Strangers in Death (In Death #26)(40)

“You got better?”

“I ain’t got ride, but I know crap. How come top bitch cop has a crap ride?”

“This is a question I ask myself daily. You got a name?”

“You got one?”

She had the oddest feeling she amused him. “Lieutenant Dallas.”

“What kinda name’s Loo-tenit?”

“It’s rank. It’s my rank.”

“I don’t got no rank, don’t got no ride.”

“Name, kid, or the adventure stops here.”

“Tiko.”

“Okay, Tiko, where are we going?”

He put on what Eve supposed was his enigmatic face. “Maybe we cruise over round Times Square.”

She drove out of the garage, wedged into traffic. “What’s in the case this time?”

“I got me the cashmere scarves and matching caps. How come you don’t wear no cap? Heat falls out the top of your head you don’t wear a cap.”

“How come you’re not wearing one?”

“Sold it.” He grinned at her. “I’m a selling fool.”

“As a selling fool, Tiko, why did you haul yourself and that case all the way down to Central to tell me about the drop?”

“I didn’t drop nothing.”

Not as streetwise as he appeared, she decided. “About the suspicious activities.”

“I don’t like suspicious activities round my yard. I got business. Somebody steals wallets and shit, then people don’t have the money to buy my scarves and caps and pretty soon in good weather my one hundred percent silk scarves and ties.”

Since it made perfect sense, Eve nodded. “Okay, why not tell one of the uniforms on the beat?”

“Why do that when I gotta line on the top bitch?”

Tough to find a hole in his logic, Eve decided. “You got digs, Tiko?”

“I got digs, don’t you worry. Maybe you turn on Forty-fourth, and dump the ride there. Anybody knows anything sees this crap ride, makes it for a cop’s.”

Once again, he had it nailed. She cut over, shoving her way crosstown. Maybe the kid was lucky, but she scored a second-level street spot between Seventh and Eighth.

“You got your weapon and shit, right?” he asked as they started to hoof it through the throng and east toward Broadway.

“I got my weapon and shit. Is this place on the west or east side of Broadway?”

“East. I got my yard on the west side, work it from Forty-second right on up to Forty-seventh. But I can stay mostly round Forty-fourth. Place is ’tween Forty-third and Forty-fourth, right on Broadway. He gonna be coming along pretty soon now.”

“Here’s how it’s going to work. You’re going to go on ahead, set up in your usual spot. I’ll come along, take a look at your merchandise. You see this guy, you point him out—without pointing, get me? I’ll take it from there.”

Excitement danced in his eyes. “Like I’m undercover.”

“Yeah, that’s it. Scram.”

He scrammed, short, sturdy legs pumping, huge suitcase bumping. Eve pulled out her communicator and called for a couple of uniforms. When Eve turned the corner onto Broadway, Tiko had his convertible case unfolded and set on its tripod legs. It didn’t surprise her in the least to see he already had a couple of customers.

Broadway’s perpetual party rocked with its flashing lights, skyscraping screens, and billboards. Whole platoons of teenagers filled the sidewalks, zipping on airboards, cruising on skates, or clomping on the current trend of three-inch, gel-soled boots. On their corners, the carts did business zippily, passing out dogs, pretzels, kabobs, scoops of fries or hash, and all manner of liquid refreshment.

Tourists gawked at the colors, the ad blimps, the arcades, and the sex shops, which also did business zippily. Most of those tourists, in Eve’s opinion, might have been wearing a neon sign with a blinking arrow pointing at their pockets.

PICK ME.

She sidled up to Tiko’s table, and he gave her an exaggerated eyebrow wiggle. “Hundred percent cashmere. Scarves and caps. Got a special price today you buy a set.”

“What’s so special about it?”

He grinned. “Hundred for the set. Usually it cost you $125. Charge you five times that easy in the store. This here striped one—He’s coming now.” Tiko dropped his voice to a dramatic whisper, as if his words might carry through the avalanche of noise and across the street. “Red shopping bag. See him—”

“Don’t point.”

Eve glanced casually over her shoulder. She saw the red bag, and the tall, gangly man in a gray field jacket and black watch cap.

“You gotta go get him. Hundred dollars for the set,” Tiko said to a woman who stopped to browse his stock. “Today only. You go on and get him.”

Where the hell were her uniforms? “I got cops coming.”

“ Youa cop.”

“I’ll take these,” the woman said, digging out her wallet.

Tiko grabbed a clear plastic bag. “He’s gonna go in!”

“I’m Homicide. Is there a dead body in there?”

“How do I know?” He managed to bag the cap and scarf, take the money, make change, and stare holes through Eve.

“Crap. You stay here. You stay exactly here.”