you’re pariahs,” Maclean said.
“I know, right?” I nodded. “We’re just such lovely, jolly people, spreading cheer everywhere we go.”
“Well, why don’t you go spread some of that cheer at the gambling den?” Maclean said, waving us off.
“You don’t need a statement?” I asked, watching him curiously.
“You were in your hotel room and someone shot at you,” Maclean said, shaking his head. “Anything more to it that’s not represented in the physical evidence?”
“Not really, no—”
“Then I don’t need the details of what you had for lunch or what you were thinking about when a bullet came winging in through the window, no,” Maclean said. “Go. Leave me in peace.”
“Well, okay, then,” I said, cramming my little plastic bag of toiletries into my pocket and adjusting the bloody rip where the bullet had passed through my blouse. I pulled on the coat I’d had hanging over my other arm, ignoring the ruin I was doing to it by getting it bloody. “I guess we’re off to cause more chaos.” I watched Maclean cringe. “Don’t sweat it. This time it’ll be vice’s problem!”
“I don’t think that was very reassuring for him,” Reed said as we headed for the elevators.
“If you think it’s bad for him,” I said as the elevator dinged and I stepped inside, “wait until you see how it turns out for whoever gives me so much as a hint of lip at this gambling hall.” My face tightened in resolve as Reed hurried in after me and the doors started to close. “Because now … I am in a bad mood.”
Reed swallowed audibly. “Heaven help us all.”
16.
The doorman at the gambling den went tumbling through air without regard for gravity until he came smashing down on a craps table. It was snake eyes for him, though, and his rolled back in his head like a reverse slot machine display.
I stepped into the long hall and took a look around. It was clearly not opening time yet, which worked for me. The building was roughly the size of a six-stall garage, tight and compact, ringed with slot machines and complete with tables for other games in the middle of the floor. A few closed doors broke the bright, jangling slot machine monotony that edged the room, and gave me hope that other recalcitrant assholes like the man at the door would be within, like defiant piñatas, waiting for me to work out my frustrations on them until they spilled their secrets like candy.
A quick glance revealed no sign of security cameras. Naturally. It’s not like you want to have obvious surveillance of your illegal gambling operation. Probably tends to make the customers skittish, and it’d be a bonanza for the cops if they raided the place.
“What’s going on out here?” A guy at least a foot and a half taller than me stepped out of the nearest doorway sideways. He came out of the door sideways because he couldn’t have fit those muscles through otherwise. He looked like a proper thug, a mook of the highest order.
“Yay,” I said, “we have another player.”
He took in the guy on the craps table in one good look, and with a flick of his wrist he deployed a spring-loaded baton. Double yay. I’d been wanting one of those for a while. “You don’t belong here,” he said.
“I know, I’m way too classy for this joint,” I said, strolling in, eyeing the guy whose ass I had already kicked, passed out on the table as I went past. “Still … I don’t see anyone here big enough to throw me out.”
He looked at me with jaded eyes. “I know who you are.”
“Oh, good,” I said, and my smile evaporated. “Let me tell you a few things you don’t know. One, I’m not in a happy place, mentally, right now. Two, you’re going to answer my questions—”
“No, I’m not,” he said, clutching the baton in front of him like it could protect him from me or something.
“Three, I don’t like it when people interrupt me, because it’s really rude,” I went on. “And four … I’m
“I know, right?” I nodded. “We’re just such lovely, jolly people, spreading cheer everywhere we go.”
“Well, why don’t you go spread some of that cheer at the gambling den?” Maclean said, waving us off.
“You don’t need a statement?” I asked, watching him curiously.
“You were in your hotel room and someone shot at you,” Maclean said, shaking his head. “Anything more to it that’s not represented in the physical evidence?”
“Not really, no—”
“Then I don’t need the details of what you had for lunch or what you were thinking about when a bullet came winging in through the window, no,” Maclean said. “Go. Leave me in peace.”
“Well, okay, then,” I said, cramming my little plastic bag of toiletries into my pocket and adjusting the bloody rip where the bullet had passed through my blouse. I pulled on the coat I’d had hanging over my other arm, ignoring the ruin I was doing to it by getting it bloody. “I guess we’re off to cause more chaos.” I watched Maclean cringe. “Don’t sweat it. This time it’ll be vice’s problem!”
“I don’t think that was very reassuring for him,” Reed said as we headed for the elevators.
“If you think it’s bad for him,” I said as the elevator dinged and I stepped inside, “wait until you see how it turns out for whoever gives me so much as a hint of lip at this gambling hall.” My face tightened in resolve as Reed hurried in after me and the doors started to close. “Because now … I am in a bad mood.”
Reed swallowed audibly. “Heaven help us all.”
16.
The doorman at the gambling den went tumbling through air without regard for gravity until he came smashing down on a craps table. It was snake eyes for him, though, and his rolled back in his head like a reverse slot machine display.
I stepped into the long hall and took a look around. It was clearly not opening time yet, which worked for me. The building was roughly the size of a six-stall garage, tight and compact, ringed with slot machines and complete with tables for other games in the middle of the floor. A few closed doors broke the bright, jangling slot machine monotony that edged the room, and gave me hope that other recalcitrant assholes like the man at the door would be within, like defiant piñatas, waiting for me to work out my frustrations on them until they spilled their secrets like candy.
A quick glance revealed no sign of security cameras. Naturally. It’s not like you want to have obvious surveillance of your illegal gambling operation. Probably tends to make the customers skittish, and it’d be a bonanza for the cops if they raided the place.
“What’s going on out here?” A guy at least a foot and a half taller than me stepped out of the nearest doorway sideways. He came out of the door sideways because he couldn’t have fit those muscles through otherwise. He looked like a proper thug, a mook of the highest order.
“Yay,” I said, “we have another player.”
He took in the guy on the craps table in one good look, and with a flick of his wrist he deployed a spring-loaded baton. Double yay. I’d been wanting one of those for a while. “You don’t belong here,” he said.
“I know, I’m way too classy for this joint,” I said, strolling in, eyeing the guy whose ass I had already kicked, passed out on the table as I went past. “Still … I don’t see anyone here big enough to throw me out.”
He looked at me with jaded eyes. “I know who you are.”
“Oh, good,” I said, and my smile evaporated. “Let me tell you a few things you don’t know. One, I’m not in a happy place, mentally, right now. Two, you’re going to answer my questions—”
“No, I’m not,” he said, clutching the baton in front of him like it could protect him from me or something.
“Three, I don’t like it when people interrupt me, because it’s really rude,” I went on. “And four … I’m
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