Plugged

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 from my sickbed. Woman killed outside Slotz; maybe you knew her?’

My stomach lurches. Connie. How could she have slipped my mind even for a moment?

‘Anything I can do?’

Brandi is tapping her forearm. She doesn’t like to be kept waiting. I grit my teeth and focus on the handset.

‘I got some more news on the murder weapon,’ says Ronnie quietly; maybe there are nurses hovering. ‘I thought I could run it past you since we have such a special relationship; unofficially of course, as I am technically off duty for the foreseeable. .’

‘It was some kind of a blade?’

‘No. We got some metal fragments from the wound. Too soft for a blade. Maybe a tube, like the tip of an umbrella. With some kind of glittery substance on the shaft. That ringing any bells, McEvoy?’

‘Nothing pops out at me.’

‘Me neither. This makes it a spur-of-the-moment thing. Our murderer could be anyone now. Could be staring us right in the face.’

Brandi sits opposite me and swings her legs on to the desk, crossing them at the ankles. Her boots shine like gloss paint.

‘You’ll be thinking on it?’

I don’t say anything, because suddenly there is no air in the room. More than that, the room has become a vacuum, popping my ears and expanding my brain.

A metal tube. Glittery substance.

Detective Deacon is still talking. ‘Right, Dan? Yo, Danny boy. You’re gonna work with me on this?’

My fingers paw the desktop like a blind man’s, until I find the phone and cut Ronnie off.

I hate people calling me Danny boy. My father used to do that, and sing that goddamn dirge in pubs, though no one asked him.

‘I know you want to make changes, Dan,’ Brandi is saying, doing her best trailer-trash talk-show spiel. ‘I know that and I respect you for it. But I think, if you look inside yourself, you’ll find that you’re still in shock over Connie. She never went in the booth, so now you’re gonna shut the booth down. See what I’m saying?’

Brandi’s six-inch heels are in my face. Her trademark Catwoman boots. I’ve seen her kick sparks from the pavement with those boots.

She picks at a tiny square of body glitter on her forearm.

‘I hate to speak ill of the dead, Dan. But that girl’s morals were costing us all money. Hell, we lost a dozen high-rollers last month because little virgin Connie didn’t want any hands on her ass. My tips were way down. And I need my tips. Cat’s gotta have her cream.’

The phone is still at my ear, beeping. I can’t seem to remember where it should go.

‘I ain’t missing her. None of the girls are.’

I can see how it happened. They met in the parking lot, words were exchanged. Connie and Brandi differed on how the job should be done. Things got heated. Maybe a slap turned into a tussle. Connie went down and Brandi put her heel through Connie’s forehead. She’s capable of it; God knows she’s capable.

It’s true. My gut knows it.

I stare at Brandi’s heels, mesmerised. They are shining and wicked. After the deed was done, Brandi stood at the door beside me building her alibi. Hell, she probably had blood on her if anyone bothered to look.

‘So come on, Dan. What do you say to a little action in the booth? I’ll give you a free taste.’

The heel glints, and I see in the centre a tiny perfect circle of dried blood. Could be mud, coffee, anything.

It’s blood, I swear I can smell it.

Jason puts his head around the door. He’s half apologetic, half smiling.

‘Boss, we got a lady outside, looks like Material Girl Madonna. Got a casserole for you, says she’s your wife. You want me to show her the door?’

I can’t talk. Can’t say a word. I shake my head to defer the decision.

Brandi doesn’t want her meeting hijacked. ‘So, Dan? Is the booth back in business? You want me to slide under that desk?’

I keep shaking.

Brandi killed Connie.

‘Should I bring her through? She’s pretty hot, boss. And that casserole smells amazing.’

I manage one word.

‘Just. .’

‘What, Dan?’

‘Just throw her out, boss?’

I try again. ‘Just. .’