against it. “You’re going to have to promise to return it in the same condition, Trev. I know your father’s careful, and you’ve got a decent collection yourself, so you know how important it is.”
“I won’t be playing in the dirt with it.”
“I actually did that when I was a kid. Can’t believe it now. Still have a couple of trucks and one of the first model airbuses. Bunged up pretty bad, but sentimental value there.”
The light went to green, and the doors slid open. “Might as well get the full effect. Lights on full.”
They flashed on, illuminated the nearly invisible shelves from above and below. The brightly painted toys shone bright as jewels with their ruby reds, sapphire blues, ambers and emeralds.
Trevor’s gaze tracked across, and he noted the wide curved window, without privacy screen. Casually, he crossed over, as if studying the collection, and checked the windows on the building next door.
Screened. He couldn’t be sure, not a hundred percent sure there wasn’t someone on the other side looking over. He’d have to make certain Dix was out of view when he put him down.
“Been collecting since I was ten. Seriously since I was about twenty, but in the last five years I’ve really been able to indulge myself. Do you see this? Farm section. It’s an elevator, John Deere replica in pressed steel at one-sixteenth scale. Circa 1960. Mint condition, and I paid a mint for it, but it was worth it. And this over here . . . ” He took a few steps, swayed. “Whew. Gin’s gone to my head. I’m going to grab some Sober-Up. Look around.”
“Hold on.” That wouldn’t do, not at all. Trevor wanted the alcohol, and plenty of it, in his system. Added to that, the impairment of it would make it simpler to kill him. “What’s this piece?”
It was enough to draw Dix’s interest, to have him shift direction and move just out of the line of sight of the side window. “Ah, game department,” Dix said cheerfully. “It’s a pinball machine, toy-sized version, baseball theme. Circa 1970. Be worth more in the original box, but there’s something to be said for the fact it saw a little action.”
“Hmm.” Trevor turned around, grinned broadly. “Now, that’s a hell of a piece.”
“Which?” Dix turned as well. “In the military section?”
Trevor slipped his accordion baton from his pocket. “The tank?”
“Oh yeah, that’s a jewel.”
As Dix took a step, Trevor snapped his wrist to extend the baton. He swung it up in an arc, then brought it down across the back of Dix’s skull.
Dix fell as Trevor had positioned him, away from the shelves and out of the line of sight of the unprotected window.
“Spending this much time in your company,” Trevor said as he took out a handkerchief and meticulously cleaned off the lethal wand, “I’ve discovered something I only suspected previously. You’re an unbearably tedious geek. The world’s better off without you. But first things first.”
He stepped over the body, toward the toy that had once been his father’s. As he reached out, the doorbell buzzed.
His heart didn’t leap, but stayed as steady as it had when he’d fractured Dix’s skull. But he spun around, and calculated. To ignore it—and how he wanted to ignore it, to take what was his and see it at last—would be a mistake.
They’d been seen coming into the building, riding up in the elevator. In a building like this there would be security cameras in the halls outside. He’d have to acknowledge whoever was at the door and dismiss them.
More irritated than uneasy, he hurried to answer the summons. He engaged the security screen first and studied the thin young man in an eye-searing pink shirt covered with purple palm trees. The man looked bored and was chewing what appeared to be a fist-sized wad of gum. He carried a thick zip-bag. Even as Trevor watched, the man blew a bubble the size of a small planet and hit the buzzer again.
Trevor flicked on the intercom. “Yes?”
“Delivery for Dix. Chad Dix.”
“Leave it there.”
“No can do. Need a sig. Come on, buddy, I gotta get back on my horse and ride.”
Cautious, Trevor widened his view. He saw the purple skinpants, the pink air boots. Where did these people get their wardrobes? He reached for the locks, then drew his hand back.
Wasn’t worth the risk. There’d be too many questions if he accepted a package, if he signed Dix’s name, or his own, for that matter.