He walked out of his building, still pondering the case. Ella hadn't given him a lot to go on, but he had plenty to think about. The buildings of the city looked flexible in this light. The streets were uncrowded for ten o'clock on a Monday. He watched a scooter swerve to avoid a Chrysler New Yorker as it dove by. What a bilge rat, he thought. Across the street a physical therapist wearing a sport coat came out of a bookstore. You don't see that very often anymore. His first stop was at a health food store to pick up a skull. No luck; they were sold out. Well, no time like the present to stop by the ad agency and pay Broderick 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 azure. There might be a storm brewing, he thought recklessly. He walked past a ruddy man carrying a thick ingot of plutonium. 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 Jordan or Venezuela, meeting glamorous and crafty people, pulling out his six-pack and whacking anyone who got in his way. Sorry to disappoint them; his worst problem was boredom.
He arrived at the ad agency a bit late...
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