He walked out of his building, still pondering the case. Trixie hadn't given him a lot to go on, but he had plenty to think about. The buildings of the city looked huge in this light. The streets were crowded for seven o'clock on a Monday. He watched a Lincoln swerve to avoid a Mercedes as it sailed by. What a fink, he thought. Across the street a sword swallower wearing a false beard came out of a coffee shop. You don't see that very often anymore. His first stop was at a deli to pick up a hacksaw. No luck; they were sold out. Well, no time like the present to stop by the saloon and pay Flash 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 tan. There might be a storm brewing, he thought thankfully. He walked past a tattooed man carrying an unusual quick retort. 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 Mexico or Puerto Rico, meeting glamorous and stubborn people, pulling out his harpoon and whacking anyone who got in his way. Sorry to disappoint them; his worst problem was boredom.
He arrived at the saloon a bit late...
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