Page 138 of Random in Death
Eve watched the thief, casual walk, long, many-pocketed vest over black baggies and a black tee, slide by her.
He continued his casual walk. She continued to mince (it seemed to fit) in the opposite direction. Her purse no longer bumped at the back of her hip.
She figured people who could afford all those polka dots could afford to buy a clue. But.
Impulse had her swinging back toward the curb.
“Take the wheel.”
Stunned, Peabody looked up from her PPC. “What—”
She didn’t have time for more before Eve leaped out of the car.
The thief, not nearly as oblivious as Ms. Polka Dot, snapped his head around. Recognizing he was now a target, he changed the casual walk to a full-out run.
Eve pointed at the cranky doorman, then at the purse-less woman about to turn toward the building, then at the Running Man.
He might have been cranky, but he’d obviously bought a few clues in his time, and nodded.
“Get ’em, sister!”
Long legs stretched; good boots slapped the pavement. She felt her muscles sing a happy tune as she ran in the blazing summer sun.
He had some moves, she noted, and he had speed.
But then, so did she, and she wasn’t weighed down—right side interior vest pocket—by a polka-dot purse and whatever treasures it held.
For form because, hell, he already knew, she shouted, “Police!”
That turned a few heads, but her quarry kicked it into the next gear.
So did she.
She caught him in front of an Italian bistro where people sat under big umbrellas drinking wine, nibbling on pasta, or drinking coffee out of thimble-sized cups.
She grabbed his arm, blocked his instinctive and wild swing.
He panted like a horse after a hard gallop, and his face shined, red as a pickled beet, with sweat.
“Okay, you got me.” He rasped it out as he sank down to sit on the sidewalk. “Frog-jumping Jesus, I haven’t had to run like that in years.”
On closer inspection, Eve judged him as solidly in his sixties. “You’ve still got some fast feet.”
He shook his head. “Not like I used to. Back when, I was lightning.”
“Maybe time to find another line of work.”
Now he shrugged. “It’s what I got. Hey, any way I can get some water?”
“You run again, you know I’ll catch you.”
“I’m done.”
She signaled a waitress, who looked right, left, then pointed to herself.
“Yeah, you. Get this guy some water and call for the beat cops. Lieutenant Dallas.” She pointed at herself, then the wheezing man on the sidewalk. “Purse snatcher.”
“You’re Dallas? Heard of you.” The thief slapped his hands to the side of his head and shook it. “Shit, shit, shouldn’t have gotten out of bed this morning.”