Page 56 of Passions in Death
“Agreed, but right now, with these two children, I’m seeing that blossoming. Without him, without you, without the school, I doubt they’d have survived long, much less bloomed.”
Hard to argue, Eve thought, especially since she’d been through her own nightmare of a childhood, and had had no one but herself.
“Well, I’m glad to hear it. I’ll check on Crack.”
She went back, found him on his hands and knees, a bucket by his side, a scrub brush in his big hands.
Sweatpants, a ragged tee, and another do-rag—not floral, but ink black.
He glanced up at Eve.
“That dust shit you cops use is bad enough, but the blood’s worse. Been at this damn near an hour.”
“Looks like you got it to me.”
“Yeah, maybe.” Still, he scrubbed a little more before he tossed the brush in the bucket. “I can still see her though. It’ll take more than some scrubbing to wipe that away.”
He rose, and she stepped aside to let him out, then followed him down to the men’s john.
When he dumped the bucket in the sink, the water came out nearly clear. She imagined he’d dumped countless others running from red to pink.
“Maybe give it one more pass.”
“Crack, let it be. You’ve done what had to be done. I’m betting that floor’s cleaner now than it’s been in years.”
He smiled a little. “It’s called the Down and Dirty. But I keep the floors clean enough. You got shit to tell me, skinny white girl?”
“I can tell you some shit, big, buff Black man. Buy me a Pepsi.”
“I can do that.”
He carted the bucket with him into the club area, then stopped and shook his head.
“Ro, you keep cleaning, none of my customers are gonna recognize the place, and walk right out again.”
He crossed over, took the bucket and rag from her. “Sit on down here with Dallas. We’ve got us a private party.”
But Rochelle shot him a worried look as he went in the back.
“He’ll be fine,” Eve told her. “He can open again tomorrow, and that’ll help him get it back.”
“I know you’re right.”
She took a stool when he came back.
“I’m having a drink,” he said, and pointed at Rochelle. “You’re having a drink. You still on duty?”
“I am.”
“Girl.” Shaking his head, he poured her a Pepsi on ice in a sparkling clean glass. Then pulled a bottle of wine from under the bar, poured a glass for Rochelle, tapped a beer for himself.
“Here’s to fucking justice. You get it for her, Dallas. You get that fucking justice for Erin.”
“Working on it.”
“That’s good enough for me. What do you know?”
“I know the person who was supposed to bring the case for her had to go to Baltimore. Her sister went into labor. It checks out. So Erin had to use a backup. I don’t know who yet.”
