In Death 15 - Purity in Death

Come alone."
    "The Blue Squirrel," Eve returned, wanting home field advantage. "Fifteen."
    She broke transmission.
    ***
    Eve didn't frequent the Blue Squirrel as often as she once had. It was a joint with no redeeming qualities, including the food and service. During the day, it catered to a handful of surly regulars and the occasional lost soul who was foolish enough to think he might scope out a cheap meal and a little action.
    At night it was usually jammed with people who made the action and were tough enough or crazy enough to risk their lives for what passed for alcohol in such places.
    The music was loud, the tables small and rarely clean, and the air generally permeated with bad booze and stale Zoner.
    Eve had an odd affection for it, and was pleased to find it hadn't changed since her last visit.
    For a time Mavis had been one of the featured performers, whirling in costumes that defied description and screeching out her music to a packed dance floor where people actually seemed to understand it.
    Thinking of Mavis, Eve wondered if impending motherhood would tone her down.
    Not a chance.
    "Grab a table opposite side," Eve ordered Peabody. "Eat if you dare."
    "Their soy fries are only half-bad. I'll risk it."
    Eve chose a table in the far comer, slid in. And decided Peabody was right. The fries were only half-bad, and deserved another chance.
    She keyed in an order on the menu, and decided not to dance any closer to the edge by risking the coffee. She opted for bottled water, which she feared was bottled in one of the seamy back rooms by flat-nosed men with hairy knuckles.
    Seeing no sign of Dwier, she pulled out her communicator and checked in with Feeney. "What's the status?"
    "Nearly there." There was a faint sheen of sweat on his brow and his hair was sticking out in tufts. "Two hours, we'll nail it. What're you working on?"
    "In a couple of minutes, lunch. Blue Squirrel."
    "You walk on the dark side, Dallas."
    "Yeah, that's me. Got a meet with Dwier. He should be coming along shortly. I think he wants to deal."
    "I'll give him a damn deal." Feeney blew air out his nose. "You wanna tell me what the brass was doing here this morning?"
    "Can't. I have to wait for some information. Bugs me, Feeney, but I can't."
    "Hooked a big fish, didn't you, kid? No, don't sweat it," he said. "Just remember, some big fish got teeth."
    "I'm careful. Dwier just walked in. Later."
    She pocketed the communicator, then waited for him to come to the table.
    "I said alone. Ditch the uniform or this ends now."
    "The uniform needs to eat. You want to walk, it's your choice." She nipped the bottle of water as it popped out of the serving slot. "Keep away from the coffee," she said conversationally. "If you want to live."
    He dropped into the seat across from her. She wasn't surprised when he ordered bottled brew.
    "Your girlfriend tell you about our conversation yesterday?"
    "You show some respect when you talk about Clarissa. She's a lady. Your type don't recognize a lady."
    "My type recognizes wrong cops, conspirators, killers, fanatics." Watching his face, she took a pull of her water. "I don't care how their skin stretches."
    "I want you off her back. I'm giving you one warning on it."
    She leaned forward. "You threatening me, Dwier? Are you intimating that if I continue to pursue the line of investigation that involves Clarissa Price, you may attempt to cause me physical harm?"
    "What, are you wired?"
    "No, I'm not wired. I just want to be real clear on the nature of your warning. That way, I won't be kicking your sorry ass across this sticky floor, out the door, and across the street due to a miscommunication."
    "You think you're some badass, don't you? You homicide cops all think you're so fucking important. Elite or some shit. You come out on the street and wade through the garbage awhile, you pick up the pieces of some kid who's been raped and beat up, or drag through the puke of some asshole teenager who's OD'd on Jazz he got from some vulture working the school yards. See how long you're such a badass."
    She felt some sympathy, a sliver of it scraping over her for a cop who'd seen more than he could handle. But there was the line again, the line that could only be moved so far before it fell off the edge.
    "Is that why you're part of this, Dwier? Just couldn't handle taking all the steps, seeing some of those steps bust out from under you? Is that why you decided to be judge, jury, and executioner?"
    Her fries slid out,