He walked out of his building, still pondering the case. Callie hadn't given him a lot to go on, but he had plenty to think about. The buildings of the city looked queer in this light. The streets were crowded for eleven o'clock on a Saturday. He watched a Trans Am swerve to avoid a hovercraft as it bolted by. What a pigdog, he thought. Across the street a courier wearing a veil came out of a popcorn shop. You don't see that very often anymore. His first stop was at a furniture store to pick up a lasso. No luck; they were sold out. Well, no time like the present to stop by the police station and pay Nick 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 crimson. There might be a storm brewing, he thought wildly. He walked past a redheaded man carrying a greasy baseball bat. 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 Uruguay or Singapore, meeting glamorous and diabolical people, pulling out his lariat and whacking anyone who got in his way. Sorry to disappoint them; his worst problem was boredom.
He arrived at the police station a bit late...
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