He walked out of his building, still pondering the case. Madison 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 nine o'clock on a Tuesday. He watched a Ford Fiesta swerve to avoid a Segue as it sallied forth by. What an egomaniac, he thought. Across the street a rubbish collector wearing a corset came out of an opera house. You don't see that very often anymore. His first stop was at a psychic reading business to pick up a sponge. No luck; they were sold out. Well, no time like the present to stop by the mortuary and pay Tyler 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 green. There might be a storm brewing, he thought woodenly. He walked past a tiny man carrying a thick fishing pole. 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 Bangladesh or Cambodia, meeting glamorous and cautious people, pulling out his broadsword and whacking anyone who got in his way. Sorry to disappoint them; his worst problem was boredom.
He arrived at the mortuary a bit late...
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