J. Robb - Treachery in Death

It was the first day in the life of the new lean and mean Peabody.

An hour later, she lay on the grubby floor wheezing like the dying. Her quads and hamstrings burned, her glutes wept, and her arms couldn’t stop screaming for mama.

“Never doing this again,” she announced. “Yes, you are,” she corrected. “Can’t. Dying. Can. Will. Help me, I think I broke my ass. Wimp, pussy. Shut up.”

She wheezed a little more, then rolled over, made it to her hands and knees.

“Should’ve started out slower, on a lower level. I knew that. Cocky bitch.” She gritted her teeth, determined not to crawl to the locker room and the showers.

But she did limp.

She peeled and tugged and fought the sticky sports bra off her sticky body, dropped it on the floor. Then rolling her eyes because her mother’s voice came clear in her ear— Respect what you own, Dee —she bent and picked it up again. She stuffed the sweaty bra, shorts, shoes in a second locker, grabbed one of the thin, placemat-size towels because she was afraid she’d be electrocuted if she risked the ancient drying tube—and stepped into one of the skinny shower stalls.

She stepped out again when she found the soap dispenser empty and worked her way down the line until she found one with about half a teaspoon of green goo still in the dispenser.

Maybe the water was cold, and more like a drip from a leaky faucet than an actual spray, but she wasn’t going to complain. Instead, she turned right, left, back, front until she’d managed to wash away most of the sweat.

By the time she’d lathered and rinsed, she felt closer to human again, and began to consider splurging and picking up some ice cream on the way home. Not the real deal—that sort of thing was out of her splurge zone. But there was that place not far from the apartment that had a nondairy frozen dessert that was pretty damn good.

And she’d earned it, she thought, turning off the taps. Man, she’d earned it. She grabbed the towel, scrubbed it over her hair.

She patted at her face, her shoulders, and started to step out where she had some room to dry off when she heard the raised voices. And the locker room door slammed.

“Don’t fucking tell me you didn’t screw up, Garnet, when you damn well did!” The female voice, hot and pissed, bounced off the old tiles.

Peabody opened her mouth to warn whoever was out there they had company when she heard the response, and the male voice—equally hot and pissed.

“Don’t blame me when you let this get out of control.”

Peabody looked down at her naked body, the excuse for a towel, and just squeezed into the back corner of the shower.

“I let it get out of control? Well, maybe I did by trusting you to handle it, to deal with Keener. Instead, he slipped your leash and cost us ten K.”

“You’re the one who said he wouldn’t be a problem, Renee, who pushed him to deliver the product when you knew he could rabbit.”

“And I told you to work him. I should’ve done it myself.”

“No argument.”

“Goddamn it.”

Somebody—probably the woman—punched a shower door. Peabody heard it slap against its side wall. And just stopped breathing.

“I’ve been running this operation for six years. You’d better remember that, Garnet, you’d better remember what can happen if you push me.”

“Don’t threaten me.”

“I’m warning you. I’m in charge, and with me in charge you’ve raked in plenty the past few years. Think of your nice house in the islands, all the toys you like to play with, the women you like to buy, and remember you wouldn’t have any of them on a cop’s salary. You wouldn’t have any of them without me running this show.”

“I don’t forget, and don’t forget you get a bigger cut of every pie.”

“I earn it. I brought you in, and I made you a rich man. You want to stay in, think twice before you yank me into some moldy locker room to point fingers.”

“Nobody comes in here.” Another shower door, closer now, slammed open, and Peabody felt fresh sweat pearl on her forehead.

Naked, weapon in the locker. No defense except her fists. So she curled them by her side.

If McNab tagged her, if her ’link signaled, she was screwed. If either of the people just inches outside the door slammed it open in temper, sensed her, heard her, smelled her, she’d be trapped, back to the wall. No escape.

Bad cops. Seriously bad cops. Renee, Garnet. Don’t forget, don’t forget. Keener. Remember all the details, just in case you live through it. She glanced up, saw with horror the drip of water sliding out of the fist-sized showerhead.

Throat slamming shut, she eased out a hand, palm up, and caught the tiny drop. Wondered if the sound of it meeting her palm was actually as loud as a hammer strike.

But they kept arguing until the woman— Renee, Renee —sighed. “This isn’t getting us anywhere. We’re a team, Garnet, but a team has a leader. That’s me. Maybe that’s a problem for you, maybe it’s because we used to sleep together.”

“You’re the one who called that off.”

“Because now it’s business. We keep it business, we keep getting rich. And when I make captain, well, we’re going to expand. Meanwhile, there’s no point in arguing about Keener. I’ve taken care of it.”

“Goddamn it, Oberman. Why the fuck didn’t you say so?”

Oberman, Peabody thought. Renee Oberman . Has rank, pushing toward captain.

“Because you annoyed me. I put our boy on it, and it’s done.”

“You’re sure?”

“You know how good he is, and I said it’s done. When they find him it’ll look like an OD. Just another chemi-head who pumped in too much junk. Nobody’s going to care enough to dig into it. You’re just lucky Keener hadn’t gotten far, and he still had the ten K.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

The laugh was bright, and sharp as steel. “I don’t kid about money. I’m taking ten percent of your share as a bonus for our boy.”

“The hell you—”

“Be grateful you’re getting any of it.” The words slapped hard and warned of worse. “Keener was a valuable tool when worked right. Now we have to replace him. In the meantime . . .”

Peabody heard the light pat on the stall door, watched it ease open a crack. The sweat dried to ice on her skin, and she balled her fists again.

Through the crack she saw part of an arm, a glimmer of red high heels, and a flash of blond hair.

“No more locker room meets,” Renee said, tone cool now, crisp. Commanding. “You keep your head, Garnet, and you’ll keep enjoying those island breezes. Now, I’ve got a hot date, and you’ve made me late. Walk me out like a good boy.”

“You’re a piece of work, Renee.”

“I am. I am one fine piece of work.” Her laugh trailed back, echoed, faded.

And Peabody closed her eyes, stayed where she was, forced herself to count slowly to a hundred. In her mind she reconstructed the locker room, gauged the distance to the locker where she’d stowed her weapon.

She eased the door open, scanned, sucked in her breath, and made the dash to the locker. She didn’t release her breath until her weapon was in her hand.

Still naked, she crossed to the door connecting to the gym, eased it open an inch.

Dark, she noted. The lights would go off when the room was empty over a minute. Still she searched, made herself be sure before she backtracked.

She kept the weapon in her hand as she pulled out her ’link.

“Hey, She-Body!” McNab grinned at her, then gave her a green-eyed leer. “Hey, you’re naked, and so, so very built.”

“Shut up.” The shakes started; she couldn’t hold them off. “I need you to come, meet me at Central. Outside the south entrance. Come in a cab, McNab, and keep it. Make it fast.”