A ruckus behind her made her turn around to see Detective Bundt hauling in a short, skinny, dirty guy with stringy black hair and a leather jacket so beat up the black had shredded to gray. He protested, kicking out, but his scuffed boots made little progress.
“You got the wrong guy, man,” he muttered, spittle flying from his mouth. “Why you cops always get it wrong, I’ll never understand.” He shook his greasy hair, protesting until Bundt tossed him into the interrogation room and shut the door.
Lex straightened up and narrowed her focus. Her heart started to pound. She stood just as Detective Masterson strode into the room. “Was that Spike Evertol?” she asked, stepping into line with him toward the interrogation room.
“Yep.” Masterson opened the door to the viewing room and stomped inside, not holding open the door.
What a jackass. Lex followed him, ignoring the strong scent of drugstore grade cologne, and stood looking through the one-way mirror. “What’s the collar?”
“Snitch.” Masterson tapped a manila file folder in his hand. “He’s been snitching for Bud almost five years now.”
Oh. She hadn’t known. “So Evertol isn’t dealing any longer?”
“Wasn’t. The asshole still uses, as you can see.” Masterson jerked his head toward the trembling junkie. “Didn’t Evertol run with your old man way back when?”
Lex stilled. “How did you know that?”
“Evertol dropped your name when we picked him up.” Masterson looked down at her jeans and sweater. “No slut dress today?”
“Fuck you.” She pressed closer to the glass, her gaze on the snitch. Years ago, so long ago, Spike Evertol had been almost handsome. When he’d dealt drugs with her father. She remembered he’d actually had a tea party with her once. God. A flush heated up her neck, and she forced her voice to remain low. “Why did Bud bring him in?”
Masterson smiled. “Because you and Bernie have fucked up the case enough that we’ve been brought in to clean up. Our first step is to hit the streets and snitches.”
She stilled. “We’re not off the case.”
“No, but you should be. Seriously. Hanging out with a member of Fire.” Masterson clicked his tongue and shook his head. “Ovaries taking over for brains.”
She whirled on him, half-chuckling and half-snarling. “Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me, Masterson?”
He took a step back, his eyebrows going up. “Huh?”
“You’re that much of a fucking male-chauvinist of a cliché? Really?” She slammed both hands on her hips, shaking her head. “Really?”
He held out a hand. “I—”
“No. Honestly. Slut cop? Ovaries?” She advanced on him, incredulity heating her breath. “If I wanted to create an asshole moron from the seventies, I’d create you. Seriously.” She poked him in the chest. “Do you really believe women can’t be cops? Really believe that bullshit?”
“Uh, no?” His smooth forehead wrinkled, surprise filling his blue eyes.
“No?” She poked him again, square in his muscular chest. “Then what the hell are you talking about?”
He took another step back, his head tilting to the side. “That’s, ah, what we do.”
She paused. “Huh?”
He gently grasped her finger to draw it away from his chest. “What we do. You know. Give each other a hard time, especially if we’re competing for a case.” He released her finger and ran a hand through his thick, black hair. “Geez, Lexi. We harass Bernie for being old and having one foot in the grave, but really? He’s the best cop I’ve ever met. We give Jon Newty trouble for having six kids because the guy can’t walk by his wife without knocking her up. Doesn’t mean we don’t like him or wouldn’t take a bullet for him.”
She exhaled slowly. “So the slut dress comments?”
Amusement lifted his full lips. “Well, those dresses were slutty.”
She coughed. “True. But you can’t make such sexist remarks these days.”
He rubbed his jaw. “We make fun of what’s different, and I’m pretty sure you’re the only one on this case with ovaries. Well. Phil Jackson may have ovaries, too.”
She rolled her eyes. “How about you just stop being an asshole?”
He studied her. “No.”
She couldn’t help it and burst out laughing. “Okay, how’s this? The next time you make a sexist remark to me, I’m going to kick you square in the balls.”
“That seems fair.” He turned back toward the mirror. “Not for nothin’, but if you relaxed and stopped trying to prove yourself so hard, you’d let insults roll off your back.”
She stiffened and moved toward the window again. “Right.”
“I mean, being a woman is good, but you don’t have to prove yourself all the time.”
She relaxed. If she did have a need to prove herself, it had nothing to do with having ovaries and everything to do with having a felon as a father. “I’ll think about it.”
“Don’t hurt yourself. Girls are dumb.” He chuckled.
What a moron. But she couldn’t help smiling as she tuned into the interview. Spike’s greasy hair was plastered against his head, and open sores marred his neck and chin. His fingers tapped restlessly on the counter and his shoulders twitched.