Leverage in Death (In Death 47) - Page 118
“You bet!”
Eve strode to the door, through it. Then, teeth gritted, went back to see Peabody standing at her desk, all smiles. “Jesus Christ, Peabody. With me.”
“Okeedoke!” She trotted along. “Say, Dallas, have you ever noticed—”
“No. Don’t talk.”
She hummed instead. Eve opted to stick with the miserably crowded elevator all the way down as the noise level drowned out the chemically induced joy.
In the car Eve drew a deep breath. Tried one more. “If you don’t pull it together, I’m going to leave you locked in the car while I conduct interviews.”
“Uh-uh, partners. Ass to work off. I can’t stop!” she added with just a little hint of panic as Eve pulled out. “Part of my brain’s going, Oops, crap, why! But the rest of it’s all happy and everything’s so bright! See look! That woman’s walking a puppy. She has red boots! I like red boots. Aw, I wish we could get a puppy! I’d name her Cuddles, and—Ow!”
Shoulders hunched, Peabody rubbed the arm Eve punched. “I can’t help it.”
“Try harder.”
“See, what happened is we worked really, really late because murders and going to the Oscars. Oh, I want Nadine to win so bad! I can’t wait to see—Ouch!”
“Keep it up and you’ll need body paint to cover the bruises.”
“I’m just saying it’s like we only got two hours down, and then I couldn’t turn my brain off because murders and the Academy freaking Awards! Okay, ouch. But I’m saying everything was just fuzzy this morning, and I needed to give you one hundred percent. A hundred absolute percent. So booster. But then it didn’t feel like it worked. All fuzzy. So I thought about the espresso, and maybe it did work some because it’s crazy stupid to chase the boost with espresso. It’s the real. McNab and I splurged. I love McNab! Ian McNab is my BFF—boyfriend forever! And we—Ow, ow, ow.”
“Stop talking. Stop. I get what happened. I get why it happened, which is why I’m not searching for a blunt instrument to beat you bloody with before I dump your broken body out on the street to be run over by a maxibus.”
“Maybe I should take some Sober Up. It’s not like being drunk, but maybe—”
“No. Nothing else goes in. Except water.” Eve programmed just that from the in-dash. “Drink.”
“I already sort of have to pee.”
“Good, the sooner you flush it out, the better.”
“Where are we going? Can I pee where we’re going?”
“Yes. Drink. Mikhail Kinski, resident of Banks’s building. Age forty-six, former Army, rank captain. Divorced. One hit on domestic violence. Works security for Dobb-Pinkerton Financial.”
Peabody nodded, tapped her temple. “Got it.”
“Good, because we’re there.”
“Really good! Because now I sort of more than sort of have to pee.”
Eve found a second-level street slot. “You put on your cop face, and you zip it. You observe on this one, and that’s it. Unless somebody jabs a spike up your ass, I don’t want to hear anything coming out of your mouth with an exclamation point at the end.”
“That would really hurt.”
“And I can find a spike. Believe it.”
She hoped the short walk, the fresh air and the flushing would bring her partner back.
The lobby looked rich with its towering green marble columns and acres of gold leaf. While Peabody goggled like a damn tourist, Eve ignored the ornate decor, the scores of people—most in black—clipping and striding to and from elevators with their ear-links and micro PPCs.
“There.” Eve pointed toward a sign for restrooms. “Make it fast.”
“Yay.”
As Peabody bounded off to pee, Eve headed straight to the security podium. Held up her badge.
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