The Same Man

Chapter 3

I may as well have eaten pure gruel. As I shoveled the waffles into my mouth I didn't taste anything. No matter how much sugary syrup and whipped cream I piled on.

I finished my breakfast food before the two older ladies did so while they were finishing and took a look around Barbra's Brunch House.

It is pretty much your stereotypical diner. The sticky plastic covered menus, the passive aggressive waitresses with fried hair, the half empty refillable ketchup bottles, the mini black and white salt packets, and of course, the checked white and red floor tiles. The only thing that makes it different from all other diners is the signed poster of Elvis Presley hanging next to the swinging door leading to the ladies' washroom. It's actually pretty cool. If you look around the diner with a closer eye you can see the little touches of Elvis everywhere. In the old school jukebox that only has Elvis Presley songs, certain sporks in the diner's cutlery set, and even in the huge portrait in the bathroom where Elvis's face is made out of tiny square photos of Elvis.

I'm admiring my Elvis spork when a man in a navy blue suit and a pink and white striped tie opens the glass door and makes the little metal bell ring. His presence radiates a sense of superiority and misogyny. I know he is heading for our table before he even makes eye contact with me.

He swaggers over and stops right before our table. He is a big man, your classic silver fox, steely blue eyes that would be appealing to look at if not for the frown twisting his face.

He introduces himself as Inspector Richard Cruk and asks if he can sit down.

He takes the seat across from me before anyone actually says yes. I respect that though, the fact that he doesn't seek validation or approval. He doesn't care what we think of him. Then again, I don't think that many would seek approval from two old ladies and a teenager.

He speaks first. "I am here on behalf of the government due to the issue concerning The Honorable Alan Lam."

I knew it.

Gamie and Ophelia exchange unreadable looks.

"What exactly do you need, sir?" Gamie asks.

"Yes, what is so important that you needed to disrupt our fine meal. We certainly didn't invite you!" Ophelia exclaims.

"Well, I'm sure that you saw or heard what happened to Mr. Lam''. Cruk waits for our nods.

"What was initially thought to be a case of lightheadedness, malnutrition, or dehydration, is actually an act of vengeance against the victim."

This time it is my turn to say something.

"Victim?"

"Yes, victim. You see, we had the hospital run some tests and traces of cyanide in his system. Now, cyanide acts fast. So, unless he poisoned himself while on the podium without anyone noticing or being suspicious, we have murderers or at least someone who wanted to see him harmed, on our hands."

I'm speechless. What does one say in a situation like this?

Thankfully, Gamie does.

"That is all good and well I suppose, but what do we have to do with that other than the fact that we were in the room?"

He looks me in the eyes as he says this, "Look, I have a feeling that it is not a coincidence that your parents court case was the one when the poison acted."

I found my voice, "Are you suggesting that my parents have something to do with this whole thing?"

Opheila's gaze hardened. "Of course that's not what he's implying is it, Inspector?" She said it so harshly that I think she might have even made Cruk uncomfortable.

"Actually, erm", he clears his throat "that is what I am suggesting."

"So the only reason they are under suspicion is because they happen to have a court case the time he fainted?" Gamie says.

"Well, yes." He replies.

Ophelia makes a noise in the back of her throat that sounds something between disgruntled and disgusted. Gamie just stares at him. But he is looking at me.

"The only reason I am even here is because I need to know if you know where either one of your parents are, kid."

I look up and realize that I haven't said anything of importance. All I have done is listen timidly. Well, that's not who I am. I can't let him get under my skin with his accusations. I learned a long time ago that if you let someone get under your skin you let them have power and control over you.

"Look, Dick", I say, "Can I call you Dick?"

He raises his eyebrows and glares at me. God, it's like his eyes are piercing through my soul.

"No, how about Rick? Richie? Dickie? Rico? Rich?"

He just rolls his eyes.

"Fine, Cruk. My parents are a lot of things but they are not murderers. In fact, if I were you, I would stay as far away from them as I can. Their life is messy and tends to spill onto the people they are near. Trust me, I am the master at avoiding their problems. I can teach you if you want. Step one, acquire a fedora."

"Okay kid, I get it, I really do. I was a kid once too. But listen, this is the real world. I need you to tell me what you know. It's important."

As I'm about to make a retort, a guy around my age comes in carrying two white Styrofoam coffee cups in hand. He turns and runs right into the spunky waitress from earlier. She gives him the ol' once over and nods. His eyes widen and he looks away. We make eye contact just like I did with Cruk earlier. Only then did I notice the navy blue windbreaker with the yellow words 'police' across his back, rolled up his arms. He is too young to work with Cruk. I immediately know who he must be, an intern. He smiles at me and then, in the least eloquently way possible, trips on his laces, spilling coffee all over his bare arm. He swears colorfully and wipes it away.

"Very well", says Cruk, beckoning the boy over. "If you won't talk to me, maybe you will talk to Bellamy."