Mean Business on North Ganson Street by S. Craig Zahler Read Free Book Online

black luxury car that he had earlier seen outside of the precinct pulled into the lot and spread its wings, yielding the redheaded cop named Perry and his pockmarked Asian contemporary, Huan. The pair entered the diner, walked directly to the back, and sat across from Dominic, who drank a chocolate milkshake.
    Something flashed outside the diner, and Bettinger returned his attention to the window. A gray luxury car had landed in the lot, and its driver was approaching the door. The fellow was a silver-haired white man who had a nose like a scavenger’s beak, black sunglasses, and a navy blue suit. As he passed by the waitress, the detective was able to estimate his height, which was no more than three inches over five feet.
    Quick strides carried the diminutive man to the back of the diner, where Dominic slid into the bench, opening up a seat. The new arrival claimed the space, tilted his head forward, and began a quiet conversation. Nobody was smiling.
    Bettinger sipped his coffee, watching a meeting that he suspected had been arranged by his partner’s text messages. Almost every statement made by Dominic or Perry or Huan was followed by a look at the diminutive fellow, and it was clear that he was someone to whom they deferred.
    A glance at the clock on the wall told the detective that he and his partner needed to return to the hospital for their meeting with the coroner. After paying the bill, he rose from his bench and strode toward the back of the diner.
    â€œCorporal Williams.”
    The diminutive fellow climbed out of the booth, opening up a passageway for Dominic, who then slid his bumper across the plaid. Bettinger nodded his head at Perry and Huan.
    â€œDon’t tug that ‘Corporal’ line too hard,” the doughy redhead advised, “or you’ll pull in a great white.”
    â€œA black one,” added the pockmarked Asian.
    The small man slid a steak knife into his coffee and stirred. His face was pink and bone white, discolored by vitiligo, and his eyes were hidden behind his sunglasses.
    â€œOut of spoons?” inquired Bettinger.
    No response issued from the mottled man. Metal clinked against porcelain as he stirred the black beverage.
    Bettinger turned around and strode across the diner, followed by Dominic. Outside, they proceeded toward the silver vehicle.
    The detective eyed the big fellow’s reflection. “Was that little guy your previous partner?”
    Dominic shrugged.
    â€œYour memory isn’t so good.”

 
    VIII
    Some Pairs
    Flickering fluorescent lights illuminated the nude corpse of Elaine James, which lay on a plank that Meredith Wong had seconds ago withdrawn from the morgue wall.
    Bettinger surveyed the victim. Her pale body was covered with abrasions and iridescent bruises (especially around her neck), and all of the flesh had been rubbed off of her knees, exposing her off-white patellae. Sitting in the middle of her gasping face was a crushed nose that was the color of an eggplant.
    The twenty-seven-year-old woman had died in agony.
    Dominic looked up from his cell phone. “Her implants are still goin’ strong.”
    â€œWhy’s she in minus?” asked the detective.
    The coroner was confused by the policeman’s question.
    â€œWhy is she in negative temperature?” clarified Bettinger. “Frozen?”
    â€œNobody’s claimed her yet.” The woman pointed at a chart on the wall. “She gets two weeks before cremation. Standard procedure.”
    â€œWe need to—” Something snagged the detective’s attention. “What’s that under her tongue?”
    Dominic and Meredith Wong looked at the corpse’s open mouth, and Bettinger switched on his penlight. The beam shone past smashed teeth and upon the bottom tip of her tongue, illuminating a tattoo of four inverted teardrops.
    â€œHold on.” The coroner walked over to a sink, filled a paper cup with warm water, and returned to