CHAPTER TWENTY

They went by to see Trueheart first. At Peabody's insistence, they stopped off in the shopping mall for a get-well gift.

"It'll take five minutes."

"We've chipped in on the flowers already." The forest of goods, the wide and winding trails that led to them, and the chirpy voices announcing the sales and specials caused Eve's already abused stomach to execute a slow, anxious roll.

She'd rather have gone hand-to-hand with a three-hundred-pound violent tendency than be swallowed up in a consumer sea.

"That's from everyone," Peabody explained patiently. "This'll be from us."

Despite herself, Eve stopped at a display of dull green surgical scrubs brightly emblazoned with the hospital's logo. For ten bucks extra, you could have one splattered with what appeared to be arterial blood.

"It's a sick world. Just sick."

"We're not going for the souvenirs." Though she thought the oversized anal probes were kind of a hoot. "When a guy's in the hospital, he wants toys."

"When a guy gets a splinter in his toe, he wants toys," Eve complained but followed Peabody into a game shop and resigned herself to having her senses battered by the beeps, crashes, roars, and blasts.

Here, according to the flashing signs, you could choose from over ten thousand selections for your entertainment, leisure, or educational desires. From sports to quantum physics programs and everything in between, you had only to key in the topic of your interest and the animated map, or one of the fully trained and friendly game partners, would direct you to the correct area.

The store menu pumped out screaming yellow light. Eve felt her eyes cross.

The clear tubes of the sample booths were all loaded with people trying out demos. Others trolled the store proper, their faces bright with avarice or blank from sensory overload.

"Don't these people have jobs?" Eve wondered.

"We hit lunch hour."

"Well, lucky us."

Peabody made a beeline for the combat section. "Hand-to-hand," she decided. "It'll make him feel in control. Wow, look! It's the new Super Street Fighter. It's supposed to be majorly mag." She flipped the anti-theft box over, winced a little at the price, then noted the manufacturer.

"Roarke Industries. We oughta get a discount or something. Oh well, it's not so bad when you split it." She headed toward the auto-express checkout, glanced back at Eve. "I guess Roarke's got a whole factory full of these, huh?"

"Probably." Eve pulled out her credit card, swiped it through the scanner, pressed her thumb to the identi-plate.

Thank you for your purchase, Eve Dallas. One moment, please, while your credit is verified.

"I'll give you my half on payday, okay?"

"Yeah, whatever. Why do these things take so long?"

Thank you for waiting, Eve Dallas. The cost of your selection, Super Street Fighter, PPC version, comes to one hundred and sixteen dollars and fifty-eight cents, including all applicable taxes. Due to Authorization One, your account will not be debited for this selection. Please enjoy your day.

"What the hell are you talking about? What's Authorization One?"

Authorization One, Roarke Industries. This level entitles you to select any items under this manufacturer's brand at no cost.

"Wow. We can clean house." Peabody turned her dazzled eyes to the shelves crammed with delights. "Can I get one of these?"

"Shut up, Peabody. Look, I'm paying for this," she told the machine. "So just bypass Authorization One and debit my account."

Unable to comply. Would you care to make another selection?

"Damn it." She shoved the game at Peabody. "He's not getting away with this."

Peabody had the wit to run the box through security release, then jogged to catch up with Eve. "Listen, since we're here anyway, couldn't I just have one – "

"No."

"But – "

"No." Eve gave the glide one quick, bad-tempered kick, then got on to ride to medical level.

"Most women would be happy if their husbands gave them blank shopping credit."

"I'm not most women."

Peabody rolled her eyes. "You're telling me."

Peabody might have sulked over the loss of her own imaginary game collection, but Trueheart's pleasure in the gift outweighed greed.

"This is great. It just came out."

He turned the box over in his good hand. His other arm was cased in a plasti-cast to knit the bone that had snapped in his fall.

There was a collar of the same material around his neck, an IV drip in his wrist, and a brutal bruise that crept over his shoulder and showed purple and black against the sagging neck of his hospital shift. His left leg was slightly elevated, and Eve remembered how his blood had pumped out of the gash there and onto her hands.

Machines hummed around him.

All Eve could think was if she were in his place, she wouldn't be so damn cheerful.

She left the small talk and conversation to Peabody. She never knew what to say to hospital patients.

"I don't remember much after I took the hit." He shifted his eyes to Eve. "Commander Whitney said we got him."

"Yeah." This, at least, was her element. "You got him. He's down on the next patient level. We'll be questioning him after we leave here. You did the job, Trueheart. He might have gotten by us if you hadn't reacted fast and taken him down."

"The commander said you put me up for a commendation."

"Like I said, you did the job."

"I didn't do much." He shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. "I would have taken him down clean if that trigger-happy asshole transit jerk hadn't blasted off."

"That's the spirit. The trigger-happy asshole and his moronic superior are going to get kicked around plenty."

"Wouldn't have happened if they'd listened to you. You had it under control."

"If I'd had it under control, you wouldn't be here. You took a mean hit and a bad fall. If you're feeling shaky over it, you should see the department counselor."

"I'm feeling okay about it. I want to get back in uniform, back on the job. I was hoping, when you close the case, you'd let me know the details."

"Sure."

"Ah, Lieutenant, I know you've got to get going, but I just wanted to say… I know you saw my mother the other night."

"Yeah, we ran into each other. She's a nice woman."

"Isn't she great?" His face lit up. "She's the best. My old man ditched us when I was a kid, so we've always, you know, taken care of each other. Anyway, she told me how you hung around, waited until I was out of surgery and all."

"You went down under my watch." Your blood was on my hands, she thought.

"Well, it meant a lot to her that you were here. I just wanted to tell you that. So thanks."

"Just stay out of laser streams," she advised.

Down on the next level, Kenneth Stiles stirred in his bed, glanced toward the nurse who checked his monitors. "I want to confess."

She turned to him, smile bright and professional. "So, you're awake, Mr. Stiles. You should take some nutrition now."

He'd been awake for a considerable amount of time. And thinking. "I want to confess," he repeated.

She walked to the side of the bed to pat his hand. "Do you want a priest?"

"No." He turned his hand over, gripped hers with a strength she wasn't expecting. "Dallas. Lieutenant Dallas. Tell her I confess."

"You don't want to get overexcited."

"Find Lieutenant Dallas, and tell her."

"All right, don't worry. But in the meantime, you should rest. You took a nasty fall."

She smoothed his sheets, satisfied when he settled, closed his eyes. "I'll go see about your nutrition requirements."

She notated his chart and slipped out. She paused by the uniformed guard at the door. "He's awake."