He walked out of his building, still pondering the case. Clio hadn't given him a lot to go on, but he had plenty to think about. The buildings of the city looked overgrown in this light. The streets were uncrowded for twelve o'clock on a Tuesday. He watched a Cadillac Escalade swerve to avoid a transporter as it sneaked by. What a pansy, he thought. Across the street a scout wearing a surgical mask came out of a supermarket. You don't see that very often anymore. His first stop was at a popcorn shop to pick up a snail. No luck; they were sold out. Well, no time like the present to stop by the bar and pay René 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 forest green. There might be a storm brewing, he thought warmly. He walked past a tattooed man carrying a broken microphone. 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 Algeria or the Philippines, meeting glamorous and statuesque people, pulling out his pop gun and whacking anyone who got in his way. Sorry to disappoint them; his worst problem was boredom.
He arrived at the bar a bit late...
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