Chapter 1
“That dude…” The cab driver pointed to a man standing on the island between the east and westbound lanes of traffic, “needs to get off his ass and get a job.”
Tate glanced at the man in question. He was probably in his mid-thirties, although it was hard to tell for certain because his long hair and scruffy beard hid most of his face. Strangely enough, there was something about him that seemed familiar. Probably because he looks like half the panhandlers hanging around the city, Tate decided.
“Jobs aren’t that easy to find these days,” Tate replied to the cabbie’s comment.
“For damned sure not when someone looks like him,” the driver muttered caustically.
As the cab moved past the man, Tate saw he was holding a sign of some sort, facing them. Taking a closer look, he read, ‘Hungry, homeless, please help’. For a second, Tate was tempted to tell the driver to slow down, so he could give the guy a couple of dollars. But he had more important things on his mind. Then, as he watched the guy fade into the distance in the side view mirror, he had a sudden thought. “Perhaps…”
When Tate didn’t finish, the cabbie asked, “Perhaps, what?”
“Nothing,” Tate told him. “I just had an idea about how to solve a problem that’s been…bothering me. But I’ll have to think about it before I decide to put it in motion.”
“Something to do with your job? Or why you were at the hospital when I picked you up?”
Tate refrained from rolling his eyes. How did I end up with Mr. Chatty Kathy, or—he glanced at the hack license—Chatty Carl?
“Yep,” he replied succinctly to the cabbie’s questions. “There. The house on the corner.”
The cab stopped in front, Tate paid, and got out. He strolled up the path along the side of the house, as if he was going to go in through the back door. As soon as the cab disappeared from view, he returned to the street, walked down to the far corner, and entered a tall highrise. Less than five minutes later, a non-descript car—one Tate didn’t own—left the building’s parking lot, with Tate at the wheel.