Plugged - Eoin Colfer [88]
She tries the old kiss-ass routine. ‘Come on, baby. A girl’s gotta eat.’
Now it’s my turn to be impervious. ‘Maybe, but she doesn’t have to eat that.’
Belly-guy has lost the urge. ‘Hey, listen, you two have got some kind of employment dispute, why don’t I give you some space to work it out? Communication is so important.’
I cock my head, waiting for a trademark Ghost Zeb comment. Nothing. The ghost is gone. Reunited with his wounded self in St John’s hospital. Alleluia.
‘Yes, sir. Why don’t you tuck yourself in and try your luck at the tables.’
‘I believe I shall,’ says Belly-guy, formal with relief.
Brandi watches her john skip around stools in his hurry to get away from me.
She is furious; anyone with ten minutes’ elementary body-language studies could see that. Her bottom lip is pushed out like a segment of blood orange and her cocked hip is sharp as a guillotine.
‘Problem?’ I enquire mildly.
Her eyes flash and she wants to claw my eyes out, but Brandi is the consummate survivor.
‘No problem, Dan. We got a few bumps, that’s all. Not even bumps . . . implants.’ And suddenly her breasts are wrapped around my arm. Took all of four seconds for her mood to swing.
‘No bumps,’ I say, flexing my bicep so her boobs pop off. ‘The booth is closed. Now, you go do your job.’
I wasn’t sure I could flex enough to dislodge Brandi, but I did and it was cool. I leave her wobbling and stride towards the office.
The phone is buzzing when I reach the desk in Vic’s office, but I let it ring out. I need a minute to put my pieces back together. My jaw throbs and my knuckles ache and I realise that I should have raided Zeb’s painkiller stash.
I crank Vic’s chair down a few more notches and settle back until my head touches the wall behind me.
My office, my desk.
That’s it. Crises over.
Now I need to take stock of what’s happened. A lot of new things have come into my life and I don’t know which ones I want to keep. One thing is for certain, as soon as Zeb is back on his feet I am going to knock him on his arse. After that, I need to get my head straight, then take a few days’ rest with nothing on my mind but food and drink.
My eyes begin to close and I don’t fight it. The familiar sounds of chips clicking, glasses clinking and gamblers moaning in the casino beyond are almost like a lullaby.
Relax, I tell myself. Irish Mike is off my back for the moment. Okay, the Sofia Delano situation needs a little work, but it’s not life-threatening.
Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth. Breathe in balls, breathe out pussy, as the marines say, though I always thought that came off a little ambiguous.
Getting there, nearly calm now.
The phone rings again and I nearly fall out of the seat. I slap the receiver out of its cradle.
‘What? What now?’
Ronelle Deacon’s laugh is like whiskey and cigarettes. ‘Management too stressful for you, Dan? You cracking up already?’
I blink myself alert. ‘It’s been a long night, Detective. A long week.’
‘I sent a couple of uniforms over to your friend’s store. Quite a mess. Or to quote Patrolman Lewis, Big motherfucking hole in the motherfucking wall. A couple quarts of blood too. You wouldn’t know anything about that?’
‘Not a thing. I arrived after the fact. Zeb was the only one bleeding.’
Brandi slinks in the door, making full use of her stripper training; every movement is choreographed. I see where this is going. I’m in for a full-on booth negotiation.
‘Dan,’ she purrs. ‘We need to talk, baby.’
I raise one rigid finger. In a minute. I am not good at multitasking, especially when there are people involved.
‘Yeah, that’s what I thought,’ continues Deacon. ‘And you didn’t see anything, right?’
‘Not a thing but my friend bleeding.’ I decide to use a little distraction technique. ‘Come on, Ronnie. It’s too late for work. Why don’t you check out of that hospital and come on over here for a few drinks? I’m in good with the management. You still got nine fingers, right? More than enough to pick up a beer.’
‘Maybe when I solve this murder I’m working on