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“Is there somewhere we can talk, privately, that’s not the floor?” Eve asked.
“Ah.” Cill passed a hand over her face. “Break room. It’s up a level. I can
clear it. But we need Var. We need to hear it together before we . . . before we tell the others.” She turned, laid her brow against Benny’s. “I’ll clear it and get Var. Just give me a minute. Benny’ll bring you up.” She leaned back, took another breath before meeting Eve’s eyes again. “You do murders. I know that, and it means Bart was . . . Did they hurt him? Just tell me if they hurt him.”
“I can tell you I believe it was very quick.”
“Okay. Okay. You take them upstairs, Bens, and don’t say anything to anybody until we know what happened.” She cupped his face briefly. “Just hang on now.”
She rose, dashed out.
“What’s your function here, Benny?” Eve asked. “Yours, Cill’s, Var’s. What’s the pecking order?”
“On, ah, paper we’re like co-VPs. But Cill’s GID—Get It Done. I’m GTB—Go To Benny, and Var’s BS—Brainstorm. Everybody knows they can come to one of us or—or Bart if they have an idea or a problem.”
“And what was Bart’s unofficial title?”
“Triple B. Big Brain Boss.” His smile wobbled. “He’s always the smartest one in the room. I guess I should take you up.”
When they arrived, the wall screens were blank, the comps quiet, and the scatter of seats empty. Cill stood staring at one of the several vending machines. They offered fancy coffees, what appeared to be every soft drink on the planet, and a 24/7’s stock of snacks. Eve imagined the AutoChefs were as primed as Bart’s home units had been, and had a low-grade urge for pizza.
“I thought I wanted a power drink, because I always want a power drink,” Cill murmured. “But I don’t.” She turned around. “Var’s coming right up. I didn’t tell him why. I thought . . . anyway, do you want something? I can just use my pass.”
“We’re good, thanks,” Eve told her.
“You sit down, Benny.” Cill swiped her pass then selected a bottle of water. She pushed it on Benny. “Drink a little.”
She tended him, Eve thought. Not like a lover but a doting sister.
Cill went back to Vending, ordered up a coffee. “For Var,” she said. “He’ll want coffee.”
He came in fast, a stocky man of about thirty wearing the maxi-cargos McNab favored in an eye-friendly khaki, but his well-worn skids were the same stoplight red as his shirt. His brown hair capped short around a face hovering between pleasant and homely.
“Jeez, Cill, I told you I’m buried today. No time for breaks. And with Bart still off-line I’ve got five shitloads to shovel before I—”
“Var.” Cill passed him the coffee. “You need to sit down.”
“I need to move. Seriously. So make it quick and . . .” He noticed Eve and Peabody for the first time. “Sorry.” His face edged slightly closer to pleasant with his smile. “Didn’t know we had company. Are you the reps from Gameland? I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon. I’d have been a little more organized by then. Probably.”
“This is Lieutenant Dallas and . . .”
“Detective Peabody.”
“Yeah.” Cill took a deep breath, then closed the glass door. “They’re here about Bart.”
“Bart?” A quick laugh exploded. “What’d he do? Get drunk and jaywalk? Do we need to post bail?”
“Sit down, Var,” Cill murmured.
“Why? What?” Amusement faded. “Oh hell, oh shit, did he get mugged or something? Is he hurt? Is he okay?”
“We’re Homicide,” Eve said. “Bart Minnock’s been murdered.”
The coffee slipped out of Var’s hand and splashed over his bright red shoes. “What do you mean? What does that mean?”
“Sit down, Var.” Cill pulled him to a chair. “Just sit down. We’ll clean that up later.”
“But this is crazy. Bart can’t be . . . When? How?”
