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Annoyed with himself, he grabbed one at random, then another, then two more. Of course he knew what he wanted, what he would want. He just had so many things on his mind. Gaining entrance to the hotel, then to Eve’s rooms wasn’t a snap, after all. Not that it was beyond his reach, but it did take careful planning. Hardly a wonder he couldn’t decide on olives.
He took out his PPC, where he’d carefully noted down everything he’d need for his special meal. Calmer now, he continued to browse. Everything was so much better when it was noted down, organized.
He studied the little berry tomatoes for a long time.
“Something’s going on at the Gold Door.”
McQueen came out of what felt like a trance. “What did you say?”
“Cops.”
He jerked, fumbled, and nearly dropped his basket. With his head swiveling from side to side, he prepared to run.
Then he saw the stock boy talking to another one of the staff.
“Cops at that place?” the stock boy snickered. “What, did somebody trip over their money and fall out the window?”
“Maybe bigger. I had a delivery over there. When I came out I see this cop.”
“So. Cops are everywhere except when you want them.”
“You took your cynical pill this morning. Not just a cop, a detective, and he must’ve been undercover.”
“Then how do you know he’s a detective?”
“Because I know him. Detective Buck Anderson. He came in to talk to my criminology class a couple weeks ago. He’s pretty chill, man, made me think about being a cop.”
This time a snicker and a snort from the stock boy. “As if.”
“I’d be a mag cop. I spotted an undercover detective, right? He’s sitting on the wall over there, jeans and a T-shirt, sunshades, but I recognized him.”
“Maybe it’s his day off.”
“No way, ’cause when I said hi to him, he acted like he didn’t know me. I talked to him after class for like twenty minutes. He gave me his card and everything. Like I said, he was chill, but he said I had it wrong. ‘Do I look like a cop,’ he says to me, and tells me to get lost.”
“Big whoop, Radowski. It probably wasn’t even him. And so what if it was?”
“It was him. I bet he’s on a stakeout or something. I bet we’re going to hear something big goes down at the Gold Door.”
Very carefully, McQueen set the basket aside. He fixed on a smile, strolled up to the two young men. “Excuse me, did I hear you mention the Gold Door? The police? I have a friend who lives there. I hope there’s no trouble.”
“I don’t know, sir. I just thought I saw somebody I knew.” The smile didn’t go with the fury in the man’s eyes, so the delivery boy edged away. “I have to get back to work.”
The stock boy turned to McQueen. “Can I help you find anything, sir?”
“No. No, you can’t.” McQueen stormed out, shoving past a couple just coming in, then walked quickly in the opposite direction from the Gold Door and his perfect apartment.
Eve blocked out the bored chatter, stayed inside her own head, her own thoughts. An hour into the wait, Roarke spoke in her ear.
“McQueen’s made contact again. He wants to talk to you.”
Something up, something wrong, she thought. “Hold him. Keep that sweep going. I don’t want to hear a sound from anybody in here. Can you track him?” she asked Roarke
“Possibly. It’s more difficult on these mobile units.”
“Try to pin him. Link us up, block the vide
o.”
