He chose what he wanted for his new home office, separated them.
“Take that bunch there.” Reinhold picked up one of the memo cubes he’d separated into his take pile. “Follow these instructions.”
He recited a shop name, an address.
“Get what you can for them. You should be able to handle it in one trip this time. Get cash. Just cash,” he repeated. “Whose property are you, Asshole?”
“I am the property of Anton Trevor, president and CEO of Trevor Dynamics.”
“Don’t you forget it. Get the cash, come back. No detours. We’ve got work to do.”
While the droid took care of business, Reinhold took another tour of the house. Maybe that picture frame was real silver. Maybe that fancy bowl was worth something. She had so much crap in the house, who knew if it was junk or sell-worthy?
He could probably take the bags of her clothes and get something for them, but he didn’t want to touch all those old-lady clothes again. Besides, he was rolling in it now, why bother with the small shit?
He had the equipment he wanted. The droid could box it up, transport it, set it up in the new place. Same with his clothes, and the suitcase full of stuff he’d have the droid sell over the next couple days.
Maybe he could scrape out more if he stayed a little longer, but all he could think about was getting into his new place, having the droid fix him a drink. Maybe he’d try a martini or something fancy like that. Drink it on the terrace.
He’d watch screen, have the droid fix him a big-ass dinner.
Now he had somebo
dy to wait on him that wouldn’t nag and bitch and try to make him feel worthless. Now he had somebody else on shit detail, and nobody to tell him to get a job, grow up, be responsible, do his work.
Fuck all of that. Fuck all of them.
Starting, he thought, with Ms. Farnsworth.
He’d considered how to do it. He liked the knife. He really enjoyed the way it felt when the blade went in, came out. But it was so damn messy, and he had nice clothes on.
He should buy some protective gear for down the road.
Same went for the bat. Blood and brains everywhere, and that was a rush. But he’d fuck up his clothes.
Definitely buying protective gear.
He could strangle her, but he kind of wanted to try something new. To expand his horizons. Wasn’t that one of her favorite things to say? Expand your horizons.
Yeah, he’d expand them on her. See how she liked it.
He got what he wanted, sauntered into the office.
She didn’t look so good. Or smell so good.
She’d pissed herself again, which surprised him. He hadn’t given her more than a couple sips of water all day, and no food.
He thought she maybe looked like she’d lost a couple pounds. The Jerry Reinhold Diet, he thought with a cackle that had her head snapping up.
No, make that the Anton Trevor Diet. New look, new digs, new name. New man.
“Hey, there!”
He didn’t see the dog; didn’t give Snuffy a thought. Out of sight, out of mind.
But he did see she’d been trying to get free. The tape around her right hand was looser, and she’d managed to drag her hand out about halfway up. The wrist that showed beyond the cord and tape looked like raw meat.
“Ouch!” He clucked his tongue, ticked his index finger back and forth. “But that’s what you get when you don’t listen to the rules. Where’d you think you were going to go if you got loose? What’d you think you were going to do? I mean, clue up, Ms. Farnsworth. I’m a lot smarter than you gave me credit for.”