The hour was growing later, and still he sat there, nervously tapping his foot. He was the only person left in the corner diner, save for the greasy stop-order chef who was stuck with the night shift. The nervous was probably the only person to step into the seedy joint in hours, yet still he kept it open. Going through his third cup of joe, the wait was growing unbearible, but then, as the headlights of a passing car gleamed by, a figure stood at the door. The bell jingled on the door upon his entry. He seemed like someone quite down on his luck, huddled over in tattered cloths that bore a false air of pride. A top hat rested upon his head regally despite the several dents and scuffs it had acquired over the years. His jacket seemed a size too small, coming up a bit short on the worn sleeves, as did his pant, equally as aged. Hobbling over on his cane, the man sat at the bar, laying down payment, mostly coins, for a late night meal. The patient man tapped his mug constantly, trying to get the new comers attention while partly trying to work out his jitters. The bum never gave him a seconds notice, and waited for his meal. With a sigh, the cook waddled into the back to prepare the food, and the two were alone.
"Sorry about the lateness of my arrival," the hatted man begged in his cold voice, suddenly being seated with his hands folded in the booth across from the first man. "In my line of work, closings can be a bit tricky."
"I began to think you show," the hatless admitted after catching his breath from the surprise. "I thought it may have been some type of prank. I'm surprised you believed me, Mr. ..."
"Mr. will do just fine," Mr. told. "Now then, do you have it?" Reluctantly, the man pulled a folder from beneath his arm and handed it to the mysterious man. Parting his long, slender hands, he flipped through the contents, examining photos and reading data. "Yes, yes. It would seem this is a bonified case. I thank you for bringing this to our attention. The matter will be dealt with in an appropriate time." The folder vanished into his jacket, and Mr. set to leave.
"Wait, that's it," the other man questioned. "You'll just get to it?"
"I am a very busy man, sir," Mr. explained as he walked to the door. "All these matters are important to me, but I have several of equal importance."
"Why do you even care?" the other man begged. "Why did you even search for me." Mr. paused at the door, already half way out. He turned and lifted his brim.
"Let's just say they are of interest to me," Mr. answered with the noose around his marked neck swaying beneath his parted jacket. A passing car bleached out the diner with its headlights, leaving the man by himself as it passed. The cook returned from the back, wiping his hands.
"Excuse, sir," pleaded the man, "but did you know that man?" He received a queer look.
"What man?" asked the chef with a looked of annoyance. "You've been the only one in this dump all night." The man pressed his palms into his head, dizzy trying to keep up with all that he thought was going on.
"Ah, the poor," Mr. chirped from within a van, "they are so easily bribed."
"So, he wasn't lying then?" the driver questioned. "He really did have a case?"
"With photos to prove it, too," added Mr. "This makes six sightings in this area alone. Luckily, the fear of being branded insane is keeping most of the witnesses quiet. So then, I guess we got us a problem to solve. Let's get to it."
