“Damn it. Okay, okay. Illegals has a sheet on Gant, Martin, aka Zero. I wrangled around with a Detective Piers, but our two dead guys outweigh his ongoing investigation. We’ll go bring him in for Interview.”
As they started toward their vehicle, Peabody looked over her shoulder. “Did he have any red ones?”
* * *
The club was open for business, as clubs in this sector tended to be, twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. Zero’s was a slick step up from a joint, with a circular revolving bar, privacy cubes, a lot of silver and black that would appeal to the young professional crowd. At the moment the music was tame and recorded, with wall screens filled with a homely male face, fortunately half-hidden by a lot of lank purple hair. He sang morosely of the futility of life.
Eve could have told him that for Tubbs Lawrence and Leo Jacobs the alternative probably seemed a lot more futile.
The bouncer was big as a maxibus, and his tunic jacket proved that black wasn’t necessarily slimming. He made them as cops the minute they stepped in. Eve saw the flicker in his eyes, the important rolling back of his shoulders.
The floor didn’t actually vibrate when he crossed the room, but she wouldn’t have called him light on his feet.
He gave them both a hard look out of nut-brown eyes, and showed his teeth.
“You got a problem ?”
Peabody was a little late with the answer, habitually waiting for Eve to take the lead. “Depends. We’d like to talk to your boss.”
“Zero’s busy.”
“Gosh, then I guess we’ll have to wait.” Peabody took a long look around. “While we’re waiting we might as well take a look at your licenses.” Now she showed her teeth as well. “I like busywork. Maybe we’ll chat up some of your clientele. Community relations, and all that.”
As she spoke, she pulled out her badge. “Meanwhile you can tell him Detective Peabody, and my partner, Lieutenant Dallas, are waiting.”
Peabody strolled over to a table where a man in a business suit and a woman—who looked unlikely to be his wife due to the amount of breast spilling out of her pink spangled top—were huddled. “Good afternoon, sir!” She greeted him with an enthusiastic smile, and all the blood drained out of his face. “And what brings you into this fine establishment this afternoon?”
He got quickly to his feet, mumbled about having an appointment. As he rabbited, the woman rose. As she was about six inches taller than Peabody, she pushed those impressive breasts in Peabody’s face.
“I’m doing business here! I’m doing business here!”
Still smiling, Peabody took out a memo book. “Name, please?”
“What the fuck!”
“Ms. What-the-Fuck, I’d like to see your license.”
“Bull!”
“No, really. Just a spotcheck.”
“Bull.” She spun herself and those breasts toward the bouncer. “This cop ran off my John.”
“I’m sorry, I’d like to see your companion license. If everything’s in order, I’ll let you get back to work.”
Bull—and it seemed the day for people to have names appropriate to their bodies—flanked Peabody, who now looked, Eve thought, like a slight yet sturdy filling between two bulky pieces of bread.
Eve rolled to her toes, just in case.
“You got no right coming in here rousting customers.”
“I’m just using my time wisely while we wait to speak with Mr. Gant. Lieutenant, I don’t believe Mr. Bull appreciates police officers.”
“I got better use for women.”
Eve rolled onto her toes again, and her tone was cool as the December breeze. “Want to try to use me? Bull.”
She saw the movement out of the corner of her eye, the flash of color on the narrow, spiral stairs that led to the second level. “Looks like your boss has time after all.”
Another appearance-appropriate name, she decided. The man was barely five feet in height and couldn’t have weighed a hundred pounds. He used the short guy’s compensation swagger and wore a bright blue suit with a florid pink shirt. His hair was short, straight, reminding her of pictures of Julius Caesar.
It was ink black, like his eyes.
A silver eyetooth winked as he offered a smile.
“Something I can do for you, Officers?”
“Mr. Gant?”
He spread his hands, nodded at Peabody. “Just call me Zero.”
“I’m afraid we’ve had a complaint. We’re going to need you to come downtown and answer some questions.”
“What sort of complaint?”
