“You don’t own the sidewalk, Cuntzilla.”
“You tried to steal my john, right in my fucking face!”
“I can’t help I was walking by and he went for me instead of your fat, dumpy ass.”
Noting the fire in fat, dumpy ass’s eye, Eve instinctively nudged Roarke back an instant before FDA kicked out with a foot squeezed into a shoe with a toe as sharp and pointed as a stiletto. It connected with bare shin. Thieving whore-bitch let out an ear-splitting yowl, swiped out with inch-long nails as pointed as the shoes.
This time blood flew, and pandemonium reigned as the uniforms fought to drag the women apart.
TWB tore FDA’s sparkly pink shirt, exposing one impressive man-made breast.
“And you ask why men enjoy watching women fight,” Roarke commented.
“Oh, for the sake of silicone Jesus.” Eve grabbed one of them by the hair, she didn’t know or care which one. Yanked, dragged, and managed to plant a boot on the other one’s neck.
“Knock it off!” Her voice echoed in the confines of the elevator. “Or I’ll stun the pair of you. And shut the fuck up,” she added when the pair of them screamed out their curses and complaints.
“Secure these two, damn it.”
“Come on, Dorie, what the hell?” One of the uniforms crouched to slap restraints on one pair of wrists while he partner did the other.
The elevator doors opened. “Get them off.”
“We’re actually taking them down to—”
“Now.”
“Yes, sir.” Hauling them up, the uniforms pulled the now weeping and wailing LCs off the car.
“Well now, that was entertaining.” Roarke took out a handkerchief, caught Eve’s chin in his hand.
“What?”
“Just a little back-blow from the nail swipe. “There, that’s better.”
“God” was all she said until they reached the garage level.
“You drive,” she told him. “I want to check on some things on the way.”
He got behind the wheel. “Such as?”
“I want to make sure Morris is on the third DB. I can put together how and when, I sure as hell know who and why, but it keeps
it consistent. And I want to alert Harpo—hair and fiber queen—at the lab. Mira thinks he took some of the vic’s hair. That’s a personal trophy if so. And I want to check on the probabilities I had Peabody run on his next victim.”
“You believe there’ll be a next.”
“He’s got one picked out. If we don’t net him soon, we’ll have another DB for Morris.” She paused long enough to scrub her hands over her face. “If he put half this time, effort, and thought into any one of the jobs he’s blown through, he’d be at least middle management by now.”
“This is more fun.”
“You got that right. He’s found himself. They have sites, right? Conduits, avenues, to hype yourself as a kill-for-hire, or to look for one.”
He sent her a sidelong glance.
“You’d know … people who know people.”
“Possibly. That was never my avenue nor did I buy rounds at the pub for those who drove along it.”