Ceremony in Death (In Death #5)(84)

“Appreciate it. And there’s something else. I’m running into blanks every time I try to access data on this Alban character. The guy’s in his thirties. There has to be more on him. I’m not getting education, medical, family history. There’s no criminal record, not even an illegal zone stop. My take is he had it wiped.”

“Takes a lot of talent and a lot of money to wipe it clean. Something’s always somewhere.”

She thought of Roarke, and the suspiciously limited data on record. Well, he had a lot of talent, she reminded herself. And a lot of money. “I figured if anybody could find anything…”

“Yeah, flatter me, kid.” He winked. “I’ll get back to you.”

“Thanks, Feeney.”

“Was that Feeney?” Mavis bounced in, literally, on new air pump, stack-heeled, neon yellow sneakers. “Shoot, you zipped off. I wanted to talk to him.”

Eve ran her tongue around her teeth. Mavis was decked out in classic Mavis style. Her hair matched her sneakers and made the eyes burn. She wore it in a spiral mass of curls that exploded up as much as down. Her slacks were glossy simulated rubber, dipped well below the glinting red stone in her navel, and hugged every curve. Her blouse, if it could be called that, was a snug band of material that matched the slacks and almost covered her br**sts.

Over it all she wore a transparent duster.

“Anybody try to arrest you on the way in?”

“No, but I think the desk sergeant had an orgasm.” Mavis fluttered emerald green lashes and dropped into a chair. “Great outfit, huh? Just off Leonardo’s drawing board. So, are you ready?”

“Ready? For what?”

“We’ve got a salon date. Trina shuffled you in. I left the message on your unit. Twice.” She narrowed her eyes at Eve. “Don’t tell me you didn’t get it, because I know you did. You logged it out.”

Logged it out, Eve remembered. And ignored it. “Mavis, I don’t have time to play hair.”

“You haven’t taken lunch today. I checked with the desk sarge,” Mavis said smugly. “Before his orgasm. You can eat while Trina whips you into shape.”

“I don’t want to be whipped into shape.”

“It wouldn’t be so bad if you hadn’t hacked at it again yourself.” Mavis rose, picked up Eve’s jacket. “You might as well come quietly. I’m just going to keep hounding you. Log out for lunch, take an hour. You’ll be back and making our city safe by one thirty.”

Because it was easier than arguing, Eve snatched the jacket, shrugged it on. “Just the hair. I’m not having her put all the gunk on my face.”

“Dallas, relax.” Mavis began to tug her out. “Enjoy being a girl.”

Eve snapped out her log book to mark time, scanning Mavis’s rubber clad butt bouncing along. “I don’t think that means the same thing to you as it does to me.”

Maybe it was the fumes — the potions and lotions, the oils and dyes and lacquers so typical in salons — but Eve found inspiration striking as she tipped back in her treatment chair.

She wasn’t sure how they’d gotten her to take off her clothes, submit to the indignity of the body smoother, the facial, the poking and prodding. She had managed to put her foot down — her bare, now toenail-painted foot down — when the discussion had veered toward temporary tattoos and body piercing.

Otherwise, she was a hostage, coated with goop, her hair covered with the spermlike cream Trina swore by. Privately, she could admit she was deeply terrified of Trina with her snapping scissors and green glop. That’s why she kept her eyes shut during the procedure, so as not to imagine herself emerging looking like a Trina clone with frizzed fuchsia hair and torpedo br**sts.

“Been too long,” Trina lectured. “I told you, you need regular treatments. You got the basics, but you don’t enhance, you lose the edge. If you came in regular, it wouldn’t take so long to bring you back.”

She didn’t want to be brought back, Eve thought. She wanted to be left alone. She suppressed a shudder as she felt something buzzing around her eyes. Brow shaping, she reminded herself and struggled to calm. Trina was not tattooing a smiley face on her forehead.

“I’ve got to get back. I’ve got work.”

“Don’t rush me. Magic takes time.”

Magic, Eve thought and rolled her eyes, causing Trina to hiss at her. Everybody was obsessed with magic, it seemed.

She frowned, listening to Mavis chirp happily about a new body polish that gave the skin a gold glow. “This is mag, Trina. I’ve got to try it full body. Leonardo would lap it up.”

“You can get it temp, and edible. Six flavors on the market now. Apricot’s real popular.”

Potions and lotions, Eve thought. Smoke and mirrors. Rites and rituals. She opened her eyes to slits, saw Mavis and Trina huddled over a vial of gold liquid. Mavis with her neon hair, she thought with odd affection, Trina with her pink frizz.

Weird sisters.

Weird sisters, she thought again and sat up. Trina let out another hiss.

“Back down, Dallas. You got two minutes left.”

“Mavis, you said you used to run a psychic con.”

“Sure.” Mavis fluttered her newly painted neon nails. “Madam Electra sees all, knows all. Or Ariel, the sad-eyed sprite.” She dipped her head, managed to look delicate and forlorn. “I guess I had about six grifts on that theme.”