Connections in Death (In Death 48)

Pissed, Eve thought. This one’s pissed he got caught with his pants down and no weapon in his hand.

He was white with a tough, compact boxer’s build, spiky red hair, his gang tat over his heart. Two lightning-bolt tats jagged down his arms.

“When did you last see her?”

“I don’t keep a leash on that bitch.” As if to prove it, Bolt reached over to squeeze the closest breast. Hard enough that the owner of the breast yelped. “Said how she needed some scratch, had shit to do, and couldn’t party tonight.”

“Which is her flop?”

“Man, she ain’t got her own. Why she needs the scratch, so? She’s been flopping with me for the banging. What the fuck, Slice? We don’t need to put up with this shit. We got rights and shit. You gotta stand up, man, tell this bitch to suck it.”

“I know what I got,” Slice snapped back. “I ain’t taking no shit from cops in our place.”

Eve took out her badge, held it up, and aimed a cold stare at Slice. “You said you know me, then you know I’m a murder cop. Do you think I’m here to roust your ho for off-license sex work, for illegals?”

“Don’t know why the fuck you’re here.”

“I’m here because Dinnie Duff is a person of interest in a murder investigation. You keep up this bullshit, you’ll be one, too. Where is she?”

He laughed, and as if on signal, a few of the others joined in.

“You gotta be smoking something good if you’re looking at that bitch for some murder. She squeaks if she sees a bloody thumb. She ain’t killed nobody.”

“Lyle Pickering would disagree if he could, but he’s dead.”

Slice’s face went stony, and the lingering laughter cut off. “You saying Pick’s dead? You saying he’s dead and Dinnie did him?”

“I’m saying he’s dead, and I need to talk to her. Where is she?”

“How’s he dead?”

“Where is Dinnie Duff?”

“We said she ain’t here. And ain’t no way she’d do something to end Pick. Bangers stick, and that boy was a Banger.” He booted one of the women on the floor. “Loose, you know where she’s at? You say it straight.”

“Must be working, Slice. She said, like Bolt said, she had shit to do, needed scratch. She ain’t paid up her share for flop in a while. You said…”

“Go ahead.”

“You said she had to pay up or find someplace else, ’cause spreading it for Bolt wasn’t enough for her share. She said she had shit to do. That’s all.”

“That’s right, I did.” He nodded slowly, looked back at Eve. “Bitches gotta pay same as anybody, and fucking only pays so far. Pick’s dead, you oughta look at the Dragons. We don’t kill our own.”

“He’d disavowed you.”

“Disavowed’s shit.” Slice’s eyes fired out hate—a violent, frustrated hate. “He wants to live his life like a sack, that’s on him. But once you take the oath, you’re one of us. Even that ho Dinnie knows how it is.”

She considered pushing, but she’d planted the seeds, formed her impressions.

“I will find her. If anything happens to her in the meantime, I’ll be coming for you.”

“Come all you want, bitch. I’ve taken on harder asses than you.”

At that Roarke let out a quick laugh. “Keep thinking that,” he advised, then turned with Eve toward the steps.

Outside, Zutter puffed out his cheeks. “He’ll send some boys to find her. If you want to get to her first, we need to go under. We’re going to need more cops.”

“How well do you know Slice?”