“Uh-oh.”
“I simply prefer not to broadcast my business.”
“Your business crosses with Synch?”
“Not at the moment. Where’s your candy?”
“What candy?”
He gave her a look. “I know very well you hide candy in here. I need a boost. Give it over.”
Her frown deepened, and she tracked her gaze toward the door. “Don’t let anybody come in. It’s a damn good hiding place.”
“You know, you could easily rig a cam in here, and catch whoever’s lifting your stash in the act.”
“One day I’ll catch the candy thief, but it’ll be by guile and wit, not technology. It’s a matter of pride and principle now.”
She took a tool from her desk, then squatted in front of her recycler. After a few twists, she removed the facing and pulled an evidence bag from the back.
“Your guile and wit contest causes you to keep candy in the recycler, with the trash?”
“It’s sealed.” She broke the seal with a little pop and whoosh to prove it, then took out one of three chocolate bars. She tossed it to him, then bagged the remaining two with a fresh seal before hiding them again. She glanced back to see him studying the candy.
“If you’re going to be so dainty give it back.”
“There was a time I rooted through alley garbage for food, without a thought. Things change.” He unwrapped the candy, took a bite. “But apparently not that much.”
She replaced the tool, then stood, hands on hips, studying the recycler for any signs of tampering. “Okay. Still good.”
“And a demonstration of true love if I ever saw one.” He brushed a hand over her tousled cap of brown hair, then tapped a finger on the dent of her chin before touching his lips to hers. “Better than chocolate.”
The shadows had lifted, she noted. Work could do that-focus and channel grief and regret. “Synch Entertainment.”
“Yes. About a year ago I looked into acquiring the corporation.”
“Naturally. It exists, so you want it.”
“On the contrary.” He sat in her shabby visitor’s chair. “After some research and vetting I decided I didn’t want it, or not at this time.”
“Because?”
“It’s in trouble. The sort I have no need or desire to take on. Better to wait until it’s either limping along then buy it cheap, or wait until they shake things out, fix the problems, and offer a good price for a healthy company.”
“What kind of problems? Other than they’ve closed two on-planet plants in the last sixteen months-small ones, outside the U.S. They have no plants or offices off-planet, so they’re either missing that market altogether, or the cost of distributing their products to that market would be prohibitive.”
He arched his brows. “Well now, my heart swells with pride. Listen to the business acumen.”
“Be a smartass, lose the candy.”
“Why don’t you come over here and try to take it?” Smiling now, he patted his knee in invitation.
Oh yeah, he was feeling better.
“I don’t know anything about the game market, except it has to be almost no-fail. People want to play, all the damn time. In arcades, at home, at parties, in the office. So why can’t a company that’s been in the game of games for over half a century make it work?”
“Because they’ve invested more, at least in the last decade, in marketing and execs than in creative minds and new technology, and they’ve continued to ignore the off-planet market, considering it too small and cost prohibitive.” He shrugged as he took another bite of the candy bar. “They’re stuck in a certain mind-set, and if it doesn’t change, and soon, they’ll shortly be a generation behind.”
“Okay, so they overpay the suits and figure if it was good enough ten years ago, it’s good enough now.”
“Basically. The two people who founded it fifty-odd years ago sold it off during its prime. It’s had its ups and downs since, as companies will. At this point it’s in a slow but steady downswing.”
“Something like U-Play’s Fantastical would change the swing.”
“It could, absolutely, if developed and marketed well. Is this your motive?”
“Might be. DuVaugne paid a source nearly a hundred and fifty thousand, so far, for data on the program. He’s a VP at Synch.”
“In Development,” Roarke added. “I looked him up on the way down. He’d be a hero if he brought the company this idea, and the means to create it. I imagine his contract with them includes bonus clauses. He’d rake in quite a bit, and for a very small investment.”
“Which is a very nice motive for murder, or for making another investment and hiring it out. He’s also got a fairly new and very young second wife. I bet she likes the high life.”
He smiled at her. “Most do.”
“Uh-huh. So, when down the road a couple decades if you think about ditching me for fresh? Remember who carries a weapon.”
“Something I never forget. Or fail to appreciate.”
“Okay. I need to have a little chat with DuVaugne.”
“I’d be interested in chatting with him myself.”
“Can’t do it. Can’t,” she repeated, shaking her head. “You’re a competitor, and it could sour my chances of shaking him out. Complicate them anyway.”
“Fair enough.”
“I should touch base with Morris, and I want another pass at the scene. Keep me updated on the e-work.”
“I’ll do that, but I want to go with you to Bart’s.”
She started to speak, stopped and reconsidered. “You might be handy there.”
“I do what I can.” He balled up the candy wrapper, two-pointed it into the recycler before he rose. “Thanks for the candy.”
She smiled. “What candy?”
5
“Do you think the penis ever gets tired?” As she drove, Eve turned her head toward Peabody, tipped down the shades she rarely remembered to wear. “Whose?”
“Anybody’s. I mean anybody with one. Does the penis ever just think: For God’s sake, pal, give it a rest? Or is it alclass="underline" Woo-hoo! Here we go again!”
“Is this germane to the case, or have you lapsed into girl talk?”
“It springs from the case. I was thinking about that asshole Dubrosky. There he is banging away at Britt Casey yesterday afternoon. A triple-header, according to her. Floor,” she said, ticking it off on her fingers, “bed, and against the door. Then last night he’s bucking with Roland in fantasy game-play. Pirate captain and cabin boy.”
“Stop.”
“Wait. And this morning? He sneaks in a coffee and a quickie with Chelsea Saxton, then gets a follow-up bj in the shower.”
“Jesus, Peabody.”
“Well, I didn’t ask for the dirty details, but all three of them just splurted it all out when they found out about the others. I really think most ginnies would say: Hey! Don’t even think about putting anything in there for a while.”
“Ginnies?”
“It’s a nice name for vagina. And I really think after a couple rounds, under most circumstances, your average ginnie would say, okay, that’ll hold me for a while. But does the penis just keep searching out the next orifice? I wonder since I don’t have one.”
“In case you’re wondering, neither do I.”
“I’ve seen you naked so I know this. I think even the most stalwart and energetic penis would, at some point, say enough’s enough for today or tonight, and since, hey, I’m all relaxed now, I’m taking a little vacation. Or just a nap.”
“See now I’ve got this image of some cock sitting at a swim-up bar at a resort, wearing sunshades and drinking one of those stupid drinks full of fruit and paper umbrellas.”
“Aw, that’s cute.”
“It’s not cute. It’s mildly scary. Or disgusting. I’m not sure which. Both.” Eve blew out a tired breath. “I think both.”
“It should have a little straw hat, too. Anyway, I don’t think it’s about sex with Dubrosky’s penis.”
“Peabody, I can’t stress how much I don’t want to think about his penis.”
“It’s addiction,” Peabody continued, unfazed. “I bet Mira’d agree,” she added, referring to the departmental profiler and shrink. “He equates his worth with his penis, and also uses it as a weapon.”