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“That’s unbelievably cruel.” “Nothing cruel’s unbelievable.”
Peabody hopped in the car, handed Eve a go-cup. “Soup. Vegetable Beef.” Eve took a sniff, then a swallow before she started winding out of the underground lot. It smelled like pepper and tasted like spicy, liquefied cardboard, heated to cautiously approach lukewarm. “Beef of what?” “They didn’t say, and I thought it wiser not to ask.” Peabody took a gulp, coughed a little. “It’s bad, it’s bad. I should’ve gone for the mini berry pies.” “They had mini berry pies and you went for liquid mystery meat?” “And veg.” Peabody choked down another swallow. “I told myself to be an adult, to think of
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And it wasn’t rat soup. There’s maybe, possibly, a scant ten percent chance it was squirrel.”
“Look in a squirrel’s eyes next time you see one scampering along like a fuzzy rat. Right in the eyes. They’re lunatics.”
SNNTS. Situation Normal, Nothing to See.”
“So,” Feeney began as they walked out. “You know that Oscar deal’s coming up.” “Oscar who?” He scratched fingers through his wiry hair. “Jesus, Dallas, even I know about the fricking Oscars. The vid award thing.” “Right. I knew that.” Somewhere, in some corner of her brain.
Not only had the nefarious Candy Thief snatched her chocolate, he/ she had taken the time and trouble to replace it with the actual item on the freaking menu. She had to respect that. When she caught the son of a bitching bastard—and she would, oh, she would—she’d hang the thief out her window by the heels. Naked. But she’d do so with respect.
“Did you follow up your rodent soup with any actual food?” he asked as they started out. “I was going to, but the goddamn Candy Thief found my stash.” “Only in your world does candy qualify as actual food.” “You eat it. It tastes good.”
“So they’re worth less than they were yesterday.” “Considerably less than they were before nine this morning, as panic drives people to sell, and once the stocks inch down, that rolls on with a kind of groupthink, and more sell. And those who play on the margins will find their shares sold out if they fall too far over the next couple of days.” She’d followed him, more or less, but now held up a hand. “I don’t know what that means.” “It means those who use loans for part of the buy, hoping to maximize profit while risking more loss. Simply, they buy ten dollars’ worth of stock, but borrow
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“Karson’s ex. What do you know about Jordan Banks?” The DLE’s passenger seat adjusted for Roarke’s longer legs. “Other than he’s a wanker?”
I’d judge Jordan has the brains of a bag of wet mice,
“The heart wants what it wants, sees what it needs to see.” “The heart’s just a pulsing muscle without the head.” She angled to study him. “You look good.” Major understatement, she thought. “And that’s a thing. I might’ve banged you if you’d been a useless user, but I’d have moved on.”
“Why need an adage on something that’s just that? It’s a waste of words. If people didn’t have stupid sayings about the obvious, they wouldn’t waste so many words and talk so damn much.”
“Okay, you gamble for a trio of basic reasons. For the hell of it, which includes the entertainment factor—and that means you can afford to lose, at least what you put in. Out of desperation or addiction, which usually means you lose even if you win because you’ll end up feeding it back. Or because you want more, you just want more.
“The house always wins, so better to be the house than a guest in it.
Roarke hefted the cat, dumped him on the other side of the sofa, shifted, and nudged Eve back and under him, all as smooth as a dance. She said, “Hey. I’m working.” “You’re circling,” he corrected. “And my consultant fee’s due.” “Put in the chit.” He grinned. “I intend to.”
Eggs, creamy, bits of crispy bacon—and something sneaky like spinach.
Others thronged around the Wall Street bull, gleefully posing in front of its snorting charge. To her mind, a bull—metal or flesh—was a cow with a dick. She gave it a wide berth.
Peabody looked wistfully into the rain. “I wish I spoke four languages.” “You speak two. Civilian and cop. That’s enough for anybody.
In the garage, Peabody threw her arms in the air, tossed back her head, and screamed. The sound echoed, ping-ponged, and made Eve’s ears vibrate. “Okay. Whew.” Peabody huffed out another breath. “Now, head in the game.” “Every dog in this building is barking. Glass has shattered. Small children are hiding under their beds.” “Maybe.” Peabody pressed the call button. “But it had to come out so I could get my head in the game.”
Peabody used a run on Denby to keep her mind off the potential of a bloody, bone-breaking crash inside a vehicle doing ninety through arrogant traffic.
Roarke studied the ID shot, sipped more coffee. Said, “Hmm.” “What?” Instantly, she swung around, eyes narrowed and focused. “What kind of hmm was that? That was a, you know, some kind of hmm.” “Obviously, I’ll need to guard my hmms in the future.”
