“That’ll be two-fifty.” The vendor showed a toothy smile. He stared at Trent for a moment, and then realized who he was. “You the FBI guy, right? On that Tic Tac Toe deal, ain’t ya?”
Trent shoved the change into his jean pocket. “That’s me.”
“You think you’ll catch that guy?”
“Hope so. It’s a tough case.”
“You’d think with all the resources you guys got, it wouldn’t be a problem.”
Trent bit into the hot dog, chewing slowly. “Sometimes it takes more than that.”
“Well, shouldn’t you be out there looking for this nut case? I mean here you are, strolling along, as though you hadn’t a care in the world. That wacko’s out carvin’ people up like a Christmas ham, you’re standing here eatin’.”
Trent slowly chewed the last bite of his food, deposited the red and white checkered paper basket and plastic fork. “We have people on it right now, sir.” Trent shrugged on the jacket, searching for the right words and maintaining control. “For all I know, you could be him.” Trent stared at the purveyor never leaving his face.
“Well, I-, I’m not him!”
Trent shrugged, “I don’t know that, after all I’m just lollygagging around, eating your food, without a care in the world. You may have just poisoned me, I’ve touched your cart, gave you money, there would be all kinds of things that could point you out as a suspect.”
“Hey! Now wait a minute!” The vendor slammed down the tongs, which clattered to the ground.
“No.” Trent said. “No, I won’t wait a minute. You don’t know me from your asshole, how do you know I don’t have a care?” Trent’s voice was calm, steady, and making the vendor very uncomfortable. “You know, we have a composite sketch.” Trent leaned in closer. “You kinda got the same shape eyes and nose.” He pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open.
The vendor’s eyes flew open. “Whata you doin’?”
“Calling my boss. I think you maybe a suspect.” Trent paused for effect. “Yes? Hello? Get me Larry Corbett.”
“No! Wait a second! C’mon man! I was just blowin’ steam, everybody’s jittery over this, I’m a concerned citizen, I didn’t mean nothin’!”
Trent shrugged again. “I don’t know that, sir.” He shifted the phone to the other ear. “I’ll have to ask you to take a seat over there.” He nodded to the park bench next to the cart. “Yeah, Larry?” Trent turned away from the vendor, continued to walk to the parking area, and climbed on the Retro. He shoved the helmet on his head, still staring at the vendor who was closing down the hot dog stand. He turned the engine over and rapped the pipes a couple of times before pulling out.
