In Death 21 - Origin in Death

and was quick-stepping them toward the curb.
    "Next time you try to stiff one of my em-ploy-ees, I'm gonna twist your cocks clean off before you get a chance to use 'em."
    He knocked their heads together-a technically illegal action- then let them fall in the gutter.
    He turned, spotted Eve. "Hey there, white girl."
    "Hey, Crack, how's it going?"
    "Oh, can't bitch much." He slapped his palms together in a drying motion, twice. "What you doing down here? Somebody dead I ain't heard about?"
    "I need a privacy room. I've got a meet," she said when his eyebrows rose up into his wide forehead. "Nadine's on her way. We were never here."
    "Since I figure you two don't want one of my rooms so you can roll around naked together-and ain't that a shame-this must be official. I don't know nothing about official. Come on in."
    She stepped into the blast of noise, of smells that included stale brew, Zoner-and a variety of illegals that could be smoked or otherwise ingested-fresh sex, sweat, and other bodily fluids she didn't choose to identify.
    The stage at the front was jammed with naked dancers and a live band outfitted in neon loincloths. Table dancers wearing feathers, glitter, or nothing at all jiggled or wiggled to the obvious delight of the paying patrons.
    The bar was jammed, most of the occupants well drunk or stoned.
    It was perfect.
    "Business is good," she said at a conversational shout as he blazed a path through the packs of people.
    "Holiday time. We be slammed from now 'til January, then we be slammed 'cause it's too fucking cold to party outside. Life's good. How 'bout you, skinny white cop girl."
    "Good enough."
    He led the way upstairs to the privacy rooms. "Your man treating you right?"
    "Yeah. Yeah, he mostly has that down cold."
    They backed up when a couple stumbled out of one of the rooms, half-dressed, laughing wildly, and smelling very ripe.
    "I don't want their room."
    Crack just grinned, uncoded another. "This here is our deluxe accommodations. Crowd tonight, mostly they're going for economy. She be clean. Make yourself at home, sweet buns, and I'll bring that sexy Nadine right on up when she shows.
    "Don't you think about paying me," he said when Eve dug into her pocket. "I went to the park this morning, had a talk with my baby girl by the tree you and your man had planted for her. Don't ever think about paying me for a favor."
    "Okay." She thought about Crack's younger sister, and how he'd wept in Eve's arms beside her body in the morgue. "Ah, you got any plans for Thursday?"
    She'd been his family. His only family.
    "Gobble Day. I got me a fine-looking female. Figure we might fit some turkey-eating in between other festivities."
    "Well, if you want the full spread, without certain areas of festivities, we're having a dinner thing. You can bring your fine-looking female."
    His eyes softened, and the street jive vanished from his voice. "I appreciate that. I'd be pleased to come and bring my lady friend." He laid the slab of his hand on Eve's shoulder. "I'll go keep watch for Nadine, even though I haven't seen either of you."
    "Thanks."
    She stepped into the room, gave it a quick study. Apparently "deluxe" meant the room had an actual bed rather than a cot or pallet. The ceiling was mirrored, which was a little intimidating. But there was a menu screen and an order slot, along with a very small table and two chairs.
    She looked at the bed, and a long, liquid longing rose up in her. She'd have given up food for the next forty-eight hours for twenty minutes horizontal. Rather than risk it, she went to the menu screen and ordered a pot of coffee, two cups.
    It would be hideous. Soy products and chemicals married together to, inexplicably, resemble rancid tar. But there'd be enough caffeine juiced through it to keep her awake.
    She sat, tried to focus her mind on the business at hand while she waited. Her eyes drooped, her head nodded. She felt the dream crawling into her, a monster with sharp, slick claws that snatched and bit at her mind.
    A white room, blazing white. Dozens upon dozens of glass coffins. She was in all of them, the child she'd been, bloody and bruised from the last beating, weeping and pleading as she tried to fight her way out.
    And he stood there, the man who'd made her, grinning.
    Made to order, he said, and laughed. Laughed. One doesn't work right, you just throw it away and try the next. Never going to be done with you, little girl. Never going to be finished.
    She jolted out,