Thankless in Death

pie—but worth it to see him move his lazy ass. He’d put that much energy into the job, he’d still be working here. First time I ever saw him light up, if you know what I mean.”
    “I do. Did you have any specific complaints about him? From coworkers, customers.”
    “You want a list?” On that sour note, Ravinski tipped back the drink bottle, Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank. “My sister Fran caught him tapping a joint out the back. Shoulda fired him for that, but I gave him another chance, figuring he’s young and stupid.”
    “Were illegals a problem with him?”
    “I don’t figure. I kept an eye on him after that, and never caught him at anything. Problem was lazy and shiftless. I got complaints from customers their food was damaged or cold when they got it, and the delivery server—which would be Jerry—was rude.”
    “Have you seen him since you let him go?”
    “Can’t say I have. Saw his girlfriend last week—ex, now, which proves she’s no dummy.”
    “Lori Nuccio?”
    “Yeah. Lori used to work for me about three years back. Good waitress, personable, fast on her feet. Worked here a couple years before she copped a job in a fancy place for better pay, better tips, and good for her. Anyhow, I hired the fuckhead because she asked me to give him a try. After I fired him, she came in to tell me she was sorry, like it was
her
fault? Lori’s a good girl. Looks happier, you ask me, since she kicked him out.”
    “Did he hang with anyone in particular who works for you?”
    “I’d say the opposite. He just didn’t get along here. Didn’t makefriends, didn’t especially make enemies. He just put in time—when it suited him. No more than that.”
    “Okay. We appreciate the time.”
    “Got me off my feet. Now, are you gonna give me a hint why you’re in here asking about Jerry?”
    If the media hadn’t already lobbed the ball on the vics’ names and some of the circumstances, it soon would. “We want to talk to him about his parents’ murder.”
    “The what?” Shock vibrant, Ravinski lowered the big black bottle. “His parents were murdered?
Both
of them. Sweet Jesus, when? How did …” He pulled himself in, let out a hard breath. “He killed them. You’re saying Jerry killed his own ma and pop?”
    “We need to find him. We need to talk to him. I get the sense you don’t have any idea where he might be, where he might go?”
    “He didn’t work here a full three months, and I can’t count the times he called in sick or with some bullshit excuse.” Ravinski scrubbed a hand over hair buzzed so straight and sharp Eve was surprised his palm didn’t go bloody from contact. “He had a couple of friends who came in a few times. Ah, damn it. Mal—one of them’s Mal. Seemed like a nice kid. The other was kind of a dick. I can’t remember his name.”
    “We’ve already got that information. If you think of anything else, get in touch.”
    “My ma said he’d hurt somebody.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “My ma. She likes to think she’s got some sensitive thing going.” He vibrated his hands in the air. “Her great-grandparents were Sicilian. Anyway, she said to me, ‘You mark my words, Fitz, that boy’s going to hurt somebody. He’s got the dark in him.’”
    He shook his head. “I don’t know if she figured dark enough for this, but I can tell you once she finds out, there’ll be no living with her.”
    Out on the street, Peabody gave Eve a pouty stare. “Some of us like pie.”
    “Save it for Thanksgiving. We’ll make the rounds,” Eve decided. “Talk to former employers, coworkers. Maybe we’ll hit something.”
    “He’s got to run. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
    “If he were going for sense, he’d’ve been running since Friday. We cover the ground. Then you go ahead and swing by the ex-girlfriend’s on the way home. I’m going to set up in my home office, look for another angle.”
    “What about Mira?”
    “I’ll arrange a consult for the morning. He’s gone under somewhere, and he’s feeling real flush, real fucking potent right now. So his hole’s probably flush, too. He’ll have himself a nice dinner tonight. He might even have pie.”
    “Bastard.” Peabody gave one longing glance behind her—toward pie—as they hiked back to the car.
    L ong day, Peabody thought. And not as much to show for it as she’d figured when it started. Dallas had taught her never to think slam dunk on a case—not even when, as with this one,