had nearly cost two fresh-from-boot-camp grunts their lives from injecting ill-cooked crystal meth. He wore his hair in a big throwback afro that reminded her of a young Michael Jackson. This was quite remarkable-looking since the man was white, had nearly pupilsize freckles all over his face, and his hair was flame red except where it was edged with gray at the roots.
“Send in the clowns,” she sang under her breath.
Binder wheeled around. A Garrett handheld scanner was in one hammy fist and a tactical folding knife in the other.
“Wow, you look really happy to see me,” she said.
“When the hell did you get out?” This came out more like a hurled piece of spit than a question formed with words.
“I didn’t. I escaped. You want to turn me in for the reward?”
He put the tact knife on a shelf containing a pile of other blades, all with price tags attached. “I’m busy,” he grunted. “I know you ain’t a cop anymore more, so harassment time is over.”
Instead of leaving, she dug into the pile of blades on the shelf and picked up a knife that had twin wooden handles. With a flick of her wrist she flipped free the six-inch razor-edged shaft. “Whoa, a channel-constructed handmade Filipino Balisong with an IK Bearing System. Very cool. But unfortunately their importation into the U.S. was banned in the eighties.”
Binder didn’t look impressed by this information. “Is that right?”
“And the Balisong can technically be considered a gravity or butterfly knife or a switchblade. They’re illegal in D.C. and Maryland and you can’t sell ’em in Virginia.”
“Somebody forgot to send me the memo. I’ll talk to my lawyer.”
“Good, while you’re doing that I’ll call the Five D commander and let him run a second set of eyeballs over your inventory list. If you want to dress in drag I can recommend a very nice facility in West Virginia for the next few years.” She eyed his bushy redtop. “And the really good news is you won’t even have to get a haircut.”
Binder leaned down into her face. “What the hell do you want, woman!”
“Some equipment. And I’ll pay, just not full price because I’m poor and cheap.”
She held up the Balisong and with a flick closed the blade. “And next time, Bin, hide the plainly illegal shit in the back. I mean, at least make the CID guys work for it. Otherwise they’ll get rusty.”
“What kind of equipment?”
“My wish list starts with a UV blue-light lamp, fluorescent dye, and contrasting spectacles. FYI, pulling out the cheap made-in-China crap will not make me happy. I got enough lead in my system from eating prison food.”
“I’ve got a nice kit for three hundred plus tax,” he mumbled.
“Great, I’ll give you fifty for it.”
His broad face swelled with anger, making his freckles look like giant amoebas. “That’s a ripoff. You know what my damn rent is here?”
“You won’t have any rent in prison. But I do know the Aryan Nation scuzzballs are partial to redheads.”
Binder deflated as quickly as he’d inflated. “What else?” he said sullenly.
“Well, let’s have a look-see at all the goodies,” she said sweetly.
After she’d finished, she loaded her purchases in a large backpack she’d made Binder throw in for free. A belt with an extra feature loaded in the clasp that she’d purchased from him had already been slipped around her waist and tightened down. She’d paid and was heading to the door when he called out, “Twenty bucks says you’re back in prison in six months.”
She whipped around. “And I’ve got fifty that says any illegal shit left in this place gets confiscated in forty-eight hours by MPD’s finest.”
Binder slammed his fist against the counter. “I thought we had a deal!”
“I don’t remember anything about a deal. I just mentioned switchblades and you gave me a really nice discount. I thought it was like a code word for preferred customers.”
“You… are… a… bitch!”
“Took you all these years to figure that out, scumball?”
He eyed the backpack. “What the hell are you going to do with all that stuff?”
“I’m not sitting on the sidelines, Bin.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Two years in hell, and the blue ripped right out of my heart, that’s what that means.”
CHAPTER 30
ROY CLOSED the door softly behind him. Playing snoop while homicide detectives were still on the premises was not the smartest career move he’d ever made. Yet there was something about Mace Perry that just made him not want to disappoint the woman. Maybe it was the fact