Page 118 of Thankless in Death

Holiday time, she reminded herself, the start of the insane Christmas shopping season. Tourists, slap-happy with a vacation or trip to New York, swarmed what they considered bargains like ants on sugar.

Early setup, she supposed, to take advantage of that change of usual patterns, that break in routines.

Routines, she thought, straightening in her seat. Reinhold was breaking them—reaching for more upscale with food, clothes, accommodations. But routines were routines for a reason.

Wouldn’t he have a favorite arcade? He liked games. A favorite club, pizza joint? Sports? Baseball was out given the season, but did he have a favorite Arena Ball team—football, basketball, hockey?

He could afford tickets now. He could afford courtside, fifty-yard line. Box seats.

Vids, music, hot clubs—what was trending right now?

Struck, she tagged Mal Golde on her in-dash ’link.

“Ah, hey, Lieutenant.”

She saw from the droopy eyes, the tousled hair, she’d either woken him or he’d put in a rough night. Maybe both.

“Questions. Neighborhood pizza joint, the one Reinhold favors.”

“Vinnie’s, sure. It’s always Vinnie’s.”

“What’s he get—routinely.”

“Ah... Sorry,” he said as he scrubbed his hands over his face. “Didn’t get much sleep. Um... pepperoni, onions, mushrooms, green peppers.”

“Okay. Favorite sports teams.”

“Yankees, all the way. We used to go around ’cause I’m a Mets fan, and—”

“Not baseball. Arena Ball, football, basketball. Something in season.”

“Football—Giants. Dug-in Giants fan. He’s not big on Arena or roundball.”

“Okay. Hangouts. Arcades, clubs, delis, whatever.”

“We’d mostly hit Jangles, in Times Square. It’s worth the ride, then maybe grab a brew if we were flush enough at Tap It—it’s right on Broadway between Forty-fifth and Forty-sixth. Jangles has tourneys. Jerry always scraped up the scratch to enter. He nearly won once, too, but Bruno nipped him out. Pissed Jerry off big.”

“Bruno who?”

“Oh.” Mal’s eyes widened, his face paled. “God, I didn’t think of him before. I don’t know his name. Bruno’s his game tag. Big guy, just a kid though. Maybe eighteen. Freaking game wizard.”

“Anything else you can think of? Routines, favorites, usuals.”

“Pistachio float from Gregman’s—a neighborhood place. He’s been hooked on them since we were kids. Oh, and um, Lucille.” He glanced around, lowered his voice. “I didn’t think of her before either. If I so much as think of an LC with Ma in the room, she’ll know it. She’s got that power.”

Having met his mother, Eve didn’t doubt it.

“He frequents an LC named Lucille?”

“Well, see, all of us did. She’d— This is embarrassing.”

“Murder trumps embarrassment.”

“Yeah. Yeah, it does. See, she used to give us a group rate on bjs—me, Jerry, Joe, Dave. Back when we were sixteen, seventeen, like that. Jerry, and look I didn’t know about this until after, but you don’t rat out your friends anyway. He stole some money from his mother, and paid Lucille for a full ride. I think, I’m pretty sure, it was his first. Like when he was around eighteen. I know Joe ragged on him some about being a virgin, and Jerry said how Lucille had done him, all the way.”

“You all still hire her?”

“No. Man.” His ears went a little pink, and he took another wary glance behind him. “I don’t. And Dave doesn’t, not that I know of. But I’m pretty sure Joe and Jerry still see her sometimes.”

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