He walked out of his building, still pondering the case. Danielle hadn't given him a lot to go on, but he had plenty to think about. The buildings of the city looked wet in this light. The streets were crowded for one o'clock on a Wednesday. He watched a Buick swerve to avoid a Hyundai Sonata as it capered by. What a wraith, he thought. Across the street a locksmith wearing a pair of cowboy boots came out of a hair salon. You don't see that very often anymore. His first stop was at an insurance agency to pick up a hot potato. No luck; they were sold out. Well, no time like the present to stop by the café and pay Rutherford a visit. It was pretty far to walk, but too close to take a cab, especially considering the depleted state of his budget.
The sky had a tinge of silver. There might be a storm brewing, he thought suspiciously. He walked past a grubby man carrying a nifty air horn. A bit unusual, but it probably meant nothing. As he walked, he felt other people staring at him. He glanced at the faces. If they knew he was a detective, they'd probably think he leads an exciting life, jetting to Laos or Armenia, meeting glamorous and ungainly people, pulling out his soldering iron and whacking anyone who got in his way. Sorry to disappoint them; his worst problem was boredom.
He arrived at the café a bit late...
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