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“I can’t believe I was juiced when they cast her to play me. Pleasebody,” Peabody muttered. “She didn’t have any respect for me at all. I wish I’d known what a crappy human being she was before she got dead. I’d have shown her a Pleasebody.”
“How long do you figure you’re going to stew over this?”
“Awhile. I’ve never worked on a vic I wished I’d punched in the face before somebody killed her. I’ve been working on my hand-to-hand.”
“Is that so?”
“That is very so. I think I’m improving. Plus I lost two pounds. Well, one-point-seven pounds.”
“One-point-seven.” Eve slanted a look over. “Seriously? You weigh in decimals?”
“Easy for you, Skinny Bitch.”
“Hey, that’s Lieutenant Skinny Bitch to you, Detective Pleasebody.”
That got a lip twitch that spread to a reluctant smile. “But the point is, I’ve been working on that hand-to-hand, on not telegraphing my moves and all that. I could’ve taken her down, one-on-one.”
“Damn right. You’d have mopped the floor with her if she hadn’t gone and got herself killed first. Selfish fucker. The least she could’ve done is lived long enough for you to bloody her.”
“I don’t care how that sounds.” After folding her arms, Peabody jerked up her chin. “It’s true.”
“Maybe when we collar the killer, there’ll be an opportunity for you to engage in a bit of hand-to-hand. If you punch the killer, it should have some level of satisfaction.”
“It would. I think it would. Yeah, I feel better. Thanks.”
“Anytime.” Eve decided the fates had rewarded her for placating Peabody when she snagged a street-level slot half a block away. “Maybe you can lose that point-three pound walking to Asner’s office and back.”
Chapter 11
Since Asner’s office was situated over a pierogi place in a pockmarked brick building that squatted between a dingy tattoo parlor and a particularly seedy-looking bar, they added a flight of stairs to the walk.
“Pierogies. Even smelling pierogies can offset weight loss. It’s a medical phenomenon.”
“Hold your breath,” Eve advised as they started the climb.
As the building squatted between bar and parlor, Asner’s office squatted between a law office Eve figured specialized in repping sleazeballs and a bail bondsman who no doubt shared clients.
Eve opened the door into a claustrophobic reception area with barely enough room to hold the desk manned by a bored, busty blonde who sat painting her nails murderous red.
Clichés became clichés, Eve deduced, because they were rooted in fact.
“Good afternoon.” The blonde spoke in squeaky Brooklynese as she straightened at the desk. “How can we assist you today?”
Eve took out her badge. “We need to speak to Mr. Asner.”
“I’m sorry. Mr. Asner is not in the office presently.”
“Where is he?”
“I’m sorry. I’m unable to give you that information.”
“Did you see this?” Eve tapped her badge.
“Uh-huh.” Cooperatively the blonde nodded, widened her eyes. “If you tell me the nature of your business I can tell Mr. Asner on his return.”
“When is he expected back?”
“I’m sorry. I’m unable to give you that information.”
