A car
honked at me as its tires screeched on the asphalt, but I simply waved and kept
walking at a casual pace. A hot dog vendor on the corner started yelling at me
in Hungarian. Yanni didn’t care much for me, but he did know me. I waved at him.
My course wouldn’t take me close enough to him, but I got an itch.
“Two,
please,” I said, “with mustard and onions. And two Cokes.”
I didn’t
know why I asked for two Cokes, but it seemed right. Yanni looked at me like I
was crazy, probably because I kept walking away from him, but he went ahead and
reached into his cart.
As I
reached the other side, a teenager on a skateboard careened into my shoulder,
spinning me towards the hot dog cart. In three more steps, without breaking
stride, I paid for the hot dogs and Cokes, and continued towards the
intersection.
“Have a
good day, Mr. Iverson.”
“You, too,
Yanni.”
The light
changed just as my foot hit the street, neatly stopping the cars from running
me over. I crossed, finding myself walking next to a metal fence that
overlooked a downslope leading to Swift Creek.
After
another thirty feet I ran into a small knot of factory workers. I hugged the
fence to let them pass, but a large man was looking at one of his fellows
instead of me. His considerable bulk pushed me into the fence, which gave way.
I tumbled
over, then started rolling down the hill. I felt the impacts, but they didn’t
hurt much. Soft ferns and other greenery cushioned the blows. Everything flew
by in a blur. I didn’t have time to do more than cradle my hot dogs and Cokes
protectively. Hope I don’t roll into the
Swift. It’s cold this time of year.
I rolled to
a stop completely disoriented. The world spun, but eventually resolved on a
woman leaning over me.
“Hi. Don
Iverson. By chance would you need the services of a detective?”
“I—yes. How
did you know?”
“Just
lucky. Want a hot dog and a Coke? I recommend not opening the Coke for a few
minutes.”