Interrogating Maddi

Madrigar was difficult to indulge, but Musi tried every morning. If she offered him a thick slice from a still-warm loaf of Courthouse Rye he would only accept the crusty heel—”Unbuttered, please”. If, during the heat of the day, she walked over an insulated mug full of green apple flavored ice the mug would later be returned—cleaned—by one of his customers instead with great thanks for the wonderful refreshment. [One more example here]. [at first she thought he was being polite since he didnt have much money. But as the attempts wore on she treated it more like a game (also she became suspicious of his appearant lack of wealth)]

[when she first set up her stall she’d thought-arrogantly- that her business would boost Madrigar’s but over the months as she watched the flow of traffic she realized he sent her more patrons than she ever sent his way.]

###

Finally, late one morning Musi leaned on the ironwork fence which defined the limits of her café and happened to border with Madrigar’s chappi stall. The second day of the week often ended early, so no one sat at her tables or leaned at her bar. Madrigar was tearing down his stall.

“Maddi,” she called out to his back. “Maddi, come join me for some Drangee Purple when you’re done. I have some things I’d like to talk about if you have time.”

“A moment only,” he said without turning. He held aloft a finger as if to illustrate his quiet comment. Musi wondered if he meant ‘In a moment’ or ‘For a moment’ or both, but she prepared his favorite tea as if he intended the former. She poured it into in an Old Fashioned glass just as he sat down at her worst table. She sighed.

“We could sit up front if you like. Where we can watch Diptuu set up his belts.” She pointed to one of her most requested tables.

“Someone may come.”

Musi laughed. “Not till after lunch they aren’t. I may not have been here for twenty years, but I know enough to know that.”

“Still,” he said. Musi recognized this single word as his final comment on many discussions they’d had over the spring and summer. Followed with nothing more than silence, it invariably brought their discussion to a conclusion with Madrigar getting his way.

She set down a linen napkin triangle with the point shortly draped over the edge of the metal patio table. Next, she placed a

416 words on day 908

Refound

Steven Tattersall, diviner and layabout, unlatched his leather-clad portmanteau and folded back the halves on the kitchen table. He tucked the lid all the way underneath the right side to help it lay flat. Some few papers tucked into the pocket of the lid caught Karen’s attention, but she could never after realize why. Steven carried on by unsnapping the top panel on the left side and propping up a folding-rack of bottles filled with liquids and powders. The little staircase of ingredients reminded Karen of a space-saving spice rack she bought on TV.

“Aces! I thought I’d lost that.” Steven pulled a small brown memo book from under one of the legs of the rack and flipped the pages.

xxx words on day 904

Nineteen

Fleh! I haven’t written since Thursday. Let’s call it a mixture of good reasons, laziness, and spoiled opportunities. I did fiddle with the Hartwhile piece, made a spreadsheet of some threads I might devote my final hundred days to, and joined a genealogy site to help organize the Bringer family tree. So, there’s that.

Narkkid put two fingers in her mouth and whistled. The girl stopped abruptedly and turned. Narkkid waggled the [something characteristic] cylinder in her hand. Even at this distance, she could see the girl’s lips tighten into a pissed sneer. The she scanned up, looking to the sky over the Hartwhile shop.

“Incoming,” Tjon said. When the three looked back to the girl, she was gone.

“Hide it.” Narrkid handed the cylinder to Tjon. “Uma, get up out of there and get back to work on that Shortle’s. He wants it before noon.”

Narrkid was scooping coffee grounds when the police landed.

###

Tjon closed the bug scanner and dropped it into his apron pocket. “Nothing here. It will take me longer to do the perimeter. If you even want me to?”

Narkkid stepped back from the huddle and walked over to the still open front bay threshhold. Honey Farm Circle wasn’t the quietest part of [town], but it wasn’t the most raucous. Red Rodney’s, the…[some description I don’t feel like doing right now]. “No. Don’t bother. We don’t want to look more suspicious by being more thorough. Something tells me our little friend won’t have much trouble staying unfound. Uma, the Shortle’s?”

“Done, boss. Want me to put a bow on it?”

“You hear his message?”

“No, then?”

“No, but bring it over front. I don’t feel like two trips up my butt today.” Uma and Tjon laughed; Narkkid went on, “Tjon, you’ve got twenty minutes to scan that tube—nothing harsh—then I need you back on that new Bainbridge.”

Neither Uma nor Tjon moved right away. Narkkid sensed they wanted to talk about the girl since they hadn’t done that amongst themselves—only to the police—but she wanted to think about it to herself for the same reason. “Nineteen…”

352 words on day 903