Lunch was soup that looked like whale blubber. I wished for the millionth time that the kitchen was open this late, but it was locked up tight, like everything else in this place.
A tinny program filtered through the air as I supplimented my soup lunch with Nacho chips. My doctor had drawn attention to my inappropriate diet; I had drawn attention to the fact that my biceps still looked like mangos. Only in size, not color.
Finishing up, I was back on the trail. People were beginning to get their days started.
Checking the site my undercover had mentioned, I was startled to find it empty. Where were the goods? She was reliable source, but maybe someone else had shaken her down already. It mattered little, in the grand scheme of things, since it would probably be full again by this time next week. Life's like that, I guess.
I stopped in to see another informer of mine. He was alright; introduced me to a new friend of his. I couldn't stay long, if someone knew about my undercover, it might be risky to be seen together. As I walked away, I heard them talking about me. I was a POI, or person-of-interest. It seems that all my connections had been compromised. I wouldn't know for sure until the excrement hit the rotating climate control device.
Tired of running in circles, I returned to the office, replacing my partner at the desk. There was little else to do here, now, other then try and fix my busted surveillance system. A couple of wacks and even that was finished.
Looks like things were back to the old waiting game.
I thought about apple pancakes for breakfast, wondered if they'd go with the white wine I'd been saving. I had a contact to impress tonight, but I doubt he liked pancakes as much as I did. I might even have to go grocery shopping. I contemplated a menu while clipping my nails with scissors. Pure Class.
Another day, more questions, and less answers. Just what I'm used to.