She was relieved to see the unmarked police car pull up the driveway. It stopped and Detective Greco got out. She was wearing jeans and a lightweight jacket. Tall boots. The weather had taken a turn, the cool fall air moving in. Hope had on a hoodie and lounge pants with little skulls on them.
She opened the door.
“I’ll park out here in the driveway, sit in the car.”
“You could come in. I don’t mind,” Hope said.
“I could do that.”
“Do you really think he’s out there?” Hope said.
“Maybe. Maybe not. But we should be cautious.”
“If he comes back, can you kill him?”
“I think so. Fire might be the key. Rogowski’s grandson said the man they think is the Walking Man died from fire. It’s worth a shot. Nothing else worked, so far.”
Hope said, “So you got a flamethrower in your trunk?”
“I got a blowtorch.”
“No shit?”
“No shit,” Greco said. “But hopefully we won’t see his ugly ass.”
Hope sat up on the couch, woken up by a crash from outside. Detective Greco was on her feet, gun drawn. The television was on the Netflix home screen. She’d dozed off watching Family Guy.
“What’s going on?” Hope said.
“There’s someone out by the garage. I saw him go in there,” Greco said.
“What do we do?”
“We don’t do anything. I’m going out there.”
Hope saw the yellow canister with the angled nozzle coming out of it. The detective really had bought a blowtorch. Next to the blowtorch was a small bottle of kerosene. “You really are going to light him on fire.”
“That’s the plan. Best get him while he’s outside.”
“Aren’t you going to call for help?”
“And tell them a dead man is coming after us?” Greco said.
“Aren’t they paying you to be here? They must know you’re here.”
She shook her head. “Here on my own time. Keep that door locked. I’m going after him.”
Maria approached the garage. There was a man door next to the four bay doors. It was cracked open. She had the blow torch in one hand and the bottle of kerosene in the other. The Glock was holstered; it was pretty much useless if their guy was in the garage.
She stepped inside and flipped on the lights. Two of the garage bays were empty. In the other two were parked a Mercedes convertible and a black Hummer. A rich man’s toys, she thought. Never buy one of those on a detective’s salary.
Against the back wall was a work bench. Peg board on the wall with all manner of tools hung on it.
She went deeper into the garage, scanning, looking for any signs of him. Nothing.
“Where the hell are you?”
Hope watched out the window from the game room, where a full-size Brunswick pool table dominated the room. The other side was taken up by a bar. Over the bar was an unlit neon sign that Dad had custom-made. It said: Ray’s Place. She always thought it a little absurd.
She could see the garage from here. Detective Greco had turned the lights on. It was quiet. No signs of a struggle.
She watched for another moment. Then she saw him coming around the back of the garage. He was heading for the door. The detective might not see him. From here, she could see the knife in his hand.
Hope ran for the back door, threw the deadbolt, and ran for the garage.
Maria felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Someone was watching her. As she turned, she saw him come through the door. He barreled into her and she dropped the torch. She staggered backward and he landed on top of her. The kerosene tumbled to the floor, as well.
She struggled, tried to throw a punch. He slashed her shoulder with the knife and she yelled. Got her arm up to try and defend herself. His icy hand went to her throat and squeezed.
He didn’t make a noise. The grip grew tighter.
The knife blade moved toward her face.
Hope got through the door and found the undead man straddling the detective. She scanned the garage and spotted a sledge hammer leaning against the wall. She grabbed it.
The man hadn’t taken notice of her yet. She hoisted the sledgehammer, keeping her balance. Muscles straining, she swung it and cracked him in the side of the skull. It was enough to knock him off balance and Detective Greco scurried out from under him.
Hope set down the hammer and spotted the kerosene. She scooped it up. The man was getting to his feet. She flipped the lid on the bottle and squirted it, dousing him. She got a good amount on his clothes and face.
He swung the knife and she reared back. It narrowly missed her face. She backed up in the direction of the workbench.
The man patted his chest, realizing he’d been soaked.
Detective Greco grabbed the torch. She turned a knob on the top of it, clicked something on the nozzle attachment, and a blue flame hissed to life.
The man turned, facing the detective.
Greco lunged, holding the flame against the man’s coat. The coat lit up. Flames danced up his chest. He spun around, beating at the flames. Dropped the knife. She hit him with the torch a second time.
The rest of his clothes began to catch and he clawed at himself. He sank to his knees, and an agonized, strangled groan escaped his lips. It sounded like a dying animal to Hope.
The flames danced up his face. The rest of his clothes started to catch.
“Hope. C’mon.”
The Detective reached out her hand and Hope took it. The two of them ran around the engulfed Walking Man and headed out of the garage.
From behind them came more tortured groans.
“He didn’t try and
