“How come the detectives and uniforms in this division have better equipment than I do? I’m the boss.”
“You know, there’s a theory that some people have a kind of mechanical . . .” The term deficiency sprang to Peabody’s mind, but she was too concerned with her own health and safety to speak it. “Like an infection or something. And it affects the machines they operate.”
“That’s bullshit. I don’t have any trouble with my home equipment.”
“Just a theory,” Peabody said, and hunched her shoulders. “Do you have to lurk there while this is running?”
“I have to lurk somewhere.” Disgusted, Eve strode out. She’d get a tube of Pepsi, that’s what she’d do. She’d cool off with a drink, then go back and hassle McNab.
She wanted to sit in her own damn office and do her own damn job. Was that too much to ask?
She approached a vending machine, then just stood there, staring at it resentfully. It would probably spit the Pepsi all over her, or send her some health drink just for spite.
“Hey, you.” She signaled to a passing uniform, then dug out credits.
“Get me a tube of Pepsi.”
The uniform looked down at the credits Eve dumped in her hand. “Ah, sure, Lieutenant.”
The credits were plugged in; the machine responded with a cheerful and polite announcement of the selection and its contents. The tube slid quietly out of the slot.
“Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
Satisfied, Eve drank as she walked back toward the bull pen. That’s how she’d handle this deal, she decided. She’d have other people screw with the machines whenever possible. She was rank, after all. She was supposed to delegate.
“Lieutenant?” McNab signaled her, and though she tried not to see it, watched him purse his lips toward Peabody.
“No kissy faces in Homicide, Detective. Is my unit up and running?”
“Good news, bad news. How about the bad first?” He gave her a come-with-me head signal and went back to her office. “Bad news. You got a dink system here.”
“It was working fine before.”
“Yeah, well, see it’s got some internal problems. That’s the easiest way to explain it. Some of its guts, we’ll say, were designed with planned obsolescence in mind. Only so many operating hours before they start to fail.”
“Why would anybody build something that’s programmed to fail?”
“So they can sell new ones?” Because she looked like she needed it, he risked patting her shoulder. “Administration and Requisitions buy cheap most times, I guess.”
“Bastards.”
“Absolutely. But the good news is I’ve got it up for you. Replaced some things. It’s not going to last more than a few days the way you use it. But I can get my hands on some parts. I’ve got connections. I can basically rebuild it for you. Meanwhile, if you could try not to smack it around, it should hold.”
“Okay, thanks. I appreciate the quick work.”
“No prob. I’m a genius. See you tomorrow night, right?”
“Tomorrow night?”
“Dinner? Louise and Charles?”
“Right. Right. Don’t blow kisses in my bull pen,” she called when he pranced out.
She sat, drank Pepsi, and stared at the machine. Dared it to give her trouble. Since Peabody was running Manhattan, Eve decided to expand to the Bronx for gyms.
The machine responded to her search request as if nothing had ever happened between them. It gave her enough confidence to turn her back on it while the search ensued, and study her board.