“Fictional, Peabody. He may be a dick in reality, which is why you’re going to run him.”
“She’s staying up late doing his assignments while he’s laughing behind her back and cruising with that little bitch Jade Potts.”
“Peabody.” Eve climbed into the car. “You’re going to have to get over it.”
“I had a crush on a guy like that when I was fifteen.” Peabody yanked out her PPC. “You never get over it.”
Eve let Peabody stew while she drove to Knight’s Midtown studio.
After a small parking nightmare, they joined the hordes crowded into the pedestrian walkway. Tourists bagging souvenirs or taking pictures, hanging over the rail to watch the skaters.
And presenting prime targets for street thieves.
Though she resented the time, Eve tripped one, sent him sprawling seconds after he’d lifted a purse stupidly left hanging from one of those baby-pushers while his partner neatly picked the wallet out of the probable father’s rear pocket because he was so busy taking a home vid.
“Hold him,” Eve ordered. “Call for a couple of beat droids.”
Then, as Peabody quickly put a boot on the fallen thief’s back, Eve fast walked after the partner, who strolled along projecting innocence.
Two arm spans away, Eve saw the body language change, go on alert. Communication, she thought, cursed as the thief broke into a sprint.
Fast, she’s fast, Eve concluded as the thief poured it on, bowling down pedestrians. Fast, Eve thought again as she leaped over a man who’d gone down flat on his back.
But Eve was faster.
She considered a tackle, opted to snag the thief by the collar of her coat. The thief was nearly quick and agile enough to spin right out of it, but Eve whipped her around, tangling her in her own coat.
The girl—she couldn’t have been much more than sixteen—gave Eve one fierce look. Then her eyes filled with tears and fears.
“Help! Help! She’s hurting me.”
“Hey, lady—” The first Good Samaritan pushed forward.
“NYPSD.”
“She’s lying! She’s trying to kidnap me!”
The Samaritan firmed an iron jaw. “You’re going to want to let her go.”
And with a crowd moving in, he grabbed Eve’s arm.
“Sorry,” Eve said, before she kneed him hard in the groin, sending him down. “NYPSD! I’m the police.”
“Help! Oh, please, somebody help me!”
“You’re good,” Eve told her as the young thief screamed and wriggled. “I’m better.”
She managed to get out her badge and hold it up. She didn’t think it made her any friends while she manhandled a pretty, petite teenager, but most backed off.
Once she muscled the kid to her knees, worked on the restraints, she opened the girl’s coat to reveal the loot pockets inside.
And the wrist units and wallets in them.
The Good Samaritan, still wheezing, stared at one of the wrist units Eve held out as proof.
“I … That’s mine!” He looked down at his naked wrist, at the one in Eve’s hand, at the girl now wearing a defiant smirk.