A Body to die for

reached for his shirt with my nongun hand. I forgot that I was using that hand to hold the green notebook under my dress. The spiral dropped to the floor with a splat. Larry yelled, “My notebook!” He dove for it, as did I. Being limber and possessing uncommon agility, I reached it first. But it was at my feet and he was across the room. Larry stepped toward me to wrench it out of my arms. I reaimed my gun. He backed off.
    “If the cops grab us now, they’ll impound your notebook as evidence and you’ll probably lose it forever. But I’m willing to trade. We can talk over my terms after I’ve seen a bathroom.” I needed to go badly. I didn’t think Falcone even knew about the chromium compound/super steroid element to the case, unless Ameleth blabbed. Unlikely. That would cast suspicion on herself. I took a long hard look at Larry. His eyes were riveted on the notebook. “By one theory,” I said, “the scientist is Barney’s killer.” Larry’s jaw flapped like a jack. He sputtered for a second.
    Molly said, “Jehovahs believe that violence is a sin against God. Larry didn’t kill anyone.” She said it in a way that made me think she knew who did. I heard voices behind me. Someone was coming. Falcone might know I was there. If Jack hadn’t spilled, Janey or Ergort could have mentioned me.
    I gestured with Mama toward the Dumpster exit door. Molly quickly grabbed her drug pouch from the freezer and nodded to Larry to just go along. Alex lead the pack outside. I brought up the rear. I wondered if Larry was Molly’s drug supplier. If he could invent a compound to make you lose weight without dieting, surely he could whip together some mild speed or a muscle relaxer.
    I let the emergency door swing shut behind me. There was no way back in now. I told Alex to steer our captives behind the Dumpster while I checked the coast. It was clear as my conscience. There were about five cop cruisers and one ambulance parked outside. I spotted only one lonely uniform guarding the en- trance. I didn’t see Ergort—and he’d be hard to miss.
    If the uniform just looked the other way, we could make a run for it. I cleared my voice. Then I threw it a hundred feet up the street. “Just smash the windshield. The cops around here are too stupid to catch us,” I said. The cop pricked up his ears. Have I mentioned that I’m a ventriloquist? “Go ahead and smash it,” I urged my imaginary cohort. “This is the tenth car I’ve stolen this week. So what if it’s a BMW?” I could almost see the wrinkles of concern on the uniform’s face. If a BMW were stolen around the corner from where he was stationed—in the middle of the day, no less—it would be embarrassing for the department. He swayed back and forth, unable to make up his mind—leave his post or let a crime happen. I was just about to simulate a shatter sound when he went running around the corner, billy club in hand.
    We made a break for it. Molly was the fastest runner so she led the way. Alex did a pretty good job of keeping up. I didn’t know where we were running. Anywhere was fine, really. As long as it was toward a bathroom. After a block and a half, I figured we’d run far enough. I was feeling every cigarette I’d ever smoked. And my buffalo shoes had inadequate traction. I got a sudden flash: Falcone sprinting up the street, her fat jiggling and her pores exhaling smoke.
    I ran with renewed vigor. That lasted about half-a-step. I was weighed down by my heavy bag, a gun and a very fat notebook. My sundress had to weigh a good, what, five pounds alone. The others—they were wearing workout clothes. Nearly weightless. I got another flash. This one was a blast of red behind my eyes. I know I’d read somewhere that sudden increases in blood circulation can cause clotting.
    I slowed down to a limp. I began to feel less like an orthopedic case until someone grabbed me by the arm and tugged me into an alley. I was weak from exertion; I didn’t struggle. I looked up. It was Alex. He said, “Your face is the color of lava.”
    “That exercise nearly killed me,” I said.
    “The idea is to do it more than once every decade,” he said.
    I looked over his shoulder. Molly was stuffing her stash in a garbage can in the alley. Larry watched me with a little concern. They were breathing normally. Not a drop of sweat on them. I hated them. I managed to say, “I’ve got the gun, so I’m still in control.” Larry whispered to Molly. I read his lips: