Belmont Inn

2

05:55 am

Boone retched, wheezing at the scalding, shoddy mass of gunk poorly impersonating coffee.

Sully swatted at his back, the battering scarcely padded by his military field jacket. With an empathetic grimace, he hurled him the sugar dispenser.

Their peculiar attendant, Eddie, stared at them blankly.

Boone blinked at the impassive waiter stationed across the counter. "Uh," He prodded gruffly. "Thanks?"

"No problem." Eddie deadpanned, then abruptly departed.

Sully sighed, nudging his mug about amidst distracted musing. "What were you saying?"

Boone cleared his throat, spurning his offending still full mug. A crease marred his brow as he enunciated the article. "Local hardware store owner found dead in his apartment. Authorities arrived at the scene following a distress call issued by a neighbour. The deceased - verified as Raymond Hartley, aged 65 at the time of death - had just recently recovered from a near crippling car accident," he paused to impart a pointed look. Sully pursed his lips testily. The papers rustled amidst his grasp as he reconvened. "Authorities suspect Mr. Hartley strained his underlaying injuries, instigating the calamity. The death has been ruled an accident."

Sully's visage preserved a prolonged, vacant bearing, as if anticipant of an apprising punchline. Boone merely addressed him with an exasperated gaze, mutely imploring rationale. "That's it?" Sully finally pitched, prodding. "That's not indicative of anything."

Boone flicked his forehead. "You've been unemployed too long."

Sully sanctioned his partner an irate glare. "We work together."

With a forbearing exhale, he spied the laminated menu, wagering the hazard of ordering food. He appraised the pie arrayed atop the counter. "Hey," he inquired aimlessly. "Who makes your pie?"

Their bizarre server paid no heed, absently aligning cutlery a few feet apart. The other server, a foxy, elfin brunette, sauntered back to the bar just as Eddie deciphered the call proceeding a delayed response. "Huh?"

His forbearing colleague assumed the attendance. "Don't worry," she commenced affably with a perceptive smile. "We sublet them from a bakery downtown. You're safe."

Boone motioned for a slice as Sully kicked his leg petulantly. "So abusive." He exhaled inordinately, summoning a confiding pitch. "The things we put up with in the name of love." He chaffed. The confounded waitress proffered an apprehensive smile with his pie. Sully kicked him again. He merely blinked guilelessly.

When the server departed from earshot, he resumed surmising to his progressively irate companion. "Randy, the filing clerk from the station, disclosed the particulars. Scythe marks by the feet. Ketamine in the system. Lazarus sign." He accentuated, casting an explicit look. "All his trademarks."

Sully gnawed the interior of his cheek, a pensive crease implemented between his brows. "You think it's him?"

He countered with a vacant stare. "No I think the 65 year old crippled guy slashed his own feet, drugged himself and adopted the inane pose of a mummy just for the hell of it." He deadpanned. "What a jester."

His partner disregarded his jibes, thrumming his fingers against the oakwood slab. "He hasn't been active in at least five years." Sully contended. "We're not even certain he's alive. Copycat?"