“These details matter,” he confirmed, “because, if this guy didn’t do it to his sister, how does this guy who is doing it now know what happened?”
“You mean, if the brother didn’t do it, the same killer is back in play. Yet, if the brother did do it, we have to know why. Plus, if the brother did one but not the other, it means he told somebody.”
“Well, that would be a good way to analyze it.” Rodney nodded. “Whichever way, we don’t have enough to decide anything yet, so let’s go get more data.”
*
Simon waited inline for a hot coffee. A couple years ago it was hard to find good coffee from a street vendor, and the ones that you did find served horrid coffee, compared to what he was used to. But this guy had fast become a favorite for Simon and the others standing in line. As Simon stepped up, the guy with the weathered face looked up, saw who it was, and gave him a big grin.
“Coffeetime?”
“Yes, please.” Simon put several coins on the window ledge.
“What size?”
“Make it a large,” he replied. “It’s a hot day out, but I’ve got a ton of work and could use the energy.”
“You got to have more than just caffeine to live off of,” the older man stated, with a shake of his head. “I have all kinds of food here too.”
“It’s just the wrong time to eat for me,” he stated. “I had a late breakfast, so I’m not quite ready for more.”
“Well, you know where to find me when you are,” he muttered.
Simon realized he had yet to try any of this guy’s food. He looked around to see several sweet items but also a chicken kabob that made his stomach growl. He frowned as he looked at the pictures. “So how close to the pictures are these kabobs?” he asked.
“I’ve got a dozen just coming off the oil,” he said. “Hang on a moment.” He disappeared around the side of his small outdoor street cart, where it had a cooking area in the back. He came back with a paper envelope, and he handed it over.
The kabob was hot enough that Simon’s fingers were already complaining.
“This one is on me,” the older guy stated.
Simon put the kabob on the counter, immediately shaking his head, as he dug into his pocket, pulled out a bunch more coins, and, without even looking at them, added them to his other coins. “Not needed,” he said. It smelled delicious. “Cumin in this?”
The other man barked. “That’s just one of a dozen spices in it.”
“Good enough,” Simon replied. “Let me give this a try with my coffee, and we’ll see.”
“Most people order a sweet.”
“Not me,” he noted. “I’m all about protein.”
The older man gave Simon a wicked grin, scooped up the coins, then put them into a container on the other side. “Let me know how you like it.”
And, with that, Simon grabbed the wrapped kebob, some paper napkins, and his coffee, then headed off to a small bench nearby. He could keep walking, but he had something in each hand. He reached the bench, where he sat down. He took the lid off the coffee to let it cool ever-so-slightly and blew on the edge of the meat treat in front of him.
He thought about what the old guy had said and looked up to see several people walking away with some version of a cinnamon bun, coated in white icing. He looked down at his choice. Never having had much of a sweet tooth, he was always much more about protein. With that thought in mind, he took a tentative bite. The flavors immediately crashed through his mouth, making his senses sit up straight in shock. He smiled.
It was good. Not only was it good, it was really good. It always amazed him when he came across something so very different in taste. He had another bite and then another, thoroughly enjoying the completely different and almost foreign taste to the meat. It was crusty on the outside and moist and flavorful inside. Simon caught the vendor’s eye and raised his treat with a smile and a nod. The coffee was cool enough now to at least have a couple sips, and, polishing off the treat in his hand, he stood, put the lid back on his coffee, and carried on to his next job.
When he arrived twenty minutes later, the foreman came out of the building and lifted a hand in greeting.
“Don’t you ever get tired of walking?”
“Most of my projects are downtown at the moment,” Simon explained. “If I lived anywhere else, then I probably would drive. However, down here, it’s more of a pain to park anyway, so I might as well just keep walking.”
“I get it, but you must put on a lot of miles.”
“I’m used to it.” Simon shrugged. “No different than a mailman who walks all day.”