down. “I’m licensed. I’m building a collection of blades, different levels, you get? Toys, props, and reals. I’m zeroed on reals today.”
“I get, but you’re still talking prop or toy with the zapper sword. I can get the Doom model, the Gezzo, Lord Wolf—like that, but the vid prop—and that’ll run ya. Or I can get you a deal on a repro. But there ain’t no real.”
“Underground says different.”
“Underground?” Razor snorted out a derisive laugh that made his silver nose ring shimmer. “You gotta wade through ten feet of bullshit just to see the underground.”
“The word I got is it’s a weapon featured in a new game, and they made reals so they could create the program.” He leaned a little closer. “I’ve got this friend of a friend thing, who worked in R&D at U-Play. Something hot’s coming, and this weapon features.”
Razor’s eyes tracked right and left. “Something hot’s coming,” he agreed. “I got friends of friends, too, and might be there’ll be a new line of weapons coming, too. But if there was a zapper sword, a real, I’d be the first. You can ask anybody in the game who knows what there is to know. They’ll say Razor.”
McNab pursed his lips, shoved a hand in one of his many pockets. “I don’t know why they’d string me on this. What’s hot is supposed to be, you know, fantastic.”
Razor held a hand up, lowered it. “Keep it down-low. Yeah, I got that word. But weapons are my thing, and there’s no word on what you’re talking about. Plenty of props, toys, models of that kind of thing, but no reals. It’s fantasy, man.”
McNab adjusted his face toward the dubious and disappointed. “How close are the models and props to reals?”
“I’ll show you one so close you’d swear you could slice your opponent in two, and leave the two pieces smoking.”
They spent another twenty minutes testing and discussing different swords. While all of them looked lethal, none of them could have caused more than a minor scratch, if that.
McNab ended up buying a toy replica of the three-bladed sword. “For my nephew,” he claimed. “He’ll get a charge. Listen, if you hear anything about what we were talking about before?” He scribbled down an e-mail contact. “Let me know.”
“Will do, but you’re chasing an urban legend, friend.”
“Or the wild goose,” McNab said to Peabody as they merged back into the crowd. “My gut says if anybody knows about this weapon, Razor knows.”
“My gut’s with yours. He figured you had the want and the means. If he could’ve brokered a sale, he’d’ve jumped. And if he knew about it, I think he’d have let it show. Ego, rep on the line. If it’s out there, it hasn’t hit the grapevine or the underground.”
“Maybe it’s military, top secret.”
“Think about it. Why would the military need swords? Any kind?”
“Gotta point. We hit the
egg of the wild goose on this, Peabody.”
“Yeah, but we did the job. I say we continue in character and head down two levels.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “Time to play like grown-ups.”
“She-body, you are so my girl.”
“You’re about to prove it.”
In New York, Eve wrote an updated report before running a new series of probabilities. Speculation, she thought, feelings, gut impressions. They were, to her mind, as much a part of police work as hard evidence.
She studied the results, let out a huh, then put her boots up on the desk, closed her eyes, and thought about it.
“Nice work if you can get it.”
She didn’t bother opening her eyes. She’d already heard the click of heels, the rhythm of them, and knew Nadine Furst, Channel 75’s ace on-air, and host of the wildly popular Now stood in her doorway.
“I don’t smell any doughnuts.”
“It’s middle of the afternoon. I used cookies.” She rattled the little box in her hand. “And saved you three—and it wasn’t easy.”
“What kind of cookies?”
“Mega chocolate chunk. I know you, don’t I?”