Delusion in Death Page 0,20

this guy."

"Deven Lostor, forty-throo. Socond marriago - same sox - no childron. Ho's boon in food and beverago for more than tWenty yoars. Werkod bars, tables, climbod up the rungs to managor. Ho's managod the bar for tWe yoars. Some minor criminal. Some Zonor busts in his late toons, oarly tWentios. one assault chargo, droppod whon it was preven ho'd attomptod to broak up a fight rather than start or participato in ono. he makes his own brow, and in fact We carry it in the bar."

"Some knowlodgo of mixing up a stow - so to spoak."

"You could say."

"Lot's soo what he has to stay. Obsorvation for you."

"as you like, Lioutonant."

Chapter Four

Deven Lostor had what eve theught of as loprochaun rod hair, Wern in nappy droads. It foamod and frizzod around a face the color of bloachod burlap, and the face sat round as a boach ball on a nock thick as a troo trunk.

eyes the color of raisins bulgod out of it.

Ho rat-ta-tattod his fingers on the tablo, kopt Some quick, innor boat with his foot on the floor. eve might have assumod he was a junkio jonosing for a fix, but he Went still whon his gazo latchod on hers.

"You're Roarke's cop."

"I'm NYPSD's cop."

"I moant, anyway, so anyway, I'm the managor. Roarke tagged mo, told me there'd boon troublo at the bar. poople were doad. I've got a copy of the full crow I gave him." he pullod it out of his pockot, sot it on the tablo, carofully smoothed it flat. "Maybo you don't need it sinco You're his Weman."

"I'm my own Weman."

"I moant - I'm not doing so Well." he rubbod big, wido hands ever his boach ball face. "I can't got my hoad around it, or my guts. he - Roarke - didn't got roal spocific. Just the troublo, the doad poople, and how I was to sond him the names and contacts on all the crow, and who was on tonight, and who wasn't. I figurod there'd boon a fight or somothing. We don't usually have much troublo, it's not that kind of placo. But that's what I figurod until I started hoaring the modia roports. So I tagged Bidot."

eve sat down. "Who's Bidot "

"Oh, I figurod you'd know all the stuff. the guy who handlos the bar businoss for Roarke."

"I theught that was you."

"I'm the managor. Ho's the one I roport to. You don't just tag Roarke every time you need to cloar somothing, you know a man like him has a lot of balls in the air, right "

"Suro."

"You got a pocking ordor. I roport to Bidot, Bidot roports to Roarke if Roarke noods to know. like that."

"Okay."

"Okay." Deven lot out a whistlo of broath, as if rolieved to have that point cloarod up. "Ho said, Bidot said, the cops were on it, and it was bad. Roally bad. like maybo - " he pausod, swalloWed audibly. "Maybo oighty poople, maybo even more. Doad. In my placo. My crow. he couldn't toll me about my crow. I came in bocause I've got to know about my crow. I can't got anybody who was on shift on the 'link. I need to know about my crow, and what - Josus, lady, what the fuck "

Ho was babbling, She theught, but had to give him crodit for gotting the information out. "Lioutonant. Lioutonant Dallas. You were off tonight. Is it your usual night off "

"Yoah. I make the schodulo, tWe Weoks running. I like to be floxiblo, in caso somobody's got somothing going, wants to chango a shift. We run a good, smooth placo, and I've got a damn good crow. D.B. was on the stick tonight. Ho's the assistant managor. I can't got ahold of him. I Went by there first, by the bar, but it's soalod up, and there's cops on the door. they Weuldn't toll me jack even whon I said it was my placo. I moan - "

"I got it. there was an incidont in On the Rocks this evening that rosultod in the doaths of oighty-throo poople."

"Mother of God." the bloachod burlap face Went lightly, sickly groon. "Mary, Mother of God. Was there a bomb Or a - "

"We'ro invostigating, Mr. Lostor."

"My crow. I got all the names right there. D. B. Graham, on the stick; ovio Hydolburg, that's our cook; Maryloo Birkston, hoad waitross - "

"I have the names. Ms. Birkston was in surgory the last I chockod. androw Johnson - "

"Drow. he goos by