Fantasy in Death - J. D. Robb [27]
“Who gets to be queen?”
“Ha-ha. They’re holo-games, too, but since we don’t have a holo we only play the comp. Anyway, there are weapons galore at these cons, and plenty of vendors and collectors. You’ve got blasters and magic maces and fire lances and light sabers and disintegrators. But from what I saw, swords are the biggest deal. They’re sexier.”
An interesting angle, she thought again. A good line to tug. “I bet Bart thought how sexy it was to have his head lopped off with one. Collectors, vendors, and cons. It’s a good avenue to explore. But maybe we’ll get lucky and DuVaugne will just whip out his magic sword, we’ll blast him, and wrap this case up.”
“I know a euphemism for the p-word when I hear one.”
Eve slid to the curb in a no-parking zone and engaged her On Duty light. “If he whips out anything, we take him down.”
Laughing, Peabody climbed out. “Some place.”
If you went for steel and glass and sharp angles, Eve thought. The gold tone of the privacy window glass reflected the beam of sunlight, making her grateful for her shades. She wondered how many people had been blinded just walking by the three-story extravaganza of what was probably some post-post-modern designer’s idea of city slick. She imagined there had once been a dignified brownstone or tidy brick townhouse in that spot, destroyed or mortally wounded during the Urban Wars. In its place stood the gleam of brushed steel framing walls of that gold-toned glass.
Maybe the occupants felt lofty inside their glass box, or enjoyed their nearly unobstructed views of the streets and city.
She’d have felt exposed and creeped. But it took all kinds.
Rather than steps from the sidewalk to the entrance a sloped ramp led the way to a platform where a motion detector immediately sent out a low beep. She scanned the dual cameras, the palm plate.
“Open view, serious locks,” she commented.
Voice recognition unaccepted. These premises do not accept solicitations. All deliveries must be cleared. No guests are expected at this time. Please identify yourself and state your business. Thank you.
“Well, it said please.” Peabody shrugged. “And thank you.”
“Yeah, real polite. I guess they don’t much like the neighborly drop-in.”
Identification is requested within ten seconds. These premises are protected by Secure-One. Identification failure will alert the authorities in ten seconds.
“Not so polite now.” Eve pulled out her badge. “Dallas, Lieutenant Eve, NYPSD. We have business with Lane DuVaugne.”
No appointment is scheduled.
“Scan the badge, and inform Mr. DuVaugne the cops are at the door. Failure to do so will result in a whole bunch more cops with a warrant arriving within thirty minutes.”
Please place your identification on the palm plate for verification scan. Thank you.
“Got its manners back,” Eve commented as she complied.
Identification verified, Dallas,Lieutenant Eve, of the New York Police and Security Department. Mr. DuVaugnewill be informed of your arrival. One moment, please.
It took more than a moment, but the security cleared and the door opened.
The servant droid, all skinny dignity in a stark black suit, had Eve muffling a snort. He could have been Summerset’s brother, not only in appearance, but by the derisive dismissal on his face as he peered down at her.
“Hey, he looks a lot like—”
“The biggest pain in my ass,” Eve finished, and thinking of Roarke’s majordomo smiled thinly. “Got a name, pal, or just a number?”
“I am Derby.” He’d been programmed with a tony British accent. “If you’d inform me of the nature of your business with Mr. DuVaugne I will relate same to him. Your companion has not yet identified herself.”
“Peabody, Detective Delia.” Peabody held up her badge.
“Now that we’re all nicely ID’d, you can relate to your owner that the NYPSD will speak with him here, in the comfort of his own home, or we’ll escort him to our house for a chat. That would be the less comfortable and more public Cop Central. Our business