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“I figure sometime in the next decade if we’re lucky, into the fourth mille
They sat in brooding silence for a moment, then eyed each other.
“You talk to her,” Roarke said.
“Oh no, I’m not married to her.”
“I’m not a cop.”
“It’s your setup here.”
“It’s an NYPSD investigation.”
“Like that means a damn to you. Okay, okay.” Feeney waved a hand before Roarke could speak again. “Let’s settle this like men.”
“Want to arm wrestle?”
Feeney let out a snort, then dug into his pocket. “We’ll flip a coin. You call it.”
Eve heard what sounded like flutes. For a moment she saw herself ru
She woke with a start and said: “Gak.”
“Wow, Dallas, you were really out.”
Blinking, Eve focused on the figure spread out on the table beside her. She thought it was Mavis. It sounded like Mavis, but it was tough to make a positive ID when the form was covered with hot pink from shoulders to toes, the face coated with electric blue, and the hair plastered down with a mix of green, red, and purple.
She’d have said gak again, but it seemed redundant.
“You didn’t drool or anything,” Mavis assured her. “In case you were worried.”
“Let out a couple of sex moans.” Trina’s voice came from somewhere near her feet, and Eve froze.
“What are you doing?”
“My job. You’re all rinsed off. Blissed right through that part. Got your derma revitalizer rubbed in. Your man’s going to like this one. Going to finish up with your hair and face after I do your feet.”
“Do what to my feet?” Gingerly, Eve boosted herself on her elbows and looked down. “Oh my God! God almighty! You painted my toes.”
“Just a delux ped. It’s not a satanic ritual.”
“My toes are pink.”
“Yeah, I went conservative with you. Sun-kissed Coral. Nice with your skin tone. Your feet were a disgrace,” Trina added as she sprayed on sealer. “Good thing you were under VR while I was working on them.”
“How come she’s not under?” Eve demanded, pointing at Mavis.
“I get more out of it if I’m aware of the treatments. I like getting souped and rubbed and scrubbed down and painted. It’s the ult of ults for me. You hate it.”
“Mavis. If you know I hate it, why do you make me do this?”
Mavis smiled an electric blue smile. “’Cause it’s fun.”
Eve lifted a hand to rub her face, then gaped in shock as she saw her nails. “You painted my fingers. People will see them.”
“Neutral French job.” Trina walked back up, slid a finger over one of Eve’s eyebrows. “Need trimming. You oughta chill, Dallas.”
“Do you understand that I’m a cop? Do you understand that should I have to restrain a suspect and he gets a load of my shiny yet neutral French job, he’s going to break his neck laughing? Then I’ll be under IAB investigation for the death of a suspect at my hands.”
“I know you’re a cop.” Trina showed her teeth in a smile. The left eyetooth was decorated with a tiny green stud. “That’s why I threw in the little boob tat gratis.”
“Boob? Tattoo?” Eve sat up as if she’d been propelled out of a catapult. “Tattoo?”
“Just a temp. Came out really good.”
She was almost too horrified to look. To counter the fear, she took a handful of Trina’s glossy black hair, yanked her tormentor’s head down. If necessary, she would beat that head against the padded table until unconsciousness ensued. Ignoring Trina’s yelps and struggles, and Mavis’s giggling calls for peace, Eve tipped down her chin and looked at her breast.
There on the curve of the left was a painted replica of her badge, minutely detailed though it was no bigger than her own thumbnail. Her grip loosened a bit as she tilted her own head to read her name. And Trina escaped.
“Jesus, are you whacked? I said it was a temp.”
“Did you give me any hallucinogenic substance while I was under VR?”
“What?” Obviously steamed, Trina shook back her abused hair, folded her arms, and glowered at Mavis. “What is wrong with her? No, I didn’t give you anything. I’m a certified personal body and style consultant. I don’t have illegals on my menu. You ask me something like that, and-”
“I asked something like that because I’m looking at what you painted on a personal area of my body, and I kind of like it, so I want to make sure I’m not under some illusionary drug haze.”
Trina sniffed, but there was a light that was both pleasure and humor in her eyes. “You like it, I can make it permanent.”
“No.” In defense, Eve slapped a hand on her breast. “No, no, no. No.”
“Got it. Just the temp. Mavis has to cook a while more, so we’ll finish you up.” Trina pressed a mechanism on the table and a section lifted up like the back of a chair.
“How come you’ve got all those colors in the gunk on your hair?”
“I’m getting multied,” Mavis explained. “I’m going to have some red curls, and purple spikes, and-”
“There wasn’t any of that in mine.” Fear clutched at her throat. “Was there?”
“Relax.” To get back some of her own, Trina yanked Eve’s head back by the hair. “The pink streaks’ll wash out.”
“She’s just kidding,” Mavis said as Eve went pale. “Honest.”
By the time it was over, Eve was limp as a noodle. The minute she was alone, she dashed into the nearest bathroom, shut the door, and braced herself for a look in the mirror.
Her knees went weak with relief when she saw there were no streaks of pink, or anything else, in her hair. Nor were her eyebrows the carnival of colors Mavis’s had been when Trina finished with them. She wasn’t vain, Eve assured herself. She just wanted to look like she looked. There wasn’t anything wrong with that. And since she did, the ball of tension between her shoulder-blades dissolved.
Okay, maybe she looked a little better than usual. Trina did something to her eyebrows whenever she got her hands on them that made the arch more defined and framed out her eyes. And her skin had a nice glow to it.
She shook her head, pleased when her hair fell into place without any fuss.
Then her eyes widened in shock. She was vain, or edging perilously close to it. And it had to stop. Deliberately, she turned away from the mirror. She needed to get out of this stupid robe and into clothes. As soon as she did, she’d check on the lab.
Work, she assured herself, was the only thing worth being vain about.