Dark in Death (In Death 46)

“You had a big night breaking your parole. If you don’t want a big night in a cage, lose the bullshit.”

Eve shoved the stills from the surveillance feed across the table. “Have you seen her?”

“Jesus, what is that clucker-fucker wearing? Looks like she got swallowed by ugly. I don’t know people who wear dumb-ass coats covered in lame-ass birds.”

“You haven’t seen the coat before?”

“If I’d seen that coat, I’da lit it on fire.”

“Look at her face, take a good look.”

“I’m telling you I don’t know this bitch. You think I hang with losers like this?”

“I’m telling you, if you do see her, keep away from her and contact me. If you see her—white, red hair with blue side dreads, orange dragon tat inside her right wrist—she’s there to kill you.”

“Bull.” Loxie shot up her index finger. “And shit.” Then her middle.

“You’d be her third, so she’s had experience. Two people are in the morgue who might’ve claimed bull and shit. Do yourself a favor and stay out of the clubs for a couple weeks, and don’t drink any martinis.”

“I’m in rehab, bitch. No drinking, no clubbing, no party time.”

Eve looked into the bloodshot eyes, still glassy from breaking parole. “I don’t give a rat’s ass if you drink yourself into a coma or pop enough Erotica to bang your way from dusk to dawn. Just stay out of the clubs. Stay out of the clubs if you want to live.”

Leaning forward Eve pushed the photo under Loxie’s nose. “Look at her. Remember her. She’s crazy,” Eve said, “and if she’s fixed on you, she’ll hit you in a club, that’s her plan. She’ll poison you with a martini—pomegranate. Because she’s got the jumps for your ex.”

“Glaze?” Loxie flicked her fingers in the air—but bright green jealousy flicked in her eyes at the same time. “All hers. I’m done with that fuckhead.”

“She wants to make sure of it. She doesn’t like you, Loxie. She blames you. Glaze, he doesn’t even know she exists, but she’ll kill you to save him from you, to have him for herself. Get this point: She’s crazy.”

“Crazy enough to wear that fugly coat.”

“She won’t be wearing it the next time you see her. Get this in your head. White, red hair with blue side dreads, orange dragon tat on the inside of her right wrist. It’ll be loud, it’ll be crowded when she puts that martini down in front of you. The house band’s going to be playing one of Glaze’s numbers—her request. It’s the last thing you hear before you drink that idiot martini with the cyanide she dropped in it.”

For the first time Loxie looked worried. Her eyebrows knitted; she gnawed on a thumbnail painted glittery black. “You’re talking about the future, man, and that’s bullshit. How come you know all this?”

“I read the book.”

&nbs

p; 13

Eve stopped off at Vending. She wanted something cold, and if the machine gave her grief, well, she’d kick its ass the way regulations had prevented her from kicking Loxie Flash’s.

She plugged in for a tube of Pepsi. Snagged what it shat out.

“This is a damn diet cream soda, you fuck.”

Inappropriate language noted. Fester’s Diet Cream Soda offers classic taste guilt free! There is no nutritional value, and certain additives—listed on request—may pose health risks including—

“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up and give me my damn Pepsi.”

Second incident of inappropriate language noted. Warning! A third incident will result in suspension of Vending privileges.

“Note this. I will rip your circuits out with my bare hands, blast them to oblivion with my police issue if you don’t give me my damn Pepsi.”

Threats of vandalism will be reported, Harcove, Detective Clint. Acts of vandalism will result in suspension of Vending privileges and a two-thousand-dollar fine, plus cost of damages.

Eve started to tell the idiot, computerized pain in her ass she wasn’t Harcove, Detective Clint, then reconsidered.