At ten, we were at the office on our second round of coffees. The sun was peeking from puffy, white cumulous clouds, but the rain had let up sometime during the night, leaving brooks and rivers along city streets, lots, and parks. Cleaning up the vast flooding would be a challenge.
For the last hour, we’d reviewed our notes and findings aloud and checked in with NOPD and HPD re news about Reg-Breezy.
“Nothing to report on Mr. Febrezio as yet,” Roger Leiter had told us. “And nothing about Mr. Nez either. Tell Gail I said hello. I’ll call if there’s anything of note to report.”
Ald had said pretty much the same, extending the “I’ll call” to the other murders on the island. Dead ends everywhere.
“I’d like to set that trap now,” Rey grumbled, stretching her legs over the armrest of the rat
