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Darkly dreaming Dexter :: Lindsay Jeffry P.
Страница: 118 из 160He was fifty, a squat guy in ratty green pants and a blue nylon jacket. He glanced at Deb in her uniform and was instantly nervous.
“Wha'?” he said. “I din't do nothin'.”
“Do you work here, sir?”
“Shoor. 'Course, why you think I'm here, eight o'clock in the morning?”
“What's your name, please sir?”
He fumbled for his wallet. “Steban Rodriguez. I got a ID.”
Deborah waved that off. “That's not necessary,” she said. “What are you doing here at this hour, sir?”
He shrugged and pushed his wallet back into the pocket. “I s'posed to be here earlier most days, but the team is on the road-Vancouver, Ottawa, and L.A. So I get here a little later.”
“Is anyone else here right now, Steban?”
“Naw, jus' me. They all sleep late.”
“What about at night? Is there a guard?”
He waved an arm around. “The security goes around the parking lot at night, but not too much. I the first one here mos' days.”
“The first one to go inside, you mean?”
“Yeah, tha's right, what I say?”
I climbed out of the car and leaned across the roof. “Are you the guy who drives the Zamboni for the morning skate?” I asked him. Deb glanced at me, annoyed. Steban peered at me, taking in my natty Hawaiian shirt and gabardine slacks. “Wha' kinda cop you are, ha?”
“I'm a nerd cop,” I said. “I just work in the lab.”
“Ooohhh, shoor,” he said, nodding his head as if that made sense.
“Do you run the Zamboni, Steban?” I repeated.
“Yeah, you know. They don' lemme drive her in the games, you know. Tha's for the guys with suits. They like to put a kid, you know. Some celebrity maybe. Ride around and wave, that shit. But I get to do it for the morning skate, you know. When the team is in town. I run the Zamboni just the morning, real early. But they on the road now so I come later.”
“We'd like to take a look inside the arena,” Deb said, clearly impatient with me for speaking out of turn. Steban turned back to her, a crafty gleam lighting up half of one eye.
“Shoor,” he said. “You got a warrant?”
Deborah blushed. It made a wonderful contrast to the blue of her uniform, but it was possibly not the most effective choice for reinforcing her authority. And because I knew her well, I knew she would realize she had blushed and get mad. Since we did not have a warrant and did not, in fact, have any business here whatsoever that could remotely be considered officially sanctioned, I did not think that getting mad was our best tactical maneuver.
“Wha'?” he said. “I din't do nothin'.”
“Do you work here, sir?”
“Shoor. 'Course, why you think I'm here, eight o'clock in the morning?”
“What's your name, please sir?”
He fumbled for his wallet. “Steban Rodriguez. I got a ID.”
Deborah waved that off. “That's not necessary,” she said. “What are you doing here at this hour, sir?”
He shrugged and pushed his wallet back into the pocket. “I s'posed to be here earlier most days, but the team is on the road-Vancouver, Ottawa, and L.A. So I get here a little later.”
“Is anyone else here right now, Steban?”
“Naw, jus' me. They all sleep late.”
“What about at night? Is there a guard?”
He waved an arm around. “The security goes around the parking lot at night, but not too much. I the first one here mos' days.”
“The first one to go inside, you mean?”
“Yeah, tha's right, what I say?”
I climbed out of the car and leaned across the roof. “Are you the guy who drives the Zamboni for the morning skate?” I asked him. Deb glanced at me, annoyed. Steban peered at me, taking in my natty Hawaiian shirt and gabardine slacks. “Wha' kinda cop you are, ha?”
“I'm a nerd cop,” I said. “I just work in the lab.”
“Ooohhh, shoor,” he said, nodding his head as if that made sense.
“Do you run the Zamboni, Steban?” I repeated.
“Yeah, you know. They don' lemme drive her in the games, you know. Tha's for the guys with suits. They like to put a kid, you know. Some celebrity maybe. Ride around and wave, that shit. But I get to do it for the morning skate, you know. When the team is in town. I run the Zamboni just the morning, real early. But they on the road now so I come later.”
“We'd like to take a look inside the arena,” Deb said, clearly impatient with me for speaking out of turn. Steban turned back to her, a crafty gleam lighting up half of one eye.
“Shoor,” he said. “You got a warrant?”
Deborah blushed. It made a wonderful contrast to the blue of her uniform, but it was possibly not the most effective choice for reinforcing her authority. And because I knew her well, I knew she would realize she had blushed and get mad. Since we did not have a warrant and did not, in fact, have any business here whatsoever that could remotely be considered officially sanctioned, I did not think that getting mad was our best tactical maneuver.