned by trees.