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Peabody narrowed her eyes. “What do you know about geek skanks? And who’s here because they do know?”
“Point taken, so never mind. I’m on my way back to Central.
Report, Detective Skank.”
“Ha-ha-ha.” Peabody sniffed. “We haven’t been here long, so we’re still feeling our way. But we just had a nice talk with one of the reps at the U-Play booth. They’ve got it draped in black, got a big picture of Bart—and they’re running a discount on for-sale merchandise due to death. Business is brisk.”
“Death sale? Interesting. I wonder whose brainchild that was.”
“We’re heading up to Weapons now. The rep gave us a contact.”
“Good. Let me know if you get a hit. How many times have you stopped to play games?”
“Not once. I swear.”
“Well, play something, for Christ’s sake. You’re supposed to be players. You can’t blend by skank alone.”
“You know, I’m starting to take the skank as a compliment. Game play’s on the slate.”
“And get back here asap. Feeney’s bitching about losing his boy.”
“We’re—” Peabody blew out a breath as Eve broke transmission. “Do I look like a skanky geek or a geeky skank?”
“If those are my only two choices, I abstain. I think you look like my one and only She-body, supreme.”
“That’s a really good answer.” She grabbed his hand, and continued to the third level. “Anyway, we’re supposed to get a hit, play games, and get back asap.”
But McNab didn’t respond. He stood, dazzled, circling slowly.
Blasters, battle-axes, peacemakers, swords, sabers, lightning discs, and more and more. Some shined, some glowed, some shimmered at the edges—and many did so behind security glass and lock.
Peabody snapped her fingers under his nose.
He blinked, grinned. “Just staying in character.”
“You’re a character all right. What is it about things that maim, hack, and kill?”
“I like things that blast better.” He made a credible blasting noise and grinned again. “But today, I’m all about the sword. Let’s find Razor.”
It took nearly an hour, but Peabody didn’t have the heart to rush him. Plus, he unquestionably looked like a geek mesmerized by weapons, which was part of the point. He talked the talk with any number of attendees, collectors, reps—and got points for remembering he was supposed to be a sword guy rather than a blaster guy.
She left him long enough to go to Vending for a couple of fizzies. When she came back he stood holding a mean three-bladed weapon that sizzled with zagging red lights as he turned it.
“Hey, baby, check it out! Master’s tri-sword from Edge of Doom. It’s one of the originals used in the vid.”
“I thought you had that already?”
“No, no, you’re thinking of the trident from Poseidon’s Rage.”
“Okay.” She handed him the fizzy.
“This is my Dee-Light,” he said with a wink at the short, stocky man with a gleaming head adorned with tattoos. “This is Razor.”
“Right. The rep downstairs said you were the man.”
“Weapons rule, and I rule the weapons.” He gestured toward the trisword in a way that made the snake tattoo from his knuckles to elbow seem to slither. “Only four of those in existence, and only two still on the market. Plenty of replicas, sure, but this is the real deal. You get a certificate of authenticity with it.”
“It’s way tight.” McNab moved into a warrior stance. “Way,” he said again. “I’m going to keep it in reserve. What I’m really after is a single blade. Zapper broadsword. The real, real deal.” He set the tri-sword
