J. Robb - Ceremony In Death

"And he talked to me last night in a privacy booth. Did the smoke tell you what he told me, Selina?''

Her eyes shifted, darkened. "You'll have to find other waters to fish in, Dallas. I'm tired, Alban. Show them out." She glided a way, back through the arch.

"There's nothing we can do for you, Lieutenant. Selina needs to rest." He glanced toward the arch, worry in his eyes. "I need to tend her."

"Got you trained, does she?'' With light disdain coating her voice, Eve rose. "Do you do tricks, too?"

Sadly, he shook his head. "My devotion to Selina is personal. She has powers, and the powerful have needs. I meet hers, gratefully." He walked back into the foyer, opened the door. "We would like to take Lobar's body when it's possible. We have our death ceremony."

"So does his family, and they come ahead of you."

– =O=-***-=O=-

"What do we have on this Alban?" Eve demanded the moment they were outside in the now drenching rain.

"Next to nothing." Peabody ducked into the car and immediately felt more at ease. She knew it was foolish to hope she never had to go back inside that building, but she hoped in any case. "No priors, next to no background. If he was born with a name other than Alban, it doesn't pop."

"There's more. There's always more."

Not so, Eve thought, drumming her fingers against the wheel. She'd once investigated another suspicious character and had found little to nothing. His only name was Roarke.

"Look again," she ordered and pulled away from the curb.

"Funny, isn't it?" she continued while Peabody plugged in her data unit. "There's next to no traffic on this block. Turn the corner…" She did so and immediately hit a snarl of nasty and comforting vehicular traffic, bumping badtemperedly through the rain. People hustled along sidewalks and glides, huddled in doorways. Two glide-cart operators on opposing corners hunched under ratty awnings and scowled at each other.

"People have instincts they're not even aware of." Still less than comfortable, Peabody glanced back, as if expecting something not quite human might be scrabbling behind them. "There's a bad feeling around that building."

"It's brick and glass."

"Yeah, but places tend to take on the personalities of the people who live in them."

A car turned the corner ahead, blasting its horn at the sea of pedestrians who streamed across against the go light. Insults were cheerfully hurled both verbally and through equally graphic hand signals. Someone spat.

Steam poured up through the vents from the underground system in dirty clouds. It tangled thickly with the smoke belching from a ratty and obviously under code glida grill fighting its way through the mass of wet humanity. A level up, the nearest skywalk shuddered to a halt and sent all its passengers into a riot of cursing and complaints.

Overhead, a tourist blimp blasted out a spiel of the advantages and highlights of living in an urban wonderland.

Peabody took a cleansing breath, pleased to be back in the midst of the arrogant and crowded New York she understood. "Take Roarke's place," she continued. "It's grand and elegant and intimidating, but it's also sexy and mysterious." She was too busy riddling with the unit to notice the amused look Eve shot her. "My parents' place? It's all open and warm and a little confused."

"What about your place, Peabody? What's that?"

"Temporary," Peabody said definitely. "Dallas, your car unit isn't cooperating here. I should be able to transfer data to -" She broke off as Eve leaned over, smacked the dash above the car screen. An image popped on, wobbling drunkenly. "That's some better," Peabody decided and requested a run on Alban.

Alban – no known alternate name – born 3-22-2020 Omaha, Nebraska.

"Funny," Eve interrupted, "he didn't look corn fed."

ID number, the computer continued with a definite hiccup in its program, 31666-LRT-99. Parents unknown. Marital status, single. No known means of support. No financial data available.

"Interesting. Sounds like he's leeching off Selina. Criminal records, all arrests."

No criminal record.

"Education?"

Unknown.

"Our boy's wiped, or had somebody wipe records," Eve told Peabody. "You don't get to be nearly forty years old without generating more data than this. He's got connections somewhere."

She needed Feeney, she thought grumpily. Feeney could tickle the computer and trick additional data. Instead, she was going to have to go to Roarke and add another layer to his involvement.

"Well, shit." She pulled up in front of Spirit Quest, frowned at the Closed sign on the door. "Run up for a look-see, Peabody. Maybe she's inside."

"Got an umbrella or a rain shield?"

Eve arched a brow. "Are you trying to be funny?"

Peabody only sighed, then pushed out of the car. She plodded and splashed through the rain, peered into windows. Shivering a little, she turned back, shook her soaking head, then groaned when Eve jerked a thumb toward the apartment over the shop. Resigned, Peabody trudged around the side, climbed a set of rickety metal stairs. Moments later, she was back, streaming water.

"No answer," she told Eve. "Minimal security. Unless you count the swatch of Saint-John's-wort over the entrance."

"She has a swatch of warts? That's disgusting."

"Not warts." Despite her wet uniform and dripping hair, Peabody indulged in a good laugh. "It's a plant. Saint-John's-wort." Amused enough, she dug into her pocket for her sprig. "Like this. It's for protection. Guards against evil."

"You carry plants in your pocket, Officer?"

"I do now." Peabody pushed it back in her pocket. "Want some?"

"No, thanks, I prefer trusting my weapon to guard against evil."

"I consider this my clutch piece."

"Whatever works for you.'' Eve scanned the area. "Let's try that cafe place across the street. Maybe they know why she's closed in the middle of a business morning."

"Maybe they've got decent coffee," Peabody said and sneezed twice, hard. "If I catch a cold, I'll kill myself. It takes me weeks to throw one of those suckers off."

"Maybe you need a plant to cart around that wards off common germs." Leaving it at that, Eve hopped out of the car, coded the locks, and jogged across the street into Coffee Ole.

The stab at a Mexican theme wasn't bad, she decided. Bright colors – heavy on orange – gave it a sunny appearance even on a filthy day. It might have fallen far short of Roarke's gorgeous villa on the west coast of Mexico, but it had a certain tacky charm with its plastic flowers and papier-mache bulls. Bright mariachi music piped through the speakers.

Either the rain or the ambiance had brought in a crowd. But as Eve scanned the room, she noted that the people packed around tables weren't wolfing down plates of enchiladas. Most were huddled over single stingy cups of what smelled remotely like overboiled soy coffee.

"Baseball's closing in on the league titles, isn't it, Peabody?"

Peabody sneezed again. "Baseball? I guess. Arena ball's my game."

"Uh-huh. Seems to me there a pennant race going on. Pivotal game today. I imagine lots of money's going to change hands."

Peabody's head was starting to feel stuffy – a very bad sign – but it was still clear enough for her to latch on. "You figure this is a front, an illegal betting parlor."

"Just a hunch. We may be able to use it." She sidled up to the counter, tagged a harassed-looking man. Short of stature, dark of complexion, weary of eye.

"Eat in or carry out?"

"Neither,'' she began, then relented as she heard Peabody sniffle. "One coffee, for her. And a couple of answers."

"I've got coffee." He swiveled around to plug thick dark brew into a cup barely bigger than a thimble. "I got no answers."

"Maybe you should hear the questions."