Death's Last Run by Robin Spano

dumping at the peak. The slopes would clear his head — whooshing down, fighting the wind and the snow, letting rap and dance music impart their wisdom through his earbuds.
    Except when he was about to step out of his apartment, he didn’t see an empty hallway. He saw Norris, the little inspector, standing a full head shorter than Richie in his I’m-so-important black trench coat.
    Richie yanked his earbuds out, gestured for Norris to come in.
    â€œI left Sacha’s handwriting sample with your receptionist,” Richie said. “I assume that’s cool, since it’s official police business.”
    â€œIt’s fine. I’ve faxed the sample to head office. That’s not why I’m here.”
    Richie shut the door and remained standing in his gear. “How long for the handwriting analysis?”
    â€œCouple days,” Norris said. “Do you have a cigarette?”
    Richie was getting hot in his snow clothes, but he didn’t want to unzip his jacket in case Norris took that as an invitation to stay awhile. As much as he wanted to keep things on good terms with the inspector, Richie had energy to burn — he wanted at least one good run before his meeting with Chopper at the peak. “I don’t smoke. I didn’t think you did, either.”
    â€œThe stress is making me start again. I’d buy a pack, but my wife would freak if she found it.” Norris smiled sheepishly, like he was embarrassed to acknowledge he was like every other married man: whipped.
    â€œMan, I hear you,” Richie said, meeting Norris’ eyes with a grin.
    Norris shifted his feet, like he wanted to pace but he’d have to get past Richie to do it. Richie didn’t move.
    â€œLook, I came to see you because . . . for ten grand, I can get the name of the FBI agent.”
    â€œTen grand?” Richie felt his eyebrows rocket sky-high. “What happened to all the cash me and Chopper have already given you?”
    Norris glanced at the sofa but Richie stood firm, blocking his entrance past the alcove by the door.“We bought Zoe a cello. A Leon Bernadel, which that kid deserves, but it damn near broke our bank. I’d go to the poorhouse if it meant she could follow her dream.”
    â€œShe’s ten,” Richie said. “Next year the only dream she’ll want to follow will be an eleven-year-old boy.”
    â€œI wouldn’t expect you to share an understanding of classical music.”
    â€œHey, no disrespect, Norris, but Chopper and I pay you to protect us from prison. This ten grand is yours to pay.”
    â€œYou pay me not to arrest your asses.”
    Richie liked that line. He wished he was recording this conversation.
    â€œI’ll talk to Chopper,” Richie said, keeping his voice even despite the rage that was beginning to boil just below the surface. “If nothing else, maybe he can better explain to you how our arrangement is supposed to work.”
    â€œDon’t forget which one of us will look better in court. Me in my tailored suit, you in lovely orange coveralls . . .” Norris tossed this out with a smile, but you couldn’t say a thing like that without meaning it at least a little.
    â€œCome on, man. You’re threatening me?”
    â€œOf course not.
No disrespect
, Richie. I’m just reminding you how things lie.”
    Richie was tempted to put Norris in his place, but the cop worked better if he thought he was the man in control.

FIFTEEN

    MARTHA
    The heavy apartment door opened to reveal a tall blond in gray yoga pants that she must have had painted onto her legs. Daisy’s pregnancy was early — barely past the three-month safety mark — so she didn’t have much of a bump. If anything, her body only looked more luscious.
    â€œCan you nurse from silicone?” Martha said. “Or will you have to use formula?”
    Daisy frowned. “Are you meeting Fraser for something? I thought