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Dockside Cafe (Part 2) (Blogophilia 36.13)

The reflected light from the pink moon reflected gave the table an eerie glow as she gets into the Range Rover. The car fits her. Both are high maintenance, high strung machines. The slight aroma of Chanel lingered. Old-fashioned for someone her age. Thinking back, the sundress was a 1960s clone, too. An off-white number with small daisies.  The hour and a half I spent was profitable to say the least. I got the job.

But not her name.

Making love to my beer, I look out over the water. I’m not sure what to make of her or the situation. Claims poverty and delivers cash. Something was off. The envelope containing the target information was still on the table. It could wait until I get home. Too many people here who could tie the pieces together. Draining the glass, I pay the tab with one of the hundreds, putting the rest in my jacket. The clock on the wall blinked 9:30. Time to go home.

Driving down 85, I thought about what the Cad, as she called him, might look like. Given he’d spent his life around boats, the face was probably sandblasted and the hands calloused and rope scarred. That came with the territory. Was he scrawny or beefy? Could be either. She didn’t say exactly how long they’d been together. But I’d imagine time had softened the muscles up. 

One thing about this business, each project is its own little world. Everyone battling for their own coda in the Final Sonata. The themes are moral failings: greed, lust, and power. But the actors on stage brings their own twist to the recapitulation. It’s why I’ll never be bored. This case was an asset chase, not a skip trace. Ninety percent of the work will be online, with maybe trips to the courthouse for stuff like boat registrations and house titles. And while boring, the ingenuity of the ownership chains could be fascinating. 

And I get to work around boats again. It’s been too long. 

I pull into the building garage and notice a black Audi backed into a visitor slot. It doesn’t look like it belongs and my assigned space is in his line of sight. Another something off for the night. OK. I decide to go up to the Vette’s space two floors up. For once, I’m glad it’s in the shop. I back in and slip quietly into the stairwell. 

I wasn’t disappointed. In the prism mirror a floor down, a man beats the lock on the access door to my floor. White, kind of chunky, with black hair and a bald spot. Is he the only one? I slip back out and make my way to the other set and repeat the process. Clear, but I decided not to take the chance. I hop back in the car and make my way back to the entrance. The car is still there. I turn left out the exit.

I didn’t want to cook for myself anyway.

Waffle House time.

The yellow and black building was in the next block and always open for business. I would starve if the place didn’t exist. Certainly cooking for oneself reveals man at his weirdest. In my case, dinner would be peanut butter and egg. At least now the egg would be cooked and I’d be able to review the paperwork without my visitor. 

Of course, I could be paranoid.

But I don’t think I am.

The orange and yellow booth in the back corner was hard on my butt. Bunny was working, bleached beehive bobbing and weaving next to the register.  She waved and threw a cup at me. Two-hour vintage mud, good.  While I dumped the sugar in, she made the call: “Sausage and Egg Scrambled, White, Scattered, Smothered, and Covered.” 

It’s good to be known.

When the sandwich came, I dug in. The eggs were just runny enough to make a mess. The potatoes were nice and oiniony. A touch of salt and pepper added made them perfect. They disappeared as quickly as the sandwich and I was left with an empty plate a full stomach and a lot of questions. 

Let’s start answering them. 

Mopping a piece of white off my chin, I open the envelope. Inside is a picture of a man I recognize.

 Jerry Herrington. 

Yeah. This is going to be interesting. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Topic- Violeta Falo

Pic Jay Sole

Pic Guesses:Full moon, Pink moon (in blog), white satin, midnight, cloudy, 

Published by anothergovernmentemployeehotmailcom

So, I'm late putting up a profile. Sue me. I'm an ex-government drone making his way in the world.

11 thoughts on “Dockside Cafe (Part 2) (Blogophilia 36.13)

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