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"Mother of God. Computer, close and delete current area." Incomplete command.
"Like hell. Close this file." Acknowledged.
The cavorting figures disappeared.
"Now you listen to me. This is Dallas, Lieutenant Eve. I own you. I want case file 39921-SH, and I want it now." The screen jumped, filled with text. In what was possibly Italian.
The sound Eve made was somewhere between a scream and a bellow. She rapped the machine with her hand, punched it with her fist, and considered just ripping it out of the network and tossing it out her window.
Maybe, just maybe if her luck was in, there'd be a Maintenance guy strolling by under it. Two birds, one stone.
As satisfying as that would be, she calculated she could expect a replacement unit sometime near the end of the current century.
She swung to her "link, intending to contact Maintenance and ream whoever was unfortunate enough to answer.
"And where will that get you, Dallas?" she asked herself.
"Those puss-faced jerks in Maintenance, they live for moments like this. They'll sit around down there and laugh and laugh until you're forced to go down and kill every last one of them and spend the rest of your life in a cage." She punched the computer again, just for the hell of it.
And inspired, tried another angle.
"EDO. McNab. Hey, Dallas!" Peabody's main squeeze grinned at her from her "link screen. His narrow, pretty face was surrounded by bright blond hair that sported a couple of skinny temple braids.
"I was just about to shoot you the report on the e-work." "Don't bother. My unit's funky. It's giving me grief, McNab. How about doing me a favor and taking a look at it?" "You call Maintenance?" When she merely growled, he gave a heh-heh-heh sort of laugh.
"Delete that. I can give you thirty in about fifteen." "Good." "Or if you officially requested I report to your office at once, to bring you a disc and hard copy of the e-work, I could come now." "Consider yourself officially requested." "Allying op." "What?" But he'd already broken transmission.
Annoyed, she dug out her pocket unit and set to work trying to transfer the data she wanted from the desk unit to the PPC. She wasn't an e-geek, but she wasn't stupid, she told herself. She knew how to handle basic tech.
She was pulling her hair when McNab bopped in. He was wearing a purple shirt with a green placket down the center. It reached the thighs of baggy green pants with purple racing stripes. Both colors were picked up in his checked airsneaks.
"E-Man to the rescue," he announced. Today's complement of silver ear hoops dangled with purple and green beads.
"What seems to be the problem?" "If I knew the problem, I'd have fixed it myself." "Right." He dumped a little silver toolbox on her desk, plopped into her chair. Rubbed his hands together. "Wow.
Chocolate." He widened his grin, wiggled his brows.
"Shit. Go ahead. Consider it payment in advance." "Uptown!" "What?" "Uptown." He bit into the candy. "You know, like… excellent.
Let's have a look. I'll just open it for a standard diagnostic." He gave a series of commands that might as well have been in Venutian to Eve's ears. A lot of codes and symbols and strange little shapes spilled on-screen, and the computer's voice responded in a kind of gasping croak.
"See! See!" Eve sprang to lean over McNab's shoulder.
That's not right, is it? That's not good." "Well, hrnmm. Just let me-" "It's sabotage, isn't it?" "You expecting sabotage?" "You don't expect sabotage. That's why it's sabotage." "There's a point. I need to look around some. Why don't you, ah, take a break maybe." "You want me to leave my own office?" He gave her a pained look. "Lieutenant." "Okay, okay." She stuffed her hands in her pockets. "I'll be in the bull pen." She heard his long, relieved sigh as she strode out.
She marched straight to Peabody's desk.
"Comp woes?" Peabody asked. "McNab stopped by for a second on his way in to you." "They sabotaged it." "Who are they?"
"If I knew who they were, I'd hunt them down and peel the skin off their bones while they begged for mercy." "Uh-huh. Okay, so I got a hold of Deann Vanderlea.
Somebody found the puppy." "Huh. The dog?" "Yeah, Mignon. She was nearly on the other side of the park, and a couple joggers found her, checked her collar ID.
They brought her back." "Was it injured?" "No, just scared. Having the pup back will give them a little comfort. Anyway, she and her husband and the vie all used Total Health Fitness and Beauty for workouts and such, by the way. Not the kind of spot we're looking for as regards the killer's habits." "It was good to check." "She doesn't remember seeing anyone suspicious around the neighborhood. Doesn't recall noticing a big guy at any point, but she's going to ask her husband and some of her neighbors. The doorman." "We'll canvass again anyway." "Yeah. Father's out of the picture. Alibied by a couple thousand miles, and he doesn't fit the physical type we're after." "He'd have been too easy. How about my vehicle?" "I've got a line on that. Give me a little time." "Everybody wants time today. Let's do a search on the health clubs. Manhattan-based to start." Eve watched, with some irritation as Peabody's unit responded smoothly to her commands.
"How come the detectives and uniforms in this division have better equipment than I do? I'm the boss." "You know, there's a theory that some people have a kind of mechanical…" The term deficiency sprang to Peabody's mind, but she was too concerned with her own health and safety to speak it. "Like an infection or something. And it affects the machines they operate." "That's bullshit. I don't have any trouble with my home equipment." "Just a theory," Peabody said, and hunched her shoulders.
"Do you have to lurk there while this is running?" "I have to lurk somewhere." Disgusted, Eve strode out.
She'd get a tube of Pepsi, that's what she'd do. She'd cool off with a drink, then go back and hassle McNab.
She wanted to sit in her own damn office and do her own damn job. Was that too much to ask? She approached a vending machine, then just stood there, staring at it resentfully. It would probably spit the Pepsi all over her, or send her some health drink just for spite.
"Hey, you." She signaled to a passing uniform, then dug out credits.
"Get me a tube of Pepsi." The uniform looked down at the credits Eve dumped in her hand. "Ah, sure, Lieutenant." The credits were plugged in; the machine responded with a cheerful and polite announcement of the selection and its contents. The tube slid quietly out of the slot.
"Here you go." "Thanks." Satisfied, Eve drank as she walked back toward the bull pen. That's how she'd handle this deal, she decided. She'd have other people screw with the machines whenever possible. She was rank, after all. She was supposed to delegate.
"Lieutenant?" McNab signaled her, and though she tried not to see it, watched him purse his lips toward Peabody.
"No kissy faces in Homicide, Detective. Is my unit up and running?" "Good news, bad news. How about the bad first?" He gave her a come-with-me head signal and went back to her office.
"Bad news. You got a dink system here." "It was working fine before." "Yeah, well, see it's got some internal problems. That's the easiest way to explain it. Some of its guts, we'll say, were designed with planned obsolescence in mind. Only so many operating hours before they start to fail." "Why would anybody build something that's programmed to fail?" "So they can sell new ones?" Because she looked like she needed it, he risked patting her shoulder. "Administration and Requisitions buy cheap most times, I guess." "Bastards." "Absolutely. But the good news is I've got it up for you.