Page 75 of Random in Death
“That’s why I wear the crown. But we’ll verify that.”
She straightened. “Window frame, right?”
“Right.”
“Gonna be pants. I know they’re working on trying to get a partial on the scuff marks on the wall. So he boosted up. Maybe you catch your sleeve, part of your shirt, but pants, that’s more likely if you’re going out headfirst. You want to see where you’re going, make sure nobody’s out there, so headfirst.”
“You bucking for my job, Harvo?”
Smiling, Harvo tapped the top of her head. “I like it here, in my queendom, with my crown.”
She swiveled again when one of her machines beeped.
“Yeah, got your cheap synthetic blend, cheap black dye, sizing’s pretty damn stiff, so new. It’s pants. Could be a jacket, but it’s too hot for that in a club, so pants. That much sizing in a shirt? Nope. Wash this fabric a few times, you’re going to fade the dye, break down the sizing, and the fabric’s going to fail after, oh, a dozen washes. Cheap shit, right off the rack.”
“The one wit says black baggies.”
“Sure, cheap, new baggies, so probably a little stiff—not the kind of drape you want in baggies. Doofus-wear.”
“Or dooser?”
Considering, Harvo tilted her head. “Well, most doosers are fashion-forward and strutty with it. That’s the dick part of it. But the one you’re looking for isn’t.”
“If he’s a teenager?”
Harvo puffed out her cheeks. “Used to be one myself. You’re a teen on a really low budget, you might have to settle. But most would scrimp, save, beg, whatever, to get a decent pair if they’re going to see Avenue A at Club Rock It.
“Kids judge, Dallas, and judge hard. Doofus? You don’t know any better because doofus. If he’s wearing this… Hang on.”
One more swivel, and she used her desk ’link.
“Hey, pal, how’s the partial coming? Uh-huh. Oh yeah. Dallas is right here, so I’ll pass that. Dog and fizz? I’m in. Cha.”
She turned to Eve. “My footwear counterpart thinks he’s going to pull a partial. No way for a full, but a partial, and if it rolls, he should have a brand or range of brands for you by noon. When we’re grabbing lunch.”
“I appreciate it, Harvo. All around.”
“We all live to serve, right? The protect part’s strictly on you.”
“Yeah. Well, cha.”
She wound her way back as Peabody came her way.
“Plenty of Junk, no pure. Not in over five years. Harvo?”
“Cheap, synthetic baggies. Or most likely baggies. She called them doofus-wear.”
“The cheap ones don’t hang right. Plus, they don’t last for shit. I bought a pair once for gardening or shopwork. Not even good for rags after a dozen washes.”
“That fits what she says. Would you wear a pair to a club?”
“Oh, eternal mortification hell no. My budget was so tight when I came to New York it cut off my air, but I’d have died of embarrassment wearing those out anywhere.”
“So either he can’t afford better or doesn’t know any better. They were new, so he bought them deliberately. He wanted to blend, so if he knew better, he wouldn’t have bought the cheap. And he had to plan, so time to squeeze the budget enough for decent.”
“So he’s fashion-declined. Unlikely to have friends who’d tell him how to dress.”
“Among other things.” As they walked, Eve’s ’link signaled a text. “Mira. She’s reading the file now. She’ll let me know when she has a window for the consult.”