Rapture in Death (In Death #4)(12)

“And you enjoyed that, Lieutenant?”

She met Fitzhugh’s eyes straight on. “No, sir, I didn’t. But I enjoyed staying alive.”

“Slime,” Eve muttered as she climbed into her vehicle.

“He won’t get Salvatori off.” Peabody settled in and, to take the edge off the furnace heat trapped inside, fiddled with the temperature control unit “The evidence is too clear cut. And you didn’t let him shake you.”

“Yes, I did.” Eve scooped a hand through her hair, then headed into late-afternoon midtown traffic. The streets were choked enough to make her grit her teeth, but overhead, the sky was crisscrossed with airbuses, tourist vans, and midday commuters. “We limp along, getting pricks like Salvatori off the street, and men like Fitzhugh make fortunes slipping them back out.” She jerked a shoulder. “Sometimes it pisses me off.”

“Whoever slips them back out, we still limp along and slap them back in again.”

With a half laugh, Eve glanced at her companion. “You’re an optimist, Peabody. I wonder how long that’ll last. I’m going to make a detour before we log back on,” she said, changing direction on impulse. “I want to get the air of that courtroom out of my lungs.”

“Lieutenant? You didn’t need me in court today. Why was I there?”

“If you’re going after that detective shield, Peabody, you need to see what you’re up against. It’s not just killers and thieves and chemi-heads. It’s the lawyers.”

It didn’t surprise her to find the streets clogged and parking nonexistent. Philosophically, Eve nosed into an illegal zone, flipped the on-duty light on.

As she stepped out of the car, she gave a hustler on a glide-board a mild stare. He grinned, winked cheekily, then zoomed away toward more conducive surroundings.

“This area’s loaded with hustlers and dealers and off-license hookers,” Eve said conversationally. “That’s why I love it.” She opened the door to the Down and Dirty Club, stepped inside to air thick with the sour smells of cheap liquor and bad food.

Privacy rooms lining one wall were open, airing out the musky stink of stale sex.

It was a joint — one that enjoyed being seamy and just skirted the edge of health and decency laws. A holographic band had the stage and was playing listlessly for the smattering of disinterested customers.

Mavis Freestone was in an isolation booth in the back, her hair a purple fountain, two scraps of glowing silver cloth strategically draped over her small, sassy body. The way her mouth was moving, her hips swiveling, Eve was certain she was rehearsing one of her more interesting vocals.

Eve stepped up to the glass, waiting until Mavis’s rolling eyes circled around and landed on her. Mavis’s mouth, the same searing purple as her hair, rounded into a huge circle of delight. She did a fast boogie, then shoved the door open. An ear-shattering blast of screaming guitars burst out of the booth with her.

Mavis launched herself into Eve’s arms, and though she was shouting, Eve caught only every other word over the thundering music.

“What?” Laughing, Eve slammed the door shut, shook the echo out of her head. “Christ, Mavis, what was that?”

“My new number. It’s going to knock them unconscious.”

“I believe it.”

“You’re back.” Mavis gave Eve two smacking and unavoidable kisses. “Let’s sit down. Let’s have a drink. Tell me every detail. Leave nothing out. Hey, Peabody. Man, aren’t you steaming in that uniform?”

She dragged Eve to a sticky table, punched up the menu. “What do you want? It’s on me. Crack pays me pretty solid for the couple gigs a week I do here. He’s going to be dredged that he missed you. Oh, I’m so glad to see you. You look terrific. You look happy. Doesn’t she look terrific, Peabody? Sex is so, like, therapeutic, right?”

Eve laughed again, knowing she’d come just for this. Mindless entertainment. “Just a couple of fizz waters, Mavis. We’re on duty.”

“Oh, like somebody in here’s going to report you. Unbutton that uniform some, Peabody. I’m getting hot just looking at you. How was Paris? How was the island? How was the resort? Did he f**k your brains out everywhere?”

“Beautiful, wonderful, interesting, and yeah, he did. How’s Leonardo?”

Mavis’s eyes went dreamy. She smiled and poked a silver-tipped nail onto the menu board. “He’s terrific. Cohabitating’s better than I thought it would be. He designed this costume for me.”

Eve studied the thin silver straps that almost covered Mavis’s tidy apple br**sts. “Is that what you call it?”

“I’ve got this new number, see. Oh, I’ve got so much to tell you.” She snagged the fizz water when it plopped through the slot. “I don’t know where to start. There’s this guy, this music engineer. I’m working with him. We’re doing a disc, Eve — full treatment. He’s sure he can peddle it. He’s great, Jess Barrow. He was blazing a couple years back with his own stuff. Maybe you heard of him.”

“No.” Eve knew that, for a woman who’d lived on the streets a large portion of her life, Mavis remained stunningly naive about certain matters. “How much are you paying him?”

“It’s not like that.” Mavis’s lips moved into a pout. “I’ve got to dish up the recording fee, sure. That’s the way it works; and if we hit, he takes sixty percent for the first three years. After that we renegotiate.”