"Hey, black boy," she said in the same casually insulting tone.
He flashed a wide, dazzling grin at her from an unbelievably ugly face. "You looking for action?" He jerked his head toward the garish sign of the all-nude club across the street. "You a little skinny, but they be hiring. Don't get many white as you. Mostly mixed." He chucked her under the chin with fingers the width of soy wieners. "I be the bouncer, put in a word for you."
"Now why would you do that?"
"Out of the goodness of my heart, and five percent of your tips, honeypot. A long white girl like you make plenty jiggling her stuff."
"I appreciate the thought, but I've got a job." Almost with regret, she pulled out her badge.
He whistled through his teeth. "Now how come I don't be seeing that? White girl, you just don't smell like cop."
"Must be the new soap I'm using. Got a name?"
"They just call me Crack. That's the sound it makes when I bust heads." He grinned again, and illustrated by bringing his two huge hands together. "Crack! Get it?"
"I'm catching on. Were you on the door night before last, Crack?"
"Now, I'm sorry to say I was otherwise engaged, and missed all the excitement. That be my night off, and I spent it catching up on cultural events."
"And those events were?"
"Vampire flick festival down to Grammercy, with my current young nibble. I sure do enjoy watching them bloodsuckers. But I hear we had ourselves a show right here. Got ourselves a dead lawyer. Big, important, fancy one, too. White girl, wasn't she? Just like you, honeypot."
"That's right. What else do you hear?"
"Me?" He trailed a finger down the front of his vest. The nail on his index finger was sharpened to a lethal point and painted black. "I'm too dignified to listen to street talk."
"I bet you are." Understanding the rules, Eve slipped a hundred-credit token from her pocket. "How about I buy a little of that dignity?"
"Well, the price, she looks right." His big hand enveloped the tokens and made them disappear. "I hear she was hanging around in the Five Moons 'long about midnight, give or take. Like she was hanging for somebody, somebody who don't show. Then she ditched."
He glanced down at the sidewalk. "Didn't go far though, did she?"
"No, she didn't. Did she ask for anyone?"
"Not so's I heard."
"Anyone see her with anyone?"
"Bad night. People stay off the street mostly. Some chemi-heads maybe wander, but business going to be slow."
"You know anyone around here who likes to cut?"
"Plenty carry blades and stickers, white girl." His eyes rolled in amusement. "Why you going to carry if you ain't going to use?"
"Anybody just likes to cut," she repeated. "Somebody who doesn't care about making a score."
His grin spread again. The skull on his cheek seemed to nod with the movement. "Everybody cares about making a score. Ain't you trying to?"
She accepted that. "Who do you know around here who's out of a cage recently?"
His laugh was like mortar fire. "Better if you ask don't I know anybody who ain't. And your money's done."
"All right." To his disappointment, she took a card rather than more tokens out of her pocket. "There may be more if you hear anything I can use."
"Keep it in mind. You decide you want to earn a little extra shaking those little white tits, you let Crack know." With this, he loped across the street with the surprising grace of an enormous black gazelle.
Eve turned and went in to try her luck at the Five Moons.
The dive might have seen better days, but she doubted it. It was strictly a drinking establishment: no dancers, no screens, no videos booths. The clientele who patronized the Five Moons weren't there to socialize. From the smell that slapped Eve the moment she stepped through the door, burning off stomach lining was the order of the day.
Even at this hour, the small, square room was well populated. Silent drinkers stood at stingy pedestals knocking back their poison of choice. Others huddled by the bar, closer to the bottles. Eve rated a few glances as she crossed the sticky floor, then people got back to the business of serious drinking.
The bartender was a droid, as most were, but she doubted this one had been programmed to listen cheerfully to the customers' hard luck stories. More likely an arm breaker, she mused, sizing it up as she sidled up to the bar. The manufacturers had given him the tilted eye, golden-skinned appearance of a mixed race. Unlike most of the drinkers, the droid didn't sport feathers or beads, but a plain white smock over a wrestler's body.
Droids couldn't be bribed, she thought with some regret. And threats had to be both clever and logical.
"Drink?" the droid demanded. His voice had a ping to it, a slight echo that indicated overdue maintenance problems.
"No." Eve wanted to keep her health. She showed her badge and had several customers shifting toward corners. "There was a murder two nights ago."
"Not in here."
"But the victim was."
"She was alive then." At some signal Eve didn't catch, the droid took a smudged glass from a drinker midbar, poured some noxious looking liquid into it, and slid it back.
"You were on duty."
"I'm a twenty-four/seven," he told her, indicating he was programmed for full operation without required rest or recharge periods.
"Did you ever see the victim before, in here, around the area?"
"No."
"Who did she meet here?"
"No one."
Eve drummed her fingers on the cloudy surface of the bar. "Okay, let's just make this simple. You tell me what time she came in, what she did, when she left, and how she left."
"I am not required to maintain surveillance on the customers."
"Right." Slowly, Eve rubbed a finger on the bar. When she lifted it, she pursed her lips at the smear of gunk staining the tip. "I'm Homicide, but I'm not required to overlook health violations. You know, I think if I called the Sensor Bugs in here, and they did a sweep, why they'd be shocked. So shocked they'd delete the liquor license."
As threats went, she didn't think it was particularly clever, but it was logical.
The droid took a moment to access the probabilities. "The woman came in at oh sixteen. She didn't drink. She left at one twelve. Alone."
"Did she speak to anyone?"
"She said nothing."
"Was she looking for someone?"
"I didn't ask."
Eve lifted a brow. "You observed her. Did it appear she was looking for someone?"
"It appeared, but she found no one."
"But she stayed nearly an hour. What did she do?"
"Stood, looked, frowned. Checked her watch often. Left."
"Did anyone follow her outside?"
"No."
Absently, Eve scrubbed her soiled finger on her jeans. "Did she have an umbrella?"
The droid looked as surprised by the question as droids were capable of looking. "Yes, a purple one, the same color as her suit."
"Did she leave with it?"
"Yes; it was raining."
Eve nodded, then worked her way through the bar, questioning unhappy customers.
All she really wanted when she returned to Cop Central was a long shower. An hour in the Five Moons had left what felt like a thin layer of muck on her skin. Even her teeth, she thought, running her tongue over them.
But the report came first. She swung into her office, then stopped, studying the wiry-haired man sitting at her desk plucking candied almonds from a bag.
"Nice work if you can get it."
Feeney crossed the feet he'd propped on the edge of her desk. "Good to see you, Dallas. You're a busy lady."
"Some of us cops actually work for a living. Others just play computer games all day."
"You should've taken my advice and worked on your comp skills."
With more affection than annoyance, she knocked his feet from the desk and plopped her butt down in the vacated space. "You just passing by?"
"I've come to offer my services, old pal." Generously, he held out the bag of nuts.