City of Dragons by Kelli Stanley Read Free Book Online

black-and-gold lettering strong and purposeful. Then she took a deep breath and opened it.
    No carpet in the office, no mahogany desk with a pretty girl, no art, modern or otherwise. It held an old-fashioned oak desk from Weinstein’s, two file cabinets, a cathedral radio, three miscellaneous chairs, two of which were comfortable, a calendar, a portable closet, a chair for herself she’d spent a commission on, and a used safe she picked up from Wells Fargo. Also the Latin Lover from downstairs and a surly-looking Irish cop with pits for pores and teeth to match.
    Miranda strode toward the desk like she didn’t see them. Cesar Romero stood up. The other one ground his toothpick and sneered.
    “Miss Corbie?”
    She waited until she was behind the heft of the desk and nestled into the padded leather of the chair. She snuck a glance at the desk drawers. They’d been opened, and pushed back with enough carelessness to advertise the fact.
    “Can I help you?” Best-bred Lady Esther voice, the one that smelled like violets and spoke of yacht clubs and opening night at the opera.
    The one standing was a looker. Tall, about six one, pencil mustache, well-cut, dark clothes. Almost too well cut to belong to an honest cop. He didn’t show his teeth when he smiled. Eyes large, brown, and sympathetic.
    “Inspector Gonzales. This is Assistant Inspector Duggan. We’d like to talk to you.”
    He made himself comfortable in the chair, graceful motion. Duggan was staring at Miranda, and suddenly spat a wad of chewed toothpick on the floor.
    She didn’t give him the pleasure of flinching. “Mind if I smoke?”
    Not waiting for an answer, she opened the top drawer of her desk and took out the nearly empty pack inside. She lit a cigarette with the heavy desk lighter, offered one to Gonzales, who shook his head politely.
    “Go ahead. Talk.”
    Gonzales cleared his throat, and took out a pad of paper from his inner coat pocket. His shoulder-holstered .38 flashed at Miranda.
    “I believe you were in Chinatown this morning, asking questions about the death of Eddie Takahashi.”
    She leaned back, ignoring the sudden weight of the bloodstained bandage in her bra. Blew some smoke in Duggan’s direction. He was ticking, and she wanted him to go when she was ready for it. Miranda studied Gonzales’s smoothly handsome face.
    “Mind if I see your identification, boys?”
    Gonzales smiled good-naturedly again, reached for his billfold. Duggan jumped up suddenly, and leaned on her desk, both hands hairy and flat on the surface, his veined nose about a foot away from hers.
    “ ‘Mind if I see your identification’ she says.” Singsong, vicious falsetto. “Can the class act. We know who you are and what you are. You fuck with this case, we haul you in for obstruction. And anything else we can find. We won’t have to look far.”
    Gonzales’s face was red, and he was still half-holding out his buzzer. Miranda gave him a brief nod. Then she stood up, slowly, and stared at Duggan, his face still jutting forward, his small eyes mean and as yellow as his teeth.
    “Why don’t you sit down, Inspector? I’m afraid I can’t offer you a cuspidor, but you’re welcome to spit on your partner there. You seem to be good at it.”
    His back got tense and long and arched itself, and he lifted one of his hands, letting it freeze in the air. Gonzales’s voice came out quiet.
    “Sit down, Gerry. Let’s try to talk to Miss Corbie like we’re professionals, and not some he-man cartoon cops out of Argosy .”
    Duggan’s eyes turned from her and raked over Gonzales, who was now standing. He said nothing, but threw his shoulder into his partner’s as he walked back to his chair. Gonzales took it stolidly, just as he did the stage-whispered “Fuckin’ Mex” under Duggan’s breath.
    “So why are you here, Inspector? Last I checked, I was free, white, and twenty-one. That usually buys you the freedom to go to Chinatown and talk without being