AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“That’s up to you. Quim.”
“Penny-ante. Not a gambler, he just plays at it. Like a hobby. He’s lousy at it. Costs him an average of a hundred K a year. Never bets more than a hundred bills straight, and usually half that, but he’s regular. Jesus, my face is killing me. Can’t I have some Go-Numb?”
“When did you talk to him last?”
“Last night. He likes to do the e-betting deal rather than over the ‘link. Transmits twice a week, minimum. Last night, he laid a hundred on the Brawlers on tonight’s arena ball—and that’s rich, for him. Said he was feeling lucky.”
“Did he?” Eve leaned closer. “Did he say that, exactly?”
“Yeah. He says, put me down a hundred on the Brawlers for tomorrow night. I’m feeling lucky. He even smiled, sort of. Said he was going to double it and let it ride on the next night once he won.”
“In a good mood, was he?”
“For Quim, he was doing a happy dance. Guy’s mostly a pain in the ass, a whiner. But he pays up, and he’s regular, so I got no beef with him.”
“Good thing. Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it, Maylou?”
“You’re not going to bust me?”
“I don’t work Vice or Bunko. You’re not my problem.” She released the restraints, hooked them in her back pocket. “If I were you, I’d call the MTs and tell them I walked into a wall—tripped over your little dog.”
“Squeakie!” Maylou rolled over to her ample butt, threw open her arms. The dog leaped out of Peabody’s hold and into Maylou’s lap. “Did the nasty cop hurt Mama’s baby girl?”
With a shake of her head, Eve headed out. “Give it two weeks,” she told Peabody, “then call Hanson in Vice and give him this address.”
“You said you weren’t going to bust her.”
“No, I said she wasn’t my problem. She’s going to be Hanson’s.”
Peabody glanced back. “What’s going to happen to the dog? Hey, and the apartment. Maybe the bust will drive down the rent. You should see the kitchen, Dallas. It’s mag.”
“Keep dreaming.” She got in the car, then scowled when Peabody popped the dash compartment. “What are you doing?”
“First aid kit.”
“Stay away from me.”
“It’s either me or the health center.”
“I don’t need a health center. Don’t touch me.”
“Stop being a baby.” Enjoying the role of nurse, Peabody chose her tools. “Ass-kickers aren’t afraid of a little first aid kit. Close your eyes if you don’t want to see.”
Trapped, Eve gripped the wheel, closed her eyes. She felt the qu
ick, biting sting of the antiseptic before the numbing properties took hold. The smell of it spun in her head, rolled into her belly.
She heard the low hum of the suture wand.
She started to make some sarcastic comment to take her mind off the annoyance of the procedure. Then suddenly, she was sucked back.
The dim and dingy health center ward. The hundreds of stings as hundreds of cuts were treated. The vile buzz of the machines as her broken arm was examined.
“What’s your name? You have to give us your name. Tell us who hurt you? What’s your name? What happened to you?”
I don’t know. In her mind she screamed it, again and again. But she lay still, she lay silent, trapped in terror as strangers poked and prodded, as they stared and they questioned.
“What’s your name?”
