I should really be asleep right now.
But no, instead I'm here at a donut shop.
Okay, there are worse places I could be. The only coffee I could get at Inaba was from the gas station and that coffee sucked. I don't care what Dojima says, there is such a thing as "too bitter".
I'm standing here in front of Guertz's Donuts and Coffee , previously owned by Richard Geurtz before his death. From what I read online, his wife took over the family business after only a few weeks and is still currently looking for people to hire while she takes care of unfinished business.
I walk into the front door and I am met with a pretty standard looking donut shop. There's a case full of various pastries, a cash register, and several coffee-container-things behind it.
There are tables and booths and all those wonderful things that make eating at an establishment like this possible. Behind the counter is an older woman, probably mid-fifties, that looks too old and too tired to be doing this job. I had a sneaking suspicion that this was the person I was supposed to talk to.
Unfortunately, the place is busy, so it looks like I'm going to need to wait. No use causing a big stink about this when it's not needed.
There are two people at the register, both female. One looks to be in her late forties, hair long since gray and tied up into a messy bun and some wrinkles creeping up on her face.
The other is younger, probably no older than twenty, with red hair and some freckles on her face.
Neither so much as glance in my direction.
I get in line and order a simple cup of coffee and a frosted donut with sprinkles when it's my turn.
As I take a sip of the coffee, I can't lie; it ain't half bad. I've had better back in the city where I used to live, but as far as instant coffee goes this is fine.
The donut is truly divine, though. It's perfectly moist and fluffy, not to mention the frosting is somehow perfectly poured on. It's honestly one of the best pastries I've ever had.
Okay, that's probably lack of sleep and not having had a donut in ten years talking, but I don't care. My taste buds are doing a happy little dance for it.
It's gone within minutes and I have a craving to go back for more. I even reach for my wallet to buy another, but decide against it. Even though I no longer have to resort to eating only cabbages, I probably shouldn't pig out on donuts.
So I sit and drink my coffee, waiting for the rush to slow down.
A good ten minutes pass and the crowd looks no closer to slowing down. I can't lie, it's a little impressive that these two women are able to keep the customers happy. So, I resign myself to the fact that I'm going to be sitting here for a while drinking subpar coffee.
I lean my head back and close my eyes, just for a few seconds.
…
…
"…THIS IS… UNEXPECTED…"
…what…
"…IZANAMI'S PUPPET… HERE…?"
…who's voice is that…
"…THE OTHER… AS… WELL…"
…other…?
"…WHAT IS… YOUR PLAN… LITTLE PUPPET…?"
…a puppet…?
…not a puppet…
…no one's puppet…
"…CALL YOURSELF… WHAT YOU WISH… IT MATTERS LITTLE… IN THE END…"
…kill you… go away… kill you…
A shake of my shoulder wakes me up.
My eyes shoot open and start darting around.
"Sir?" A rough female voice asks.
I look up to see Mrs. Gertz staring down at me with a look of confusion, worry and, rather annoyingly, irritation.
I allow myself one more look around the donut shop. Was I sweating before? I reach up to rub the bridge of my nose and sigh.
"Sir, I have no problem letting you get some shut eye here, but I'm gonna need to ask you keep the mutterin' to a minimum. It's makin' my other customers uncomfortable."
Sure enough, a lot of the other customers are giving my side-eyed looks and questioning glances. I check my watch to find that twenty minutes have passed since I closed my eyes.
Twenty minutes? How the hell was that even possible?
"Sorry…" I mutter, bringing the coffee cup to my lips. "...good coffee, by the way."
Mrs. Gertz snorts before turning around and going back to her register.
I lean back in my chair and glance out the window. What was that voice just now? Was there even a voice? I can barely remember anything. The only thing I really remember is the fear.
It wasn't the type of fear you see in movies, where those bitches scream their heads off and flail around. No, I'm talking about something deeper than that, something more primordial. It's a feeling from back when we were just a bunch of shit-slinging monkeys trying to survive in the wild.
It's the kind of fear that freezes you solid, that makes you want to curl up into a ball and hope whatever it is just ignores you.
That's what I remember.
The donut shop has slowed down considerably since I took my impromptu nap, with Mrs. Gertz taking the time to rest and lean against the counter. I take another sip of my now cold coffee and get to my feet.
No time like the present.
It takes a minute, but I'm able to reach in and slide right into that idiot-cop character I was able to play oh-so-well back in the day. I hunch my shoulders even more, I put on a dopey smile, and I open my eyes a little wider.
"Hiya," I say as I get to the register. "Sorry about that back there, but I was hoping I could ask you a few questions?"
Mrs. Gertz gives me a look that says I'm probably the weirdest person she's seen today. "I suppose. This is a free country, after all."
"Oh, sorry, I always forget this part," I mutter, reaching for my SO ID. I fumble a bit more than I really need to to sell the image of a dumbass. As I grab it, I say, "Ah! Here it is!"
I hold it out in front of me and her eyes darken. It isn't a police badge or anything, but it clearly has the markings of something like it. It will have that effect on people.
"Special Agent Adachi Tohru, at your service."
"I already talked to the police," she said sternly. "I have nothing to say to you."
I bite back the reply that I want to instinctively go with, and instead opt for the more diplomatic, "I understand that it's hard to talk about but we-"
"'Hard?' Is that what you think?" She interrupts me. "I'd call the police but I know they wouldn't do shit to kick a Fed like you out."
