Never Look Down by Warren C Easley Page B

serious? Nobody’s gonna do that.”
    â€œYeah, well, nobody seems to know shit about the tagger anyway,” Zook added.
    Kelly shifted her weight to her other foot. “Have you seen Rupert?”
    â€œSaw him doing his tai chi routine this morning,” Zook answered, “But I’ll bet he’s gonna be hard to find.”
    â€œWhy’s that?”
    Zook shook his head. “I heard Digger told the cops they should talk to Rupert, that he knows everything that goes down in Old Town. I gave the old man a heads-up, and he was pissed at what Digger told them. He wants nothing to do with the cops.”
    Struggling to keep her face calm, Kelly nodded. L eave it to that douche Digger to shoot off his big mouth , she thought to herself. If the cops were tipped to Rupert, could Macho Dude be far behind?
    As Zook headed off to practice, Kelly said under her breath, “Can you believe it, Ki? He didn’t call me Sprout.”
    Kiyana laughed. “I think he got the message. And I think he likes you, too.”
    Kelly pushed her friend, but she couldn’t contain a grin. “Shut up.”
    The two friends hung out at the monument for a while, then headed upriver to watch the kids play in the Salmon Street Fountain. It was one of their favorite pastimes. Kids playing. Parents watching. Happy families. Halfway there, two men cut them off. The older man, who carried a folder in one hand, flashed a badge with the other and introduced himself as Harmon Scott. Kelly’s heart and breath stopped simultaneously. Don’t freak out. They can’t know who you are.
    Scott had sympathetic eyes and didn’t look like a cop. His partner was younger and trimmer with short cropped sandy hair, wraparound shades that blocked any hint of his eyes, and a stiff bearing that said nothing but “cop.”
    Scott wiped his brow and smiled as a breeze ruffled his wispy hair. “You young ladies look like you know this part of town.” He opened the folder to display two large photographs. “Have any idea who did this graffiti? The tagger uses the name K209.”
    Kelly struggled to find her breath as Kiyana leaned in to look at the photographs. Kiyana said, “Seen that one on Couch Street, but I don’t know nothin’ about who did it.”
    Scott’s eyes swung to Kelly, suddenly not so friendly. “How about you?” His partner shuffled his feet but kept his face like stone.
    Kelly willed a blank look and shook her head. “Nah. Sorry.”
    Scott looked disappointed. “We don’t care whether the graffiti’s legal or not. This is part of a murder investigation.” He handed them each a business card. “If you hear anything related to this tagger, please give us a call.”
    As Scott and his partner strode off, the sweat that had formed in Kelly’s armpits broke loose and snaked its way down her rib cage. Kiyana eyed Kelly skeptically. “You think Rupert knows who the tagger is? If we see him let’s ask him.”
    Kelly forced a smile. “If he knows he won’t tell us, Ki.
    Rupert was nowhere to be seen that afternoon. But Kelly was pretty sure she knew where to find him, at least after it got dark. She needed reassurance, and Rupert was the only person on the planet who could give her that.

Chapter Ten
    Cal
    Early Saturday morning I was awakened out of a dead sleep by someone down on the street calling, “Harley, c’mere Harley.” Archie raised his head and issued a half bark, half grumble over in the corner. Harley had to be a dog. I swung out of bed and moved down the short hall to the galley kitchen at Caffeine Central. Archie shadowed me, knowing he would get fed before I made my first cappuccino.
    After he was fed and I was caffeinated, I took him for a short walk and then returned for my breakfast. I toasted two pieces of Dave’s Killer Bread, fried up some red potatoes and onions, and scrambled three