“It involves the sale of illegal substances.” Peabody glanced to one of the privacy cubes. “Such as the ones currently being ingested by some of your clientele.”
“Privacy booths.” This time he raised his spread hands in a shrug. “Hard to keep your eye on everyone. But I’ll certainly have those people removed. I run a class establishment.”
“We’ll talk about that downtown.”
“Am I under arrest?”
Peabody lifted her eyebrows. “Do you want to be?”
The good humor in Zero’s eyes hardened into something much less pleasant. “Bull, contact Fienes, have him meet me…”
“Cop Central,” Peabody supplied. “With Detective Peabody.”
Zero got his coat, a long white number that probably was one hundred percent cashmere. As they stepped outside, Eve looked down at him.
“You got an idiot on your door, Zero.”
Zero lifted his shoulders. “He has his uses.”
* * *
Eve took a winding route through Central, giving Zero a bored glance. “Holidays,” she said vaguely as they mobbed onto another people glide. “Everybody’s scrambling to clear their desks so they can sit around and do nothing. Lucky to book an interview room for an hour the way things are.”
“Waste of time.”
“Come on, Zero, you know how it goes. You get a complaint, you do the dance.”
“I know most of the Illegals cops.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t know you, but there’s something…”
“People get transferred, don’t they?”
Off the glide, she led the way to one of the smaller interview rooms. “Have a seat,” she invited, gesturing to one of the two chairs at a little table. “You want something? Coffee, whatever?”
“Just my lawyer.”
“I’ll go check on that. Detective? Can I have a minute?”
She stepped out, closed the door behind Peabody. “I was about to check my pockets for bread crumbs,” Peabody commented. “Why did we circle around?”
“No point letting him know we’re Homicide unless he asks. Far as he knows, this is a straight Illegals inquiry. He knows the ropes, knows how to grease them. He’s not worried about us taking a little poke there. Figures if we’ve got a solid complaint, he’ll fob it off, pay a fine, go back to business as usual.”
“Cocky little son of a bitch,” Peabody muttered.
“Yeah, so use it. Fumble around some. We’re not going to get him on murder. But we establish his connection to Tubbs, let him think one of his customers is trying to screw with him. Work him so we’re just trying to put this into the file. Tubbs hurt somebody, and now he’s trying to foist it off on Zero. Trying to make a deal so he gets off on the possession.”
“I got it, piss him off. We don’t give a damn either way.” Peabody rubbed her palms on her thighs. “I’ll go Miranda him, see if I can establish a rapport.”
“I’ll see about his lawyer. You know, I bet he goes to Illegals instead of Homicide.” Eve smiled, strolled off.
Outside the interview room, Peabody steadied herself, then inspired, slapped and pinched her cheeks pink. When she walked in, her eyes were down and her color was up.
“I… I’m going to turn on the record, Mr. Gant, and read you your rights. My… The lieutenant is going to check to see if your attorney’s arrived.”
His smile was smug as she cleared her throat, engaged the record
, and recited the Revised Miranda. “Um, do you understand your rights and obligations, Mr. Gant?”
“Sure. She give you some grief?”
“Not my fault she wants to go home early today, and this got dumped on us. Anyway, we have information that indicates illegal substances have been bought and sold on the premises owned by… Shoot, I’m supposed to wait for the lawyer. Sorry.”
“No sweat.” He tipped back now, obviously a man in charge, and gave her a go-ahead wave. “Why don’t you just run it through for me, save us all time.”
“Well, okay. An individual has filed a complaint, stating that illegals were purchased from you, by him.”
“What? He complain I overcharge? If I did sell illegals, which I don’t, why does he go to the cops? Better Business Bureau, maybe.”
Peabody returned his grin, though she made hers a little forced.
“The situation is, this individual injured another individual while under the influence of the illegals allegedly purchased through you.”
Zero rolled his eyes to the ceiling, a gesture of impatient disgust. “So he gets himself juiced, then he wants to push the fact he was an asshole onto the guy who sold him the juice. What a world.”
