“Don’t—” The hold music returned, and Larkin held the receiver at arm’s length, shouting, “—make me listen to one more goddamn second of this shit!”
“Anyone ever tell you, Grim, that you sound like one of those rubber chickens when it’s stepped on?”Ulmer asked from across the bullpen.He peered around his computer monitor and made an exaggeratedOface.
“Anyone ever tell you that that face makes you look like a truck stop gloryhole,” Larkin snapped back.
Ulmer’s complexion darkened.“You would know, faggot.”
“Just remember, deep-throating isn’t for beginners and lockjaw is very real.”The jazz music cut and he promptly raised the receiver to his ear again.
Ben was saying, “—one entry for you, detective.That fridge had its condenser fan replaced under warranty way the heck back in 1997.”
“Was a technician sent to do a home repair.”
“Yes, sir, that’s what usually happens.”
“Do you still have an address on file.”
“I do… but it’s over twenty years old.”
“That doesn’t matter, Mr.Brooks,” Larkin answered, picking up a pen and leaning over the open case file, poised to transcribe.
“Marcom company policy prohibits me from sharing customer details,” Ben said apologetically.
Larkin set his pen down with exaggerated calmness.“I’ll obtain a search warrant.”
“It’s not that I want to be a pain in your backside, but the bigwigs will be madder than a wet hen if I break protocol, even in good faith.”
“I understand,” Larkin replied, curbing his irritation, because it wasn’t Ben’s fault that Marcom’s hold music had drilled a hole in his brain, or that Ulmer was a dickhead, or that a perfectly reasonable company policy would mean justone morephone call in Larkin’s immediate future.“Thank you for your assistance.”
“No problem!”Ben answered brightly.“And when you get your paperwork in order, you just tell them I was the one you spoke with and I’ll help you get your man, detective.”
Larkin muttered a goodbye before hanging up.He turned to see that Doyle was staring at him.“What does the expression ‘madder than a wet hen’ actually mean.”
Doyle pushed up from Baker’s chair as he said, “I think it’s a reference to an old southern farming trick—dunk a hen in cold water to break them out of their brooding.”
“I can’t see how that would work.”
“It’s probably why the hen gets mad,” Doyle concluded.He stretched his arms overhead before saying, “Let’s take a walk.”
“I don’t need a walk.”
“I do.”
“I know what you’re doing.”
“What am I doing?”
Larkin carefully scrutinized his partner.Doyle had gotten pretty good at hiding any of his tells when it came to this sort of… reverse psychology tactic.He’d make a perfectly reasonable request for himself—candy break, a walk—and ask Larkin join him, when in reality, Doyle was availingLarkina few minutes to decompress without embarrassment, under the guise of a believable excuse.
Because Doyle knew how to handle Larkin.
Larkin narrowed his eyes, but when Doyle only smiled, he grabbed his cell and started for the stairs.He’d barely reached the bustling ground floor when it rang in his hand.“Jesus Christ,” he swore.
“What’s wrong?”
“Noah has called metwiceso far today.”
“Would you like me to answer it?”Doyle didn’t sound particularly thrilled with the idea, and Larkin couldn’t blame him, but ever the gentleman, he’d still offered to lessen some of Larkin’s burden.
