I’m going to meet him again, the Lanky Man.
That’s what I’ve started calling the guy from the cafe. There was nothing else distinguishing about him expect his height and narrow build. Guy’s like a parking meter.
I wrote him an email. Here’s how it went.
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It’s Raymond.
We need to talk. Now. I have questions and I want answers.
I opened that box you gave me. What the hell was in it? And what did it do to me?
Let’s meet at the Milk Street Cafe. Tomorrow at noon.
– –
I think it’s appropriately angry. While I was waiting for a response, I did some investigating. I wanted to know as much as I could about this guy before I saw him again. Who was he; what was his agenda.
I started with Milk Street Cafe. I spoke with the waitresses, knowing it was a long shot. Sure enough, they didn’t remember him. His email gave me nothing at first. But I gave the email address to a computer geek friend of mine, Gus. We’ve worked together before on stories that required some computer work.
All Gus could tell me was that the email address was a fake one, used to hide the real source of the email. Through some means of wizardry Gus was able to find that the email linked back to a computer in Algeria.
I’d reached a dead-end and had nothing to show for it. So I waited. Several sleepless days passed. Then, this morning, an email appeared in my inbox.
It was from the Lanky Man. Here’s how it went:
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Meet next Friday at Wither’s, tavern. 3 PM.
– –
Ha! So here was my chance to finally wring some answers from the guy. Though I have to wait almost another week until I get the chance. Weirdest of all, Wither’s is in none other than McAffrey’s Place. That’s not a good place. I would know: remember my unpublished article? But at this point I’ll venture into McAffrey’s if it means answers.