She sniffed, reached into her pocket for her handkerchief, then remembered Eve hadn't given it back. Swiping the back of her hand under nose, she climbed into the car and prepared to follow orders.
* * *
By the time Eve reached the corner at Forty-first, she'd blown off enough steam to realize she wasn't going to walk another thirty blocks to the lab to pick on Dickie.
One glance at the jammed humanity crammed onto the overhead people glides convinced her she wasn't about to go that route, either.
A new wave of pedestrians caught her full in the back and swept her another half block before she could manage to dig in and shove her way clear. She choked on the steam of a glide-cart doing a brisk business on grilled soy dogs, blinked the resulting tears out of her eyes, and dug for her badge.
She clawed her way out to the curb, risked life and limb by stepping directly into the path of an oncoming cab, then slapped her badge on the windshield.
Climbing in, she tried to rub the stress of the last few minutes off her face, then dropped her hands into her lap and met the driver's miserable eyes in the mirror.
Recognizing Detective Brinkleman from the four-one's cousin, she let out one short bark of laughter. "It just figures, doesn't it?"
"It's been a crap day altogether," he muttered.
"I hate Christmas."
"I ain't too fond of it myself right at the moment."
"Get me down to Eighteenth. I'll take it from there."
"You could walk quicker."
She took another look at the teeming sidewalk. "Go over and punch it. You get tagged, I'll handle it with Traffic."
"You're the boss, Lieutenant."
He took off like a lightning bolt, and Eve closed her eyes, admitting that the headache scrambling in her temples wasn't going to vacate the premises without a chemical shove.
"You going to get grief over the bumper?" she asked him.
"The way these units get banged around? Nah." He angled over the corner at Eighteenth. "I shouldn't oughta've disrespected you, Lieutenant. This holiday traffic, it can turn you mean."
"Yeah." She dug out credits, slipped them through his pay slot. "We'll call it even."
"Appreciate it. Anyway, Merry freaking Christmas."
Her laugh was a little looser as she got out. "Same to you."
Pedestrian traffic was light in the sector that held crime labs and morgues and holding stations. Not a hell of a lot to buy, she mused as she jogged the half block over.
She turned into the ugly steel building that had been some idiot architect's vision of high-tech economy, crossed the soulless lobby, and went through the security arch.
The droid on duty nodded to her as she slapped her palm on the plate, recited her name, rank, code, and destination. Cleared, she took the glide down, and frowned when she saw the hallways and offices empty. Middle of the afternoon, middle of the week, she thought. Where the hell was everybody?
She cleared herself into the lab. And found a hell of a party going on.
Music blasted over wild laughter. Someone shoved a cup with a suspicious green fluid swimming inside it into her hand. A woman wearing nothing but a lab coat and microgoggles danced by. Eve managed to snag the sleeve of the coat and spin her back.
"Where's Dickie?"
"Oh, around and about. I gotta get me a refill."
"Here." Eve shoved the cup into her hand and worked her way through bodies and equipment. She spotted Dickie sitting on top of a sample table with his hand well up a drunk technician's skirt.
At least Eve assumed the tech was drunk. How else could she let those spidery fingers between her legs?