“That’s nutshelling it, I guess.”
“Not saying I had any juice to sell, but a guy can’t go whining about the vendor, get me?”
“Mr. Lawrence claims—”
“How’m I supposed to know some guy named Lawrence? You know how many people I see every day?”
“Well, they call him Tubbs, but—”
“Tubbs? Tubbs went narc on me? That fat son of a bitch?”
* * *
Eve wound her way back, figuring she’d confused things enough that the lawyer would be hunting for them for a good twenty minutes. Rather than go into Interview, she slipped into Observation. The first thing she heard was Zero’s curse as he came halfway out of his chair.
It made her smile.
Peabody looked both alarmed and embarrassed, Eve noted. Good touch—the right touch.
“Please, Mr. Gant—”
“I want to talk to that bastard. I want him to look me in the face.”
“We really can’t arrange that right now. But—”
“That tub of shit in trouble?”
“Well, you could say that. Yes, you could say… um.”
“Good. And you can tell him for me, he’d better not come back to my place.” Zero stabbed a finger on her, setting his trio of rings glittering angrily. “I don’t want to see him or those asshole suits he runs with in my place again. He’ll get another kick for buying and possession, right?”
“Actually, he didn’t have any illegals on his person at the time of the incident. We’re doing a tox screen, so we can get him for use.”
“He tries to fuck with me, I’ll fuck with him.” Secure in his world, Zero sat back, folded his arms. “Say I happened to pass some juice— personal use, not for resale. We’re talking the usual fine, community service.
“That’s the norm, yes, sir.”
“Why don’t you bring Piers in here. I’ve worked with Piers before.”
“Oh, I think Detective Piers is off duty.”
“You bring him in on this. He’ll take care of the details.”
“Absolutely.”
“Dumbass comes into my place. He solicits illegals from me. Fat slob’s always nickel-and-diming me, you get it? Mostly Push—and not worth my time. But I’m going to do him a favor since he and his buddies are regulars. Just a favor for a customer. He wants a party pack, so I go out of my way to do him this favor—at cost! No profit. That keeps the fine down,” he reminded her.
“Yes, sir.”
“Even gave him a separate stash, customized just for him.”
“Customized?”
“Holiday gift. Didn’t charge him for it. No exchange of funds. I ought to be able to sue him. I ought to be able to sue that rat bastard for my time and emotional distress. I’m going to ask my lawyer about that.”
“You can ask your lawyer, Mr. Gant, but it’s going to be tough to sue Mr. Lawrence, seeing as he’s dead.”
“What do you mean, dead?”
“Apparently the customized juice didn’t agree with him.” The harried and uncertain Peabody was gone, and in her place was a stone-cold cop. “He’s dead, and he took an innocent bystander with him.”
“What the hell is this?”
“This is me—oh, and I’m Homicide, by the way, not Illegals— arresting you. Martin Gant, you’re under arrest for the murder of Max Lawrence and Leo Jacobs. For trafficking in illegal substances, for owning and operating an entertainment venue that distributes illegal substances.”
She turned as Eve opened the door. “All done here?” Eve said brightly. “I have these two nice officers ready to escort our guest down to booking. Oh, your lawyer appears to be wandering around the facility. We’ll make sure he finds you.”
“I’ll have your badges.”
Eve took one of his arms, and Peabody the other, as they hauled him to his feet. “Not in this lifetime,” Eve said, and passed him to the uniforms, watched him walk out the door. “Nice job, Detective.”
“I think I got lucky. Really lucky. And I think he’s greasing palms in Illegals.”
“Yeah, going to have to have a chat with Piers. Let’s go write it up.”
“He won’t go down for murder. You said.”
“No.” As they walked, Eve shook her head. “Maybe Man Two. Maybe. But he’ll do time. He’ll do some time, and they’ll pull his operating license. Fines and legal fees will cost him big. He’ll pay. Best we get.”
“Best they get,” Peabody corrected. “Tubbs and Jacobs.”
