The In Death Collection Books 26-29 - J.D. Robb [48]
The kid sucked on the fizzy. “We gotta get, so you can catch them.”
“Give me the location, and I’ll send cops over.”
“Uh-uh. I gotta show you. That’s the deal.”
“What deal? I didn’t make any damn deal. I don’t have time to go driving around, waiting for some pocket man to make his bag drop.”
The boy’s eyes were like glass, and just as sharp. “I guess you don’t be much of a cop.”
She could’ve stared him down, she was pretty sure of it. But he made her shoulder blades itch. “You’re a pain in the ass.” She checked the time, calculated. Odds were the drop spot was in Times Square where she’d had the misfortune of meeting the kid in the first place. She could swing by there on the way home. Maybe she’d get some damn work done at home without being interrupted every five minutes.
“Wait here,” she ordered. “If you’re not right here when I get back, I’ll hunt you down like a dog and stuff you inside that suitcase. Dig?”
“I gonna show you?”
“Yeah, you’re going to show me. Stay.” She strode into the bullpen. “Peabody, I have to make a run, semipersonal, then I’m going to work at home.”
“But—but—I have to leave for 75 in…in like any minute!”
“Do that, copy any new data, shoot it to my home office.”
“But…” On a run, Peabody rushed after Eve. “You’re not going with me?”
“Pull yourself together, Peabody.” Eve grabbed file discs, tossed them into her bag. “You’ve done on-air before.”
“Not like this. Dallas, you’ve gotta go with me. I can’t go there by myself. I’ll—”
“Jesus, how can people be worth all this? Take McNab. Tell his DS I cleared it.” Eve dragged on her coat. “And don’t fuck up.”
“You’re supposed to say break a leg!” Peabody called out as Eve stomped away.
“Fuck it up and I’ll break your damn leg myself.”
“Dallas.”
“What?” She rounded on Baxter with a snarl, then remembered. “Sorry. Any new leads?”
“No. Have you—”
“No, I haven’t had a chance to look at the file. Soon as I can, Baxter.” A headache brought on, she knew, by sheer irritation, began to pulse behind her eyes. “Let’s go, kid, and if you’re stringing me you’ll find out firsthand why the word is I’m top bitch cop.”
In the garage the kid shook his head sorrowfully at her vehicle. He climbed in, steadied the suitcase on his lap, took a long study of the dash, then turned those Venusian green eyes on her. “This ride is crap.”
“You got better?”
“I ain’t got ride, but I know crap. How come top bitch cop has a crap ride?”
“This is a question I ask myself daily. You got a name?”
“You got one?”
She had the oddest feeling she amused him. “Lieutenant Dallas.”
“What kinda name’s Loo-tenit?”
“It’s rank. It’s my rank.”
“I don’t got no rank, don’t got no ride.”
“Name, kid, or the adventure stops here.”
“Tiko.”
“Okay, Tiko, where are we going?”
He put on what Eve supposed was his enigmatic face. “Maybe we cruise over round Times Square.”
She drove out of the garage, wedged into traffic. “What’s in the case this time?”
“I got me the cashmere scarves and matching caps. How come you don’t wear no cap? Heat falls out the top of your head you don’t wear a cap.”
“How come you’re not wearing one?”
“Sold it.” He grinned at her. “I’m a selling fool.”
“As a selling fool, Tiko, why did you haul yourself and that case all the way down to Central to tell me about the drop?”
“I didn’t drop nothing.”
Not as streetwise as he appeared, she decided. “About the suspicious activities.”
“I don’t like suspicious activities round my yard. I got business. Somebody steals wallets and shit, then people don’t have the money to buy my scarves and caps and pretty soon in good weather my one hundred percent silk scarves and ties.”
Since it made perfect sense, Eve nodded. “Okay, why not tell one of the uniforms on the beat?”
“Why do that when I