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“Mr. Alexander says you’re terminated.”
With that he clamped his big hand over Parzarri’s mouth, pinched his nose closed. While the sirens screamed, the lights flashed, Parzarri’s body bucked from the lack of air, from the pain. His eyes wheeled like a terrified horse’s.
Blood vessels burst in the whites of his eyes, so it seemed he shed bloody tears. His fingers clawed at the gurney, at the air as his hands strained against the straps.
His bladder voided, and those reddened eyes rolled back, and fixed.
Removing his hand, the big man pounded a fist on the ceiling. The driver cut the sirens, the lights, and drove onto the broken ground of an underpass. Both men got out, the big one hefting the Pullman Parzarri had taken to Vegas and back. He tossed it in the trunk of the waiting car before getting into the passenger seat.
He liked sitting in the big, roomy car, he thought, being driven around like he was somebody. And now that he’d done it—twice—he liked to kill even better.
•••
Eve stood inside the ambulance bay where she’d been directed. According to the log, Parzarri was being transported via ambulance while Arnold, ambulatory, was on his way in, driven by his wife.
“How do you want to play it?” Peabody asked her.
“I want a look at him for myself, see what kind of shape he’s in. We’ll let him get to his room, interview him there. I want to read him his rights straight off, not only to cover it all, but to scare him a little. You should look grim.”
“No good cop?”
“I don’t think we need good cop.”
In her pink boots, Peabody did a little heel-toe dance. “Yay!”
“We need to talk to Arnold, too. We can get him out of the way while they’re fooling around with Parzarri.” She stopped when she spotted Sylvester Gibbons.
“Lieutenant Dallas. Detective. I didn’t expect to see you here so quickly.”
“We need to speak with your last two employees.”
“Of course. Sure. Ah...” He let out a breath, rubbed his face with one hand. “Can you give me a few minutes with Chaz? Jim knows about Marta. But I asked him not to say anything to Chaz. The poor guy was in such bad shape, and they didn’t want him overly excited or upset. They even banned ’links and screens. I want to tell him myself, what happened. I don’t want him to hear it from cops, no offense. I think it’ll be easier to hear it from a friend.”
“We’ll talk to Mr. Arnold first.”
“I really appreciate it. That’s Jim’s car. There he is. That’s Jim. God, he looks like he’s been through the wringer.”
Eve watched an attendant roll up a wheelchair, and the man—walking cast, pale, drawn face—maneuver from the passenger seat into the chair.
“Jim!” Gibbons pushed forward. “How ya doing? How do you feel?”
“Been better.” Jim took the hand Gibbons offered. “And believe me, a coupla days ago I was worse. I’m so damn glad to be back.”
“It’s good to have you back. They’re going to take good care of you and Chaz. I don’t want you to worry about anything. Anything you need, you just let me know.”
“I just want to get checked out and go home.” His gaze shifted to Eve, crossed over Peabody, and back again. “Police?”
“Lieutenant Dallas,” Eve said, “Detective Peabody.”
“Marta.” His eyes watered up. “I can’t believe it. I don’t know what to think or do. I didn’t tell Chaz,” he said to Gibbons. “I don’t know if I would’ve known how even if you hadn’t told me not to—and the doctors said that was best, too. I don’t know how he’s going to take it, Sly. He’s a hell of a lot more hurt than me. He really took the brunt of it. Where is he?”
“He’s not here yet.”
“They left before we did.” With obvious concern he tried to swivel in the chair, look around. “My wife and I just sat in the car for a few minutes, but they took him off in the ambulance right away. I guess they hit some traffic. Came a different way?”
Uneasy, Eve signaled Peabody. “We have a few questions,” she began as Peabody hurried off.
“We really need to get the patient into exam,” the attendant said.
