Ridley Pearson - The Angel Maker

"And we both do the questioning?" she asked.

He nodded. A vague smile flickered across her lips. "What do you say I get to play tough?" She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse.

Boldt thought: So she's breaking out the serious hardware.

"Sounds good to me."

She waited for him to open the door for her. He did so and said, "After you."

"Put out the cigarette," she ordered as she and Boldt came through the door. "You?" Maybeck let slip, recognizing Boldt from the pawn shop encounter.

This was the fun part for her. This was where it became interesting. It wasn't quite a game, but it was close. Maybeck looked up at her, drank in every curve of her body, and left his eyes boring a hole in her crotch, so she would feel it. So he knew how to play the game too. So what? He smiled; his teeth looked like a rusted garden rake. You hit guys like this. You hit them head on. "Nice teeth," she said. She turned to set her case down, turned to prevent him from trying to vent his anger by communicating with his eyes, turned, as she did, unbuttoned two more buttons so that by the time she swung back around, her blouse sagged open revealing enough cleavage to get lost in. She knew the Maybecks of this world; she worked with them. If men wanted to use her sex against her, then she would use it right back. When Lou's eyes fell for the trick as well, producing a momentary flash of embarrassment in him when their eyes met, she knew she had scored a direct hit. Maybeck wouldn't be able to resist the distraction.

it was a cheap stunt. Nothing more. Who cared? Maybeck was punk trash. She'd seen a photo of Connie Chi taken on her last day on earth. It was enough motivation. "One thing good about correctional institutions," she said, looking him directly in the eye, "they have free dental service." He didn't flinch stronger than she had expected. Test and probe. He kept his lips pinched tightly shut. Good-embarrassed. Ashamed, even. Nothing as strong as shame to turn the vise. His eyes strayed to her chest again, so she leaned forward to allow her blouse to hang open, giving him a nice long look. "Nice tits for a cop," he said, striking back. "You fuck your way to the top or what?"

It knocked her back a step. When her eyes met his again she introduced Boldt with, "You guys never officially met, I don't think. This is Sergeant Lou Boldt. Homicide," leaning on the word as well as the table. Then she saw in him what she had wanted to see, more than a flicker of panic. She buttoned herself back up. "You want to tell us about Bloodlines?" Boldt asked, clearly knocking the wind out of Maybeck, "Or do you want to do the dance?"

"You look a little old for dancing," Maybeck said. "Her … she's okay. Have you fucked her yet?"

Boldt raised his hand to strike the man, but caught himself.

That was what Maybeck wanted: a way to beat the legal system.

She said quickly, "Yeah, the dental work is free in the big house, but so are the condoms. It's kind of a tradeoff. Depends how keen you are on HIV. Some people say AIDS was invented just to keep the prison populations down."

"Come on, man. Hit me," he baited.

Boldt warned him, "We're the front line, pal. We're the ones who will listen. The next line of defense is the attorneys. Then come the judges and the jurors, the witnesses-"

"Maybe Connie Chi's sister would make a good witness," she threw in just to catch his reaction. "Real shame about Connie."

Boldt edged closer. "In-mate. Nice ring to it," Daphne said, worried Boldt might hit him anyway. Boldt was supposed to play "nice guy"; she would play tough-the exact opposite of what Maybeck might expect. Toy with his sensibilities. Turn him upside down and shake.

Boldt looked over at her and rolled his eyes. He was back in control now, she hoped. He was good at this, better than most because he didn't believe he was any good at it, and that made him work harder. Something Daphne appreciated. He listened. He learned. He knew to meet the suspect in the middle, to establish a rapport, to mimic body language, and avoid any outward display of judgment. '/you face a very important decision," Boldt cautioned him, "because the way you play this can mean a difference of years for you. Years, Maybeck. Got it? You may want to think about that."

"Maybe I want to call me an attorney."

"You were given your phone call. Don't hose me, friend. I'm telling you: We're the best chance you're going to get."

Maybeck said to her, "You sure don't look like no cop. if Daphne answered, "And you don't look very smart, Mr. Maybeck, but I hope I'm wrong about that. We can connect you to Bloodlines. We can connect you to Connie Chi. We can connect you to that database. Twenty-seven harvests. Three of them are dead-did you know that? Chew on that with those pretty teeth of yours." "I think I'm through talking," he said, suddenly restless. A good sign. His veneer was cracking. "You stop talking, and you're through all right," she said quickly.

Boldt repeated, "Once the attorneys get into this, it's out of our hands. You understand? When have attorneys ever made things simple?"

"If you play dumb," Daphne said, "you are dumb."

"Talk to us," Boldt encouraged. "Tell us about Tegg.

You give us Tegg, you may just walk away from this."

Maybeck glanced back and forth between the two of them. This was the best sign yet. Indecision filled his eyes, which to Daphne indicated a vulnerability and dictated different tactics. "Are you prepared to take the heat for Tegg's crimes?" she asked. To Boldt she said, "I don't know … maybe he should wait for his attorney, because if that's the way he plays this, he's certainly going to need one." Boldt said, "We're not running a tape recorder. Have you noticed that?"

Daphne cautioned Boldt, "He's not smart enough to understand any of this. I told you he was a dumb shit. I can spot 'em, Lou. You're gonna have to cough up that twenty."

"You're betting on me?" Maybeck asked incredulously. "Betting is for Vice," she advised him. "Sergeant Boldt is Homicide. Maybe you missed that the first time around. You think he's here to discuss a pit bull fight? Christ All Friday, get a clue!"

"Tell us about Bloodlines. You got the donors for Tegg. You offered them cash for their kidneys and they bit. You delivered them to Tegg. Is that about right? Because if it is, then you've got to think this through, Donnie. Can I call you Donnie? You don't mind? Because you can trade that down to bullshit. Even a first-year PD can get you out of that. See? But kidnapping? Interstate transportation of stolen goods-those are federal charges. That's FBI shit. That's three-piece suits and wingtip shoes. You know what you're getting yourself into? For what? Talk to me. Use your head, Donnie, and talk to me. Please." "Not this one," Daphne said. "He's too stupid. Look at those teeth, would you? That ought to tell you something. Shit for brains. The next thing he's going to hear is metal on metal. Boom! That door's going to shut for a long, long time." "Up yours," he said. "Oh, no. Not in the big house. Not up mine, though they'll tell you it's just as nice. It's up yours, Gatemouth. And it's not very pleasant."

That shut him up. Boldt was blushing. Maybeck had allowed his mouth to hang open and his teeth to show. "I bet you like it," he said.

She struck him. She open-handed him right across the cheek. He smiled. "Don't forget, asshole," she said angrily. "This is all off the record." His smile faded.

Boldt said, "In the eyes of the law, Tegg's crimes are your crimes. It is important that you understand that. Do you see any tape recorder, Donnie? It is off the record. We're giving you the benefit of the doubt. We're giving you a chance. All we want right now is a little cooperation."

"We want Tegg," she explained, "not you."

Maybeck said through his gray teeth, "I can smell you from here."