Close Meditations of a Visual Kind

St. Otter's Festival

The crowd nearly filled the church, though they tended to congregate in the center aisle and pews. I walked briskly up the side toward the alcove with the Icon, my eyes sweeping the crowd looking for someone, something to stand out.

One did, towering above the people around him and headed toward the alcove as well. I sighed, recognising the shape of a bald bullet head. As I neared the Icon I could see a svelte shape next to him, looking petite even though she wasn't much shorter than me. Anyone would look petite next to the guy next to her. I stopped in front of the Icon and waited. They were clearly heading my way. The big guy stopped about 10 feet from me, eyeing me warily.

International Relations

The ride to the 6th Precinct took little time, traffic moving briskly and mostly being the cable-cars and delivery wagons. Our driver deposited us at the main door and drove off to the garage. I motioned Ofuroyama through ahead of me. We nodded to Sargent Feuerschmidt at the desk, talking to an otter carrying a big camera. The otter bounced over in front of me.

"That is a good reason. Yes, Ramaji will move tonight, most probably during the festival. We may gain additional information before. I know place where such is found. We must be ready, and rested." He looked around the room. "May I use chair for nap, please?" I smiled and nodded.

"Yeah, sure. I plan on catching some zee's here." And with that I stretched out, propping my boots on the far armrest and my head on the near one. Experience taught me long ago never to waste time for sleep. I was out in seconds.

To Be Continued ...

I leaned against the tree trunk in the shadows from the gas lamp and watched the church across the street. Our Lady of Perpetual Scientific Inquiry stood conspicuous in inactivity, but I got to enjoy the wee hours on a cold, dark morning watching it because the Watch got a tip that someone planned a heist of the St. Otter icon. Fog wrapped itself around me in tendrils like the arms of a damp, dead lover. Hunching my shoulders and turning the collar of my duster up, I wished I had some hot coffee. But the coffee house behind me was still closed, only the neon sign flashing and buzzing, Skippy's Chemo, Skippy's Chemo, Skippy's Chemo.

"What do you know of St. Otter, Zoektochtmann-san?"

"Call me Dutch, it's easier. Not much. He was an otter. Someone painted an Icon of him. Now someone wants to steal it."

Ofuroyama nodded. "Driver, please to change destination. Please to go to Hobart House." He turned to me as the driver turned the mech at the next intersection. "Someone you need to speak with, Dutch-san. Good thing is now day, though maybe we still wake him."

To Be Continued ...