P.I.

Waiting on Coffee

I open my my eyes at 10 am, slowly blinking sleep away. I remember my early-morning caller and think of my very unofficial appointment today over coffee. It strikes me as odd, she somehow managed to have my cell phone number, which I only use for my personal stuff. 

I frown, grabbing my cell off of my nightstand. I speed-dial Julian

"Hey," he says.

"Morning," I reply, yawning,

"Do you require my services?" he asks smugly.

"Yeah, I do, actually. Someone called me in the wee hours of the morning on my cell." I tell him.

"A client?" he asks, a hint of concern peeking through his voice.

"I don't know, maybe. I'm meeting her today. She said 1 am was the only time she could call," I explain.

"On your cell? That's a little weird."

"Yeah, I'm wondering how she got it," I say, grabbing my land line phone and flicking through the call list.

"Do you want me to check the number?" he asks.

"Yes, please. I'm meeting her in a public place and stuff, so you don't have to worry or anything, but anything that sticks out to you, just text me."

"Sure," he says, then abruptly hangs up.

"Bye," I mumble to myself.

~~~~

I sit at a round table in the back of the cafe that gives me a good view of the entrance, so I can see who comes and goes. I wait patiently as the clock ticks past noon. I keep checking my phone for texts from Julian but there's nothing. Maybe my mystery lady chickened out on me.

 After twenty minutes of waiting, I'm just about ready to leave. I told the waitress I was waiting for someone, but now I kind of want to order a croissant or something and leave. So much for a potential client.

"Excuse me," I say, trying to get the waitresses' attention. I hadn't seen the girl who came to my table for a while.

"Um, hi," she says. "Can I help you?" she asks. Her tone is pleasant but her eyes are frantic and pleading. She picks up my hand and puts a small folded scrap of paper in.

"Are you--" I begin, wondering of she is my mystery gal. She voice sounded familiar.

"Yes, I can order that for you," she says casually and walks away, towards the kitchen.

I go back to my table, and surreptitiously unwrap the note. In a frantic chicken scratch scrawled in pen on a meal ticket, the note read, "Being stalked. Meet me outside in the alley. Hurry"