Oh, she has no idea how much they hate me, but I'm not about to tell her that.
"I'm done answering questions."
"We may have a lead on your husband's death," I call out.
It probably wasn't the smoothest way to bring that up, seeing as there are still several customers in the building who are now distinctly uncomfortable. Some of them even move to leave the building.
The younger girl freezes at one of the coffee machines and just stares at the two of us.
Mrs. Geurtz's reaction isn't an overblown gasp or anything like that. Just a sharp intake of breath and the slightest widening of eyes. She looks to her employee, back to me, then juts her jaw out towards my booth.
I take that as a signal that she'll talk to me over there, so I return to my seat and start sipping on my cold coffee. She doesn't take her eyes off me as she reaches over and places a sign that says, "On break. Will be back in thirty minutes." She then tells her employee to go to lunch.
Mrs. Geurtz takes a seat across from me and eyes me up and down. To her I probably don't look like all that much. Just a scrawny schlub in his late thirties with a bad suit and some early grays in his hair. If I had to guess, I'd say I have some pretty heavy dark circles under my eyes.
"You don't look like a Fed," she says first.
I shrug sheepishly. "I have a charming personality?"
The corner of her lips tick up. Good. Disarm her with humor and I can get what I want and get the hell out of here sooner.
"Sure."
"Now," I saw, pulling out a notepad. "Geurtz-san, I'm sure-"
"Call me 'Susan'," she interrupts, and I have to control my reaction. I don't like getting interrupted at the best of times, and especially by a woman.
But throwing out a snappy comment or something of the sort wasn't going to get me anywhere, no matter how good it would feel in the moment.
"Susan," I correct myself through not-quite gritted teeth. "I'm sure you've already been asked this question hundreds of times, but was your husband acting erratic or otherwise unusual in the days leading up to his disappearance?"
"Richard didn't kill himself," she says firmly.
I hold up my hands. "Hey, I never said he did."
"He didn't overdose on drugs either," she adds. "He would get headaches when he took Tylenol for God's sake."
"I understand that's what the initial theory was," I say slowly. "But then the toxicology report came back clean." And another body showed up in the exact same position with the same lack of drugs , but I don't know if they've been releasing that to the public, so I keep my mouth shut.
Susan shifts in her seat before saying, "Richard was stressed the few days before he went missing. More than usual, I mean."
"When you say 'more than usual'..."
"He's a business owner," she clarifies. "It comes with the territory. But an employee was recently let go, and he was having a hard time finding a replacement. He didn't want to add to my workload, so he picked up the slack."
"Why was the employee let go," I ask, scribbling notes down.
"Does it matter?"
"It might."
Susan sighs and shakes her head. "Tom was a good guy, but he was having troubles. He brought those troubles to the store one too many times. His quality of work was slipping, he wasn't coming in for his shifts, it was getting to be too much of a liability, so we were forced to let him go."
"Tom…" I mutter to myself. "Guy got a last name?"
"Thomas Borden," she says automatically. She narrows her eyes. "Why? He's not a suspect is he?"
"I can't rule it out, but most likely not," I say truthfully. Sure, there's something that might resemble a motive, but most people wouldn't just kill their boss because they got let go. "Probably just going to ask some follow up questions. Was there anyone else who could be considered, I don't know, an enemy?"
"Some people didn't like Richard, I suppose, but I don't think there's a single person on the planet that everybody likes," she says.
"So no one that springs to mind, huh?" I ask.
She just shakes her head. "No. I'm sorry."
I hum in thought. I doubt I'd get any better information out of her, so I close my notepad and put it back in my jacket pocket. "Well, Susan-san, I thank you for your time-"
She shoots her hand out and grabs my arm. It takes all of my willpower to not rip it from her grasp. Honestly, I might have anyway, but then I saw the look in her eyes.
Fear. Terror. Pleading.
It's a look I saw in the eyes of two women before. It didn't affect me then. Hell, it made me laugh when I saw it in Konishi's eyes.
But here? It doesn't make me question my life choices, or some shit like that, but it gives me pause.
"Please Mr. Tohru, you have to believe me. I don't know if it was really murder, but my Richard wouldn't do something like this."
I take a deep breath and nod. "We'll get to the bottom of this, ma'am. One way or the other."
She offers me a smile, gratitude in her eyes, and lets my arm go. Something warm stirs inside of me, but I'm not sure what it is.
Honestly, I'm blaming the complete lack of sleep. Making my brain do weird and stupid things.
"Oh, one more thing," I say, suddenly turning back around to face her. "Would you have happened to have heard anything… strange? Like some odd rumors or the like?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Humor me."
She sighs and rubs her temple. "Sorry, but I'm not really one for the rumor mill. Nothing that might help with my husband's… Well, nothing that would help."
I click my tongue and shake my head. "Long shot anyway. Thank you for your time."
With that, I leave Geurtz-san to her unanticipated break.
As I'm walking down the street, I can't help but think of that nightmare, I guess you'd call it. I've been having the occasional nightmare since my arrest, but nothing like this. Could it be related to whatever weird shit's going down?
Unfortunately, it probably does. I'll have to ask Narukami about it later tonight when I see him again.
Anyway, I don't really have time to dwell on it at the moment. First order of business I suppose is trying to figure out where this "Thomas Borden" lives. Time to make a stop at the local NYPD precinct.
Oh, joy.
