In Death 08 - Conspiracy in Death

amusement."
    "I'm leaving my car here. I want it in one piece when I get back." She activated all anti-theft and vandalism alarms and deterrents, then stepped out and chose her mark.
    He was lanky, mean-eyed, and sipping mechanically from a brown brew bottle as he leaned against a scarred steel wall decorated with various suggestions on sexual activities that ran along the same lines as those decorating the overturned cab. Several were misspelled, but the visual aids weren't bad.
    As Peabody fought to keep her heart from blocking her throat, Eve strode up to him, leaned into his face. "You see that car?"
    His mouth turned up in a sneer. "Looks like a cop-bitch car to me."
    "That's right." She caught his free hand by the wrist, twisting it hard before he could reach into his pocket. "And if I come back and see that anybody's messed with it, this cop-bitch is going to kick your balls into your throat, then tie them around your neck and choke you with them. You got that?"
    He wasn't sneering now. Color had flooded into his cheeks, rage shined in his eyes. But he nodded.
    "Good." She released him, stepped back, then turned and walked away without looking back.
    "Jesus, Dallas, Jesus. Why did you do that?"
    "Because now he's got an investment in making sure we've got transpo when we leave. That type doesn't mess with cops. He just thinks mean thoughts. Usually," Eve added with a wicked grin as they started down the dirty metal stairs to the underground.
    "That's a joke, right? Ha ha?" Peabody's fingers twitched over the weapon strapped to her side.
    "Watch your back," Eve said mildly as they plunged into the gloomy, urine-colored light of New York's underbelly.
    Slime, Eve mused, had to breed somewhere. This was ripe ground for it. Below the streets, out of the air, into the deep, dank world of unlicensed whores and doomed addicts.
    Every few years, the mayor's office made noises about cleaning up the underground. Every few years, the talk channels on-screen debated and condemned. Occasionally, a quick, half-assed police and security sweep was employed, a handful of losers picked up and tossed in cages, some of the worst of the joints shut down for a day or two.
    She'd been on one of those sweeps during her days in uniform, and she hadn't forgotten the bowel-loosening terror, the screams, the flash of blades or stink of homemade boomers.
    She hadn't forgotten that Feeney had been her trainer then as she was Peabody's now. And he'd gotten her through it whole.
    Now she kept her pace brisk while her gaze scanned side to side.
    Music echoed: harsh, clashing sounds that battered the walls and the closed doors of the clubs. The tunnels weren't heated, not any longer, and her breath whooshed out in white puffs and vanished into the yellow light.
    A used-up whore in a ragged peacoat completed financial transactions with a used-up John. Both eyed her, then Peabody's uniform before slinking away to get to the heart of the deal.
    Someone had built a barrel fire in one of the spit-narrow alleyways. Men huddled around it, exchanging credits for little packs of illegals. All movement stopped when she came to the head of the alley, but she kept walking by.
    She could have risked broken bones and blood, called for backup, rousted them. And they or others like them would have been dealing death over the smelly fire by nightfall.
    She'd learned to accept that not everything could be changed, not everything could be fixed.
    She followed the snake of the tunnel, then paused to study the flashing lights of Gametown. The murky reds and blues didn't look celebrational, pumping against the sickly yellow overheads. Somehow they looked both sly and hopeless to her, like the aging whore she'd just passed in the tunnels.
    And they reminded her of another garish light, pulsing red against the dirty window of the last dirty room she'd shared with her father. Before he'd raped her that final time.
    Before she'd killed him and left that beaten young girl behind.
    "Sir?"
    "I don't remember her," Eve murmured as the memories threatened to wash over and drown her.
    "Who? Lieutenant? Dallas?" Uneasy with the blank look in Eve's eyes, Peabody tried to look everywhere at once. "Who do you see?"
    "Nobody." She snapped back, infuriated that her stomach muscles quivered with the memory flash. It happened now and again. Something would trigger those memories and the fear and guilt that swam with them. "Nobody," she said again. "We go in together. You stay with