Memory in Death (In Death 22)

“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.”