In Death 29 - Kindred in Death

honking goose on her left shoulder.
    “Darian Powders? Where do I find him?”
    “Dar?” The girl flapped a hand behind her while giving Roarke a long, slow, smoldering study. “Straight back, last on the right. Door’s open. I’m over that way,” she said to Roarke, “if you’re interested.”
    “That’s an offer,” Roarke said pleasantly. “But I’ll be going this way.”
    “Bummed.”
    With a look more of wonder than annoyance, Eve watched the girl stroll off. “She completely eye-fucked you.”
    “I know. I feel so cheap and used.”
    “Shit. You got off on it. Men always do.”
    “True enough, which is why we’re so often cheap and used.”
    She snorted, then heading down the corridor glanced in rooms. She saw a jumble of possessions and people, smelled very old pizza and very fresh Zoner. Peace Day signs lay scattered among snoring bodies and bottles of brew, which were probably as illegal as the Zoner.
    “Does anyone actually study around here?”
    “The ones with the doors closed, I imagine.” Roarke shrugged. “And it being the end of a holiday weekend, I’d think most are still in the mode.” He looked as she did at a couple curled up together on the floor in front of a blasting vid screen. “Or simply unconscious.”
    Eve could only shake her head. “The droid’s useless, and they know it.”
    She stopped at the open door at the end of the corridor. Inside ten young people sprawled on big colorful floor pillows or slumped on a small red sofa. The source of the music here was a comp game blasting on screen. The two remaining people seemed to be dueling on stage. Their icons, outfitted in the pinnacle of trash rock gear, held guitars while their counterparts played the air version and sang at the top of their lungs.
    She considered shouting, but judged it a waste of air and effort. Instead she walked in and shoved her badge in front of one of the sprawlers.
    It was just a little disappointing that no one scrambled to conceal or dispose of illegals. The boy she badged, scooped a hank of red and black hair out of his eyes and said, “Whoa! What do?”
    “Turn it off.”
    “The what?”
    “Turn the game off.”
    He gave her saucer eyes. “But it’s like the final round, and dead heat. Dar could maybe lose his title.”
    “Heart bleeds. Turn it off.”
    “Whoa.” He scooped his hair again, then scooted over to the main controller to switch it manually. He used pause, which suited Eve. But the participants, and the audience who hadn’t seen the badge, went ballistic.
    “What the fuck? The fuck? Who did that?” The boy player—who Eve recognized as Darian—whirled around. He looked ready to bash someone with his invisible guitar. “I was about to take Luce down!”
    “Bogus.” Luce sniffed, tossing a yard of hair the white-blonde of bleached straw. “I had you. Totally under.”
    “Not this eon. Jesus, Coby, what?”
    “Got cop,” Coby said and jerked his head toward Eve.
    Slouchers and sprawlers came to attention. Darian shifted toward Eve, goggled a little. “Whoa. Seriously?”
    “Seriously. Darian Powders?”
    “Yeah, um, me!” He raised his hand. “If we’re too loud and like that, so’s everybody.”
    Eve saw, out of the corner of her eye, one of the sprawlers butt-scoot toward the door. She stopped him with a single finger point.
    “I’m not campus, I’m NYPSD. I have some questions.”
    Luce sidestepped to Darian, put her hand in one of his pockets in a way that told Eve they weren’t just game rivals, but involved. “You need a lawyer, Dar.”
    “What? Why? Why?”
    “When a cop asks questions, you should have a rep.”
    “I bet you’re a law student.”
    Luce looked at Eve out of eyes such a pale blue they looked like springwater. “Prelaw.”
    “Then why don’t you rep him on the first question. It’s an easy one. Darian, can you account for your whereabouts from six p.m. last night to four a.m. this morning?”
    “Well yeah. Come on, Luce, that is easy. A bunch of us went down to the Shore yesterday afternoon. What, about two maybe?”
    “About.” Luce kept those pale eyes on Eve. “We got back about seven.”
    “And we chowed at McGill’s, and hit a party at Gia’s. She’s got an off-campus group. Gia.” He gestured to a tiny brunette.
    “Um, I don’t know when he left, exactly, but it was pretty late. Or early, I guess,” Gia offered. “We started the Rock Your Ass tourney, and we were going till close to three. Close