Mission by Peter Robertson

Author:Peter Robertson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Literature
Publisher: Gibson House Press
Published: 2013-09-09T04:00:00+00:00

Ten

For the next two days I camped out on the creek path, constantly switching locations, sitting for a long while, standing for a shorter while, presenting myself shamelessly as an unheralded and unused sounding board for the homeless. Both days were sunny and pleasant, and both days were unsuccessful. I hung out at various places with an eager nonjudgmental look plastered across my face, which I hoped conveyed a gentle willingness to listen without either comment or condemnation. I considered my strategy to be not without merit—the tarot lady had sought me out unbidden after all, and Devonte had unburdened himself like a long-lost relation trolling for money and fleeting fame on a reality show. Surely others would do likewise and converse with me, unload their myriad anxieties, share sundry confidences and, I hoped, tell me all I wanted to know about Andrew Travers and Nitro.

I was aware of Reggie’s warning words, and occasionally the more aggressively troubled of the creek dwellers wandered my way and I cut and ran. But in truth, when you subtracted those who might conceivably wish to do me harm, my list of the eagerly unburdening was grievously slight.

I had looked for the tarot lady on both days and been unsuccessful. Devonte, on the other hand, I had spied laid out on the grass in front of the Central Park bandshell on the first morning. I considered waking him, but he looked both comfortable and sound asleep. He was a sleeping dog, and I adhered to the oft-suggested maxim.

In the early afternoon of the second day, I stood at Fine Park staring at a cute if typographically suspect map of Boulder Creek attached to two pieces of ragged weathered wood, and I silently pleaded to the creek gods for inspiration. By way of answer, Eileen instantaneously texted with an invitation to the library to meet with two people she thought might help. One was Larry, a homeless man who claimed to know Nitro well, and the other was Timothy Hastings, a librarian colleague who spoke with Andrew Travers often. Could I be there in an hour? And could I possibly bring a large extra caramel macchiato for Larry as a bribe?

And what about for you and for poor Timothy, I facetiously texted back, what should I bring for the two of you?

Her next text informed me that Tim was just fine thank you, as he only drinks the organically grown coffee he brings from home, but, since I was so sweetly inquiring, could I please bring a green tea for her?

It served me right for asking, now I had to find myself an able barista. At least she had said please.

* * *

“You ever watch House?” Jesse asked me. His tone was combative. I knew he wasn’t much of a television watcher, so I was justifiably leery.

“I believe I have,” I ventured cautiously.

“Natalie likes to watch it. It was a rerun last night. He’s a British guy.”

“He’s English, actually.”

“Whatever.” Jesse was not about to be sidetracked with minutiae.

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