In Death 18 - Divided in Death

messenger droid were only a blur as he cut through the light on the yellow, and kept jetting.
    She heard snatches of conversations as she walked—bits and pieces of sexual, shopping, or business escapades—all delivered with the same passion.
    A licensed beggar squatted on a rag of blanket and played a mournful tune on a rusty flute. A woman with a python bag and matching boots glided out of a shop trailed by a uniformed droid carting several glossy bags. She slid into a shiny black limo.
    Eve doubted she’d heard the flute—she’d bet the beggar wasn’t even on her plane of existence. People didn’t pay enough attention, she decided, and tossed a couple of credits into the beggar’s box as she passed by.
    The city was awash with color and sound and energy, with petty meanness and careless kindnesses. She didn’t pay enough attention. She loved it, but she rarely looked at it.
    And if that was some sort of subconscious metaphor for her marriage, it was time to ditch the rest of the soy dog and get back to work.
    She saw the bump and snatch. The man in the suit, carrying a briefcase who crossed toward the curb to hail a cab. The boy of about twelve who bumped against him, the quick exchange of words.
    Watch it, kid.
    Sorry, mister.
    And the fast hands, very fast, very light, that nipped into the pocket of the suit and palmed the wallet.
    Still munching her soy dog, she strode toward them just as the boy turned to melt into the crowd. She caught him by the collar.
    “Hold on,” she said to the suit.
    He sent her a look of irritation as the boy struggled against her hold. “I’m in a hurry.”
    “You’re going to have a hard time paying for that ride without your wallet,” Eve told him.
    Instinctively he patted his pocket, then whirled. “What the hell is this? Give me back my wallet, you little bastard. I’m calling the cops.”
    “I am a cop, so just throttle back. Hands off,” she snapped when he started to reach for the boy. “Give it over, ace.”
    “Don’t know what you’re talking about. Lemme go. My ma’s waiting.”
    “Whoever’s waiting missed the pass, so give me this man’s wallet and let’s call it a day. You’re good,” she said studying his soft, lightly freckled face. “Not only look harmless, but you’ve got good hands. Slick and smooth. If I hadn’t been right here, you’d have gotten away clean.”
    “Officer, I want this delinquent arrested.”
    “Give it a rest.” Eve reached into the goodie pouch inside the boy’s jacket, pulled out a billfold. Flipped it open and read the ID. “Marcus.” She tossed him the wallet. “You’ve got your property back. No harm, no foul.”
    “He belongs in jail.”
    She had a strong hold on the boy now, and felt him tremble. She thought of Roarke running the streets of Dublin, picking pockets and going home with his take to a father who’d likely beat him no matter what the day’s work had brought in.
    “Fine. Let’s all go downtown and spend the next couple of hours filling out forms.”
    “I don’t have time—”
    “Then you’d better catch that cab.”
    “It’s hardly a wonder the city is overrun with crime when the police treat law-abiding citizens with such disdain.”
    “Yeah, that must be the reason,” she replied as he climbed into the cab, slammed the door. “And you’re welcome, sunshine.”
    She hauled the kid around, studied his young, angry face. “Name, and don’t bother to lie, just give me the first name.”
    “Billy.”
    She saw it was a lie, but let it pass. “Okay, Billy, like I said, you’re good. But not that good. Next time you’re going to get caught by somebody without my mushy compassionate nature and winning personality.”
    “Shit.” But he grinned a little.
    “Ever been in juvie?”
    “Maybe.”
    “If you have, you know it sucks. Food’s lousy and they lecture you every damn day, which is worse. You got a problem at home, or wherever, need some help, you call this number.”
    She dragged a card out of her pocket.
    “Dufus? What the hell is that?”
    “Duchas. It’s a shelter. Hell of a lot better than juvie,” she said when he sneered. “You can tell them Dallas sent you.”
    “Yeah, sure.”
    “Put it in your pocket. Don’t throw it away until you’re out of sight at least. No point in insulting me after I kept your ass out of lockup.”
    “You hadn’t caught me, I’d have the wallet.”
    Smartass, she thought. God, she had a weakness for a smartass. “Well,