Page 120 of Thankless in Death

“I know it’s football. I like football. Everybody wears those tight pants and has big shoulders.”

“They’re shoulder pads, so that’s false vision.”

“I like it fine.”

“Gregman’s,” Eve continued. “In Reinhold’s old neighborhood. Sells pistachio floats.”

“Yuck. I draw the line at green floats. But I got it.”

“I’ve got Charles doing a reach-out for an LC named Lucille. She reputedly broke Reinhold’s cherry, as well as giving him and his pals discount rates on bjs. Reinhold and Asshole Joe here may still use her from time to time. Then there’s Jangles, an arcade in Times Square—and some gamer named Bruno who beat Reinhold in a tournament. A beer joint nearby called Tap It.”

“How’d we miss all that?”

“We didn’t,” Eve said as she pulled out her badge for Joe’s building’s security plate. “It’s called follow-up. Mal remembered a little more when I tried the routine angle. Meanwhile, Roarke’s working the money angle.”

“So’s McNab, that and the ID. It’s slow going, Dallas.”

“We’ll be pushing it. And we’ll be pushing the location. He’s here somewhere—in someplace plush, you bet your ass.”

She held her badge for a scan. “Lieutenant Dallas, Detective Peabody. We’re here to talk to Joe Klein.”

ID verified. Mr. Klein has not cleared you for entry.

Authorization is required.

Eve rolled her shoulders, smiled fiercely. A workout, a swim, a new angle—and now busting electronic chops.

Not a bad start to the morning.

“Listen, you worthless piece of e-crap,” she began.

AFTER HER SATISFYING SMACKDOWN OF AN electronic moron, Eve rode the elevator up to seven with Peabody.

“Nicer, tighter building than, say, his friend Mal’s,” she observed. “He sells insurance, right?”

“Uncle’s firm,” Peabody confirmed. “Insurance Sales Producer. It’s a midsized operation, pretty solid. From my scan of his financials, he’s good at it. And he likes to spend those bonuses and commissions. Nest egg isn’t a term he considers.”

“Where do terms like that come from? If you leave an egg in a nest it either hatches or it doesn’t. If it hatches, it flies or crawls away, right? If it doesn’t you’ve got some stupid egg, and what good is that?”

“Um...”

“Exactly.” Eve strode off the elevator, aimed for 707.

Interesting, she noted, that Joe had installed a palm plate and a cam—not standard as the other apartments on the floor didn’t have them.

Which either made him more security conscious than his neighbors, or more into status. Maybe both.

She pressed the buzzer, unsurprised with the electronic greeting. Status primarily, she decided, and overkill in a building like this one.

Mr. Klein is currently on Do Not Disturb. You’re welcome to leave your name and a message.

“It’s Lieutenant Dallas, NYPSD.” She held up her badge for the routine scan. “And my message is you’re going to disturb him. We’re here on police business. And don’t even think about giving me the runaround, or I will assume that Mr. Klein is either harboring a murder suspect or being held by same against his will. That assumption will lead me to circumvent the security of this apartment and enter.”

One moment.

“Good one,” Peabody commended. “Though technically we’d need probable cause rather than assumptions.”

“I don’t get technical with technology.”