WfW ~ 17 May ...

I'm writing as part of my commitment to the American Cancer Society to write for 30 minutes a day in May.

Click here to go to my fundraiser page

I am also writing with Words for Wednesday, which can be found here.

This is a continuing WFW story and the start of it was on April 5th.

 The fire engines and sirens we had heard the night before were heading unfortunately to the Artisan's Loft.  Any hope we had of reviewing the security cameras had gone up in smoke.  Whoever had started the fire wanted to really cover their tracks, and had used a lot of accelerant.  The fire had spread to the wine shop next door, which then spread to a little New Age book and crystal shop called Finding Oneself.  The fire continued into the next store, a boho boutique before finally being contained.  There were almost a million dollars of damage to the four businesses, and it was unlikely the wine and New Age shops would ever be able to reopen.  The Artisan's Loft certainly wouldn't.

 The downtown area had once been a pretty unappealing area.  Vacant buildings and businesses, it had become an embarrassment to the city.  Broken windows.  Homeless people approaching what few tourists had gotten lost down there to panhandle for food or money.  It wasn't attracting the kind of traffic most of the residents wanted.

  But then a new intern on the City Council discovered government grants that would give the city the opportunity to revitalize the area.  It had taken five hard years of construction and commitment from the community, but when the work had finally been done, it was a city everyone could take pride in again.

  "You know, Simon, I'd say that was a pretty good indication of some foul play going on with the death of the collector."

  "Oh?  The knife in the back wasn't enough of an admission of foul play?"

 "You know what I mean, stop kidding around. Did you get back any hits on the license tags?"

  "As a matter of fact, yes, and believe it or not I also got a hit on the face of one of the men in black."

 "No way!  Any chance we can go for a trifecta and you got a hit on the tattoo as well?"

  "Eh, don't buy any lotto tickets or place those bets any time soon.  Nothing on the tattoo yet, and all I learned from the license tags was that the tags, not the vehicles, had been reported stolen.  The tags didn't match the cars, but I'm pretty sure they were stolen also.  The hit on the face was a dead end because whoever it is, they are in a protected service."

  "What do you mean protected service?"

  "Government.  Law enforcement.  Military.  Any one of those and a half dozen other legitimate agencies.  So they were probably authentic men in black and not impostors."

 "Simon, I've known you almost my entire life, and the amount of knowledge you have never ceases to amaze me."

 "You just gotta accept it, boss, I'm a wise guy."

  "Yeah, and a wise-ass too.  You and that sunny disposition of yours give me headaches for days.  I'm dreading what kind of good news you're gonna give me next."

  "Well, actually.  I do have some sort of good news.  After I got a hit on the face, I got a call from a certain alphabet agency.  They want to talk to us the day after tomorrow.  I set up a meeting at the diner.  Less chance of us disappearing from a public place, I figured."

 "Like I said.  I dread what you're gonna say next."