your off-time, McNab?”
“Nah, not so much. Boredom city. I did some when I was a kid, and fresh into the city. Figured I’d find action, and skirts who’d be impressed with my magical skills with the comps.”
“And you found them? Action and skirts?”
“Sure.” He sent her a quick and wicked grin. “All pre–She-Body era.”
“What was she doing there, McNab?”
“Huh? Peabody?”
“Rachel.” She scooted the picture down the table toward where he was working. “What was she looking for in that club?”
He angled his head to study the picture. “It’s a big draw for students, especially under drinking age. You can go in and play grownup. Nonalcoholic drinks with snappy names, hot music. You got the comps so you can do homework,break, take a spin on the dance floor, talk about classes, flirt. Whatever. It’s like, I don’t know, a bridge between being a kid and being an adult. That’s why you don’t see many over-thirties in those places.”
“Okay. I get that.” She stood, heading for coffee as Peabody hurried in a few steps ahead of Feeney.
“Looks like the gang’s all here.” Feeney dropped down at the table. “How about a hit of that shit, kid?”
Eve got a second mug. Kid, she thought. Feeney was the only one who ever—had ever—called her that. Odd that she’d just noticed it.
If she’d had a bridge, Eve realized, it had been Feeney.
She set the mug down in front of him. “Okay, this is what I’ve got.”
Once they were briefed, she gestured to McNab. “Over to you, hotshot.”
“The transmission was sent from this unit to Nadine Furst’s station at 75. We have the time stamp on Nadine’s machine, and the correlating stamp on this. When reviewing the security disc for the time in question, we see . . . a lot of flashing lights, bodies, and mass. On-screen,” he ordered.
“This unit is—wait.” He dug in several of his many pockets until it came up with a laser pointer. “Here.” He circled a section of the screen. “It’s blocked by people moving around, back and forth, crowding in. But here, yeah, pause disc. Here you get a glimpse of the operator. Split screen, display enhanced image. Didn’t take much, just bumping out the light show, magnifying.”
“Female.” Eyes cool, Eve rose to step closer to the screen. “Mid-twenties, tops, mixed race. She weighs a hundred pounds if she’s hauling a full field pack and wearing jump boots. No way this girl killed Howard, and hauled her up and into that bin. She’s a fucking toothpick.”
“Data junkie,” McNab said.
“A what?”
“Data junkie. They get off on data. Can’t get enough of the machine. Some of them hole up in some little room and have little to no actual contact with human beings. It’s all the machine. Others like to be around people, or have peoplearound. They pick up some change sending and receiving, or doing reports—business, school, whatever. Anything that gives them a reason to deal with data.”
“Like EDD geeks,” Eve commented.
“Hey.” But Feeney’s lips twitched. “Data junkies rarely hold actual jobs. Or don’t keep them.” He drummed his fingers as he watched the screen. “Yeah, there you go. There’s a drop. See, the waitress dropped off a stack of discs. Waitress probably takes a cut—club might, too—of what the dj charges per transmission or per job.”
“It’s not illegal,” McNab added. “It’s like I say to you, hey, Dallas, can you send these transmissions for me—my unit’s down, or I’m squeezed for time, and I give you ten bucks for the time and trouble.”
“Or if you’re an illegals dealer, for instance, you dump discs on a junkie, transmissions are sent from any number of locations that can’t be traced back to you.”
McNab lifted his shoulders. “Yeah, there’s that. But who’s going to trust a junkie for serious business?”
Eve hissed out a breath. “The killer did. Let’s get her ID’d. We’ll still need to talk to
“Nah, not so much. Boredom city. I did some when I was a kid, and fresh into the city. Figured I’d find action, and skirts who’d be impressed with my magical skills with the comps.”
“And you found them? Action and skirts?”
“Sure.” He sent her a quick and wicked grin. “All pre–She-Body era.”
“What was she doing there, McNab?”
“Huh? Peabody?”
“Rachel.” She scooted the picture down the table toward where he was working. “What was she looking for in that club?”
He angled his head to study the picture. “It’s a big draw for students, especially under drinking age. You can go in and play grownup. Nonalcoholic drinks with snappy names, hot music. You got the comps so you can do homework,break, take a spin on the dance floor, talk about classes, flirt. Whatever. It’s like, I don’t know, a bridge between being a kid and being an adult. That’s why you don’t see many over-thirties in those places.”
“Okay. I get that.” She stood, heading for coffee as Peabody hurried in a few steps ahead of Feeney.
“Looks like the gang’s all here.” Feeney dropped down at the table. “How about a hit of that shit, kid?”
Eve got a second mug. Kid, she thought. Feeney was the only one who ever—had ever—called her that. Odd that she’d just noticed it.
If she’d had a bridge, Eve realized, it had been Feeney.
She set the mug down in front of him. “Okay, this is what I’ve got.”
Once they were briefed, she gestured to McNab. “Over to you, hotshot.”
“The transmission was sent from this unit to Nadine Furst’s station at 75. We have the time stamp on Nadine’s machine, and the correlating stamp on this. When reviewing the security disc for the time in question, we see . . . a lot of flashing lights, bodies, and mass. On-screen,” he ordered.
“This unit is—wait.” He dug in several of his many pockets until it came up with a laser pointer. “Here.” He circled a section of the screen. “It’s blocked by people moving around, back and forth, crowding in. But here, yeah, pause disc. Here you get a glimpse of the operator. Split screen, display enhanced image. Didn’t take much, just bumping out the light show, magnifying.”
“Female.” Eyes cool, Eve rose to step closer to the screen. “Mid-twenties, tops, mixed race. She weighs a hundred pounds if she’s hauling a full field pack and wearing jump boots. No way this girl killed Howard, and hauled her up and into that bin. She’s a fucking toothpick.”
“Data junkie,” McNab said.
“A what?”
“Data junkie. They get off on data. Can’t get enough of the machine. Some of them hole up in some little room and have little to no actual contact with human beings. It’s all the machine. Others like to be around people, or have peoplearound. They pick up some change sending and receiving, or doing reports—business, school, whatever. Anything that gives them a reason to deal with data.”
“Like EDD geeks,” Eve commented.
“Hey.” But Feeney’s lips twitched. “Data junkies rarely hold actual jobs. Or don’t keep them.” He drummed his fingers as he watched the screen. “Yeah, there you go. There’s a drop. See, the waitress dropped off a stack of discs. Waitress probably takes a cut—club might, too—of what the dj charges per transmission or per job.”
“It’s not illegal,” McNab added. “It’s like I say to you, hey, Dallas, can you send these transmissions for me—my unit’s down, or I’m squeezed for time, and I give you ten bucks for the time and trouble.”
“Or if you’re an illegals dealer, for instance, you dump discs on a junkie, transmissions are sent from any number of locations that can’t be traced back to you.”
McNab lifted his shoulders. “Yeah, there’s that. But who’s going to trust a junkie for serious business?”
Eve hissed out a breath. “The killer did. Let’s get her ID’d. We’ll still need to talk to
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