Page 124 of Thankless in Death

Taking a look at the screen himself, Baxter nodded. “Yeah, City Lights—I got my bedroom lamps there. And... Urban Spaces. I got my couch, a couple of chairs, and a floor cabinet there.”

So shit, guys did spend all that time and effort. “How long did it take you to furnish your digs?”

“Who says I’m done?” He smiled again. “To get it where I want it—for now anyway—six, seven months.”

Thinking back, she remembered furnishing her apartment in about a day and a half. “He’s not that patient.” Or, she calculated, as fussy or discerning as Baxter. “He wants it now. All of it.”

“Then he needs to go to more full-service, at least for the bulk.”

“He’s got a bum foot, so I figure he’s going to check out his options online.”

“Well, that opens the world, but if he really wants it now, he’d stick local.” Baxter scanned the screen again. “He’d look for a place with same-day delivery maybe, or delivery within twenty-four. Like that.”

“I’m thinking yeah. Okay, cut out the specialty shops, for now, go full-service, stick local, quick delivery. Thanks.”

“Anytime.” He slipped his shades back on, strolled out.

She started making contacts herself, switching from full-service furnishings—a much smaller list—to gourmet markets when the computer spat that out. Then back again.

She juggled in conversations with building security and/or management. And had batted zero when Peabody poked in.

“I hit on the pizza.”

Her gradually-going-pissy mood jumped high. “Jesus, for a pie? Where is he?”

“Not that big a hit. But Vinnie’s sold a droid—matching the description of ours—the pie last night. It’s a different guy on the counter now, but the manager checked the discs for me.”

“I want a copy.”

“Already sent and copied.” Peabody handed it over.

“Did he call in the order?”

“No, the droid came in and ordered.”

“What time did the droid get the pizza?”

“Time stamp’s twenty-three-twenty-one on the order.”

“Nighttime hungries,” Eve mused. “Check on cabs—dropoffs, pickups at the pizzeria.”

“Already got that in.”

Eve ordered the pizzeria onto the map.

“I’m betting no cab, but if I’m wrong, we got really lucky.” Frowning at the map, she picked up the closest subway stations. “Mass transit’s possible, but still probably not. Not that he’d have a problem sending the droid on a mile hike to get a pizza, but I’m going with reasonable walking distance. You want pizza after eleven at night, you don’t want to wait a damn hour or more.

“Routines,” she thought aloud again. “Habits, favorites. He’s got a place close by what he knows. No other way.” It justified the time she’d spent on the damn map, and real estate, furniture.

“Okay, I’m going to generate another map, using the pizza joint as the bull’s-eye. Try a ten-block perimeter around it. It’s going to cut the options down more. And I want pictures of the morph, and of the stolen droid at every shop in this sector, every diner, market, restaurant, glide-cart, street vendor. I want them in the hands of every beat cop, street LC, sidewalk sleeper, and illegals dealer.”

“That’ll be a trick.”

“I’ll squeeze a couple thousand out of the budget for a reward—information leading to capture. And yeah, look pained because we’re going to get a few million bogus sightings, but Reinhold’s here, and even saying he’s got the plushest of plush new digs, he’s going to want to get out and about. He has to live, right, and he’s damn well going to go after his next target sooner rather than later. Local clinics, too, in case he hits one for more pain meds. Get it done.”

“Getting it done.”

Eve turned back to the screen. “Okay, you bastard, let’s figure this out.”

---