Delusion in Death (In Death #35)(45)

Plus they both juggled men like tennis balls while she herself was in a two-year rut with dull, earnest Bob.

Even his name was dull and earnest.

Things would be different once she got in shape. And it would be easier if she could afford some body sculpting rather than starving herself on rabbit food.

The money she saved walking the eight blocks to work and back every day would add up, she assured herself. And God knew she spent nearly nothing on food anymore.

What she wouldn’t give for a couple bubbling slices of pizza with the works and a calorically prohibitive beer.

“Here, Lydia.” Cellie with her perfect cupid’s bow mouth smiled sympathetically. “Have half my sandwich. Half doesn’t count.”

“I’m fine.”

“You should join my health club.” The smoldering, smoking Brenda had a salad, too. A huge one with an ocean of creamy dressing, seasoned croutons, and golden slivers of cheese.

At that moment, Lydia hated her.

“I don’t have time, and I don’t have the money. Anyway, I’m not hungry.”

“I wish you wouldn’t do this to yourself, Lydia.” Cellie, big brown eyes radiating sincerity, rubbed a hand up and down Lydia’s arm. “You’re beautiful.”

“I’m fat,” Lydia said flatly. She hated herself, hated Cellie and Brenda. She wanted to slap the stupid, tasteless salad right in Cellie’s face.

“I look fat, feel fat, am fat. And I’m going to fix it.” Annoyed, Lydia shoved the salad away. “I’m not hungry,” she repeated, “and it’s too noisy in here. I feel a headache coming on. I’m going to walk for a while.”

“I’ll go with you,” Cellie began.

“No. Stay. Eat. Eat, eat, eat. I’m in a bad mood, and I want to be alone.”

She stomped toward the door, squeezing through the spaces between tables while her temper spurted up like a black, oily fountain.

Oh yeah, midday headache from starving myself half to damn death, she thought.

She reached the door, yanked it open. Glanced back.

Her eyes met Brenda’s, just for an instant. In them she saw the same vile dislike she felt, the ugly truth of it.

She always knew Brenda was a bitch. Always knew it.

For a moment she wanted to turn around, stomp back, and punch smoldering bitch Brenda in the face. Then claw her nails down it. Draw blood. Drink blood.

Instead, she slammed out the door, shoving her way down the sidewalk.

And lived.

9

They were under five blocks away when Dispatch notified Eve. She hit the lights and sirens.

“Run the owner,” she ordered Peabody. “Now.” And soared up to vertical to skim over vehicles with no respect for a cop running hot.

She took a right, hard, blasted the horn as a clutch of pedestrians swarmed the sidewalk. They scattered like ants, and as she bored through, a woman in needle-heeled boots and towering blond hair took the opportunity to flip her the finger.

And thanks for your support, Eve thought.

“Privately owned,” Peabody called out, voice cracking only a little as Eve skinned by a loaded maxibus. “Greenbaum Family LLC.”

“Building, too.”

Eve slammed the brakes, fishtailing as she squealed to a stop. She jumped out, and into pandemonium.

She spotted two uniforms and a beat droid scrambling to secure the scene, tape off the area from the crowd. People shouted, pushed. A couple of guys wrestled and rolled on the ground, trying to land punches. She saw a woman huddled on the sidewalk, weeping hysterically as another woman tried to comfort her. A man lay flat out while another administered CPR.

Several stood or sat, bleeding, eyes dazed.

Through the open door she saw the heaps and tangles of bodies—including the one facedown half in, half out of the café.

“Get that barricade up. Peabody, call for MTs.”

“We got them coming,” one of the uniforms shouted. “We called for more backup, Lieutenant.”

“For Christ’s sake.” She grabbed one wrestling man by the shirt collar, dodged a flailing fist, didn’t quite dodge a jabbing elbow to the ribs. “Peabody, goddamn it!” She managed to get a boot on the chest of the second man, rocked as he bucked. “Stop! Cut it out or I swear to God I’ll knock your empty heads together.”

She ignored the expected versions of “He started it.”

“Make a move, and you’re in restraints and headed for a holding tank. One move. Don’t test me.”

Ribs throbbing, she turned. “Listen up! I said, listen up!” Laying a hand on the butt of her weapon, she raised her voice over the din of the crowd. “I’m Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD. You will not cross the barricade. You will cease and desist any attempt to interfere with these officers or you will be arrested and charged with hampering an investigation, creating a public nuisance, obstruction of justice and anything else I can toss in to screw up the rest of your day.”

“People are hurt!” someone screamed.

“Medicals are on the way.”

“Fucking cops stunned unarmed people. I saw it. I recorded it.” He waved his ’link like a trophy.

“And I’m here to determine what happened. My partner will take your statement.”

“Then cover it up. Fucking cops.”