They swung into the bull pen as Officer Troy Trueheart stepped out. He was tall, and he was built, and he was as fresh as a peach with the fuzz still on it.
“Oh, Lieutenant, there’s a woman here to see you.”
“About what?”
“She said it was personal.” He glanced around, frowned. “I don’t see her. I don’t think she left. I just got her some coffee a few minutes ago.”
“Name?”
“Lombard. Mrs. Lombard.”
“Well, if you round her up, let me know.”
“Dallas? I’ll write up the report. I’d like to,” Peabody added. “Feels like taking it all the way through.”
“I’ll remind you of that when this goes to court.”
Eve walked through the bull pen and to her office.
It was a stingy room with barely any space for the desk, a spare chair, and the skinny pane of glass masquerading as a window. She didn’t have any problem spotting the woman.
She sat in the spare chair, sipping coffee from a recyclable cup. Her hair was reddish blond, worn in a cap that had apparently exploded into curls. Her skin was very white, except for the pink on her cheeks, the pink on her lips. Her eyes were grass green.
Middle fifties, Eve judged, filing it all away in a fingersnap. A big-boned body in a green dress with black collar and cuffs. Black heels, and the requisite enormous black purse sitting neatly on the floor by her feet.
She squeaked when Eve came in, nearly spilled the coffee, then hastily set it aside.
“There you are!”
She leaped up, the pink in her face deepening, her eyes going bright. There was a twang to her voice, and something in it set Eve’s nerves on edge.
“Mrs. Lombard? You’re not allowed to wander around the offices.”
“I just wanted to see where you worked. Why, honey, just look at you.” She rushed forward, and would have had Eve in an embrace if Eve’s reflexes weren’t so quick.
“Hold it. Who are you? What do you want?”
Those green eyes widened, went swimming. “Why, honey, don’t you know me? I’m your mama!”
* * *
Chapter 2
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COLD RIMED HER BELLY, FROSTED ITS WAY UP to her throat. She couldn’t breathe
through the ice of it. The woman’s arms were around her now; she was powerless to stop them. She was smothered by them, by the overwhelming scent of roses. And the teary voice—Texas, Texas twang— pounded in her head like vicious fists.
Through it she could hear her desk link beep. She could hear the chatter from the bull pen. She hadn’t closed the door. God, the door was open, and anyone could…
Then it was all noise, a buzzing hive of hornets in her head. They stung at her chest and brought back the heat, a breathless roll of it that washed through her and grayed her vision.
No, you’re not. No, you’re not. You’re not.
Was that her voice? It was so small, a child’s voice. Were the words outside her head, or just buzzing there like the bees?
She got her hands up, somehow she got them up and pushed at the soft, plump arms that clamped around her. “Let go of me. Let go.”
She stumbled back, very nearly ran. “I don’t know you.” She stared at the face, but she couldn’t make out the features any longer. It was a blur, just color and shape. “I don’t know you.”
“Eve, honey, it’s Trudy! Oh, look at me crying like I had to water the cats.” She sniffled, pulled a wide pink handkerchief out of some pocket, dabbed. “Silly, just silly old me. I figured you’d know me the second you saw me, just the way I did you. ‘Course it has been more than twenty years, between us girls.” She gave Eve a watery smile. “I expect I show a few of them.”
“I don’t know you,” Eve repeated, very carefully. “You’re not my mother.”
Trudy’s lashes fluttered. There was something behind them, something in those eyes, but Eve couldn’t quite focus.
“Sugar pie, you really don’t remember? You and me and Bobby in our sweet little house in Summervale? Just north of Lufkin?”
There was a dull buzz of memory, just on the corner of her mind. But it was making her ill to search for it. “After…”
“You were such a quiet little thing, no bigger than two cents’ worth of soap. Of course, you’d had a horrible time of it, hadn’t you, honey? Poor little lamb. I said I could be a good mama to that poor little lamb, and I took you right on home with me.”
Robb, J.D. - [Dallas 25] - Memory in Death-v2 Page 2
