Noodles with mushrooms were perfect.
Sticky, black, perfumed. Not too much soaked, just like noodles should always be.
They were never this good at the restaurant.
- "To Her Majesty", Greg Lestrade chuckled, before mouthing a handful of noodles. "Huuuum, It'ch good ... a-a-a-ah, hot!"
The detective sitting on the driver's seat shot him a glance.
- "D'd you say somethin', sir?"
The policeman shook his head, still chewing. He swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his wrist. His moon face lit up with a smile that went up to the gray messy hair above his ears. He smoothed his fringe.
- "I wasn't talking to you", he answered.
On the other side of the windshield, the dead end they were watching was still empty.
- "The rat won't come out his hole any soon", said the other detective, yawning. "He probably guessed we're in hideout. Ah, this is getting annoying…"
Lestrade was bothered by a tiny bit of noodle. He slid his thumb nail between his teeth.
- "Patience, buddy. Patience…" he muttered.
His small eyes quickly browsed the street. He snorted, amused.
- "Start the engine", he ordered.
The man raised a skeptical eyebrow.
The shower rain passed on the dead end in a few minutes, drenching the ad posters and the cardboards left next to the trash cans, leaving only twinkling drops on the grey steel of the electric poles.
- "Ah, it's this period of the year again", said the detective, leaning over to look at the sky through the window. "Are you goin' to take some days off, lieutenant? Like always, to go see the family?"
The other man was still staring at the street.
- "What family?" He broke in, blowing through his nostril.
His smile had gotten bigger. His team-mate gave up digging the issue and switched on the engine.
A few minutes later, the suspect stuck his head out in the dead end.
