“Vid and game. And it’s a really frosty set. It’s got every detail. Plus some that aren’t.” She gestured to a pair of worn white socks, an open bag of soy chips, two empty brew bottles. “Still, tidier than the woman.”
Eve repeated the routine, going room by room, absorbing.
Yes, she thought, she could see why they were friends. Though individual preferences came through, the overall focused on the same. Fun, games, and fantasy.
Like Bart, he kept a replica droid. Male, she noted.
“Name’s Alfred,” Feeney told her. “Butler to Bruce Wayne, confidant of the Dark Knight.”
She spun around. “What? The Dark Knight.”
“Batman, kid. Even you’ve heard of Batman.”
“Yeah, yeah, vigilante with psychotic tendencies who dresses up in a weird bat costume. Rich playboy by day, right?” She turned, frowned at the droid. “Hmm.”
“The Dark Knight’s an icon.” Feeney’s jabbed finger matched his tone. Insult. “And he uses those so-called psycho tendencies for good. Anyway, old Alfred here’s been shut down the last couple days. His basic programming is to clean the place, serve meals, greet guests. I’ll fine-tooth his memory board, but at a quick once-over, I don’t see anything hinky.”
Eve opened the fridge. “He’s out of beer.”
“You thirsty?”
“He’s been drinking. Sitting out there in his fantasy commander’s quarters drinking his brews.”
“Wouldn’t mind doing the same myself. He was just here.”
“Yeah, I saw him leave.”
“He tried to slip something out.”
“What?”
“A photograph. Had it in the bedroom, drawer by the bed. Trueheart caught it. The boy’s got it. He’s upstairs.”
She went up to where Trueheart continued to work on the master bedroom. The bed was made—halfheartedly. Two more empty bottles stood empty on the nightstand.
“Lieutenant.” In his uniform, the young, studly, and shy Trueheart looked fresh as spring grass in the crowded, cluttered room.
Eve glanced toward a large object draped in a colorful throw.
“It’s Mongo,” Trueheart told her. “A parrot. The subject covered his cage so he wouldn’t get too excited.”
Curious, Eve crossed over, lifted the throw. Inside, an enormous bird with wild feathers cocked his head and eyed her.
“Hi! How you doing? Want to play? Let me out of here. Want to play?”
“Jesus,” Eve muttered.
“Ben-nee!” Mongo called.
Eve dropped the throw.
“Dammit,” Mongo said clearly and with what sounded like true bitterness.
She turned away to see Trueheart grinning. “He was doing a lot of that when I came up. It’s pretty chill. He even asked me my name. Benny said he’s about thirty-five years old, and . . .” Trueheart paused, cleared his throat. “I agreed it was best to cover the cage so as not to excite the bird or distract from the search. The subject requested I uncover it when we’re done, as the bird enjoys the light. Sir.”
“Right. Where’s the photo he tried to get by you?”
“Here, sir.” Trueheart opened the drawer, removed it. “I checked it. It’s just a standard digital, standard frame. He was more embarrassed than mad when I caught him.”