September 8, 2022 at 2:38 PM

Italian Market, Philadelphia, PA

Daniels took an unmarked out of the pool and headed south, going down Broad. At a stoplight at Walnut and Broad, he watched people headed to lunch with their coworkers, or grabbing a quick bite for themselves. He could smell cooking oil from a food truck parked on the corner and charbroil smoke from an eatery a few steps down Walnut. The streets were lively with conversations, cars, and construction a block away.

As the light turned green, Daniels noted a digital sign outside the bus shelter that was glitching. He saw another sign a block further down. Someone was not doing their job.

At South Street, he made a left and headed towards the river, passing all the little shops that lined the street. South Street was wild, an untamed beast in a city that tried to inflict order on everything. Daniels remembered weekends in college on South, combing the bookstores, scouring racks of used music, and eating gyros that left everything a hot mess. Those memories seemed to clash with other connections in Philadelphia.

At 8th, he made a right and headed up the street, the shops of South giving way to houses and apartments. He took 8th to Christian Street, found a place to park, and got out. Up Christian, he walked past a couple of shops with apartments above them and stepped out in front of an institution in Philadelphia: the Italian Market.

* * * *

An hour ago, he had finished his report of last night's scuffle. He made sure to include all the information that he had on Lizard including links to his arrest files. He wasn't going to press charges or initiate a BOLO on him. He wanted to find him again, not force the man underground.

He also wrote an update on the three cases that he was working:

Paul Samuelson, 50s, worked as a human resources analyst. His wife didn't even feel or hear him leave bed, but his clothes, keys, wallet, and cell phone were gone come morning. But there was an entry in their security system when he entered his code and stepped out at 3:16 AM. Samuelson had left his house on his own volition, but his wife felt that something else was up. Daniels had put in a request for his cell phone records. Maybe he could get a phone call that triggered him leaving or some location data to help. They lived on 2nd Street.

Dina Suarez, just a few weeks shy of 32, was a recent hire to SEPTA's IT department. She went missing in transit between work and home. She'd taken to riding her bike recently to save money on gas. Her wife had told the police that she would share her location on her phone as she rode so her wife would know where she was in transit. The day that she went missing, the data stopped on 2nd Street, not far from Samuelson's house. Daniels had asked around the neighborhood if anyone noticed her but had come up empty.

Lin Zhang, 35 years old, was a nurse who had worked for a dermatology office in Old Town. She walked from the office to the 2nd Street station, where she picked up the subway out to her house near Manayunk. No one noticed that she was gone until her work called her sister after a couple of days. Daniels was having a hard time getting access to her phone data. He had no idea where she was or if she'd gone missing.

These were the cases that he was actively working on. They consumed his waking hours and, sometimes, his sleeping ones.

They were also why he did a dive into records and found three listings for businesses connected with the word Minotaur. One had closed ten years ago, an antiquity company. One was a Human Resources management company in South Philadelphia. And the other was a Male Revue joint near the river that didn't open until 8 PM.

South Philadelphia it was.

* * * *

The Italian Market was an outdoor farmer's market full of vegetables, fresh-baked bread, and all the Italian meats you could imagine in one place. Restaurateurs, chefs, and foodies hunted the stalls to find the best foods to make in their kitchens. To uncover the raw ingredients that make their special creations. To explore inspirations for the ones they hadn't dreamed up yet. At one in the afternoon, folks were milling around, baskets under arms or in little shopping carts. The covered awnings of 9th kept the sun off of them but it was still hot. The street was full of idling trucks full of goods, refrigerator coolers humming, and people talking in Italian, Spanish, and a few in French. To Daniels, the Italian Market showed the true heart of Philadelphia: the city of brotherly love... for food.

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As Daniels headed down 9th, his destination a block ahead of him, something about this part of the street suddenly felt familiar to him. He'd been here many times before in and after college, so it wasn't like he didn't know the Market. But this felt way more intimate and personal. It felt familiar, like a coffee shop around the corner from where you live, a place you go every day. Daniels saw a small bookshop across the street and immediately an image of a hardcover copy of Stephen King's The Stand appeared in his mind. He also knew that if he went home, it wouldn't be on his bookshelf. He'd never owned that book. However, he could feel its smooth pages in his hands, turning it over, and thinking about buying it. There was also an echo of a woman's voice, telling him to buy the book. Daniels felt a warmer sun on his face and a hand slip into his hand, though it was currently empty.

Stopping abruptly, Daniels turned around. No one else was there with him.

There was a small alley off to the right. Without even thinking, he entered the alley and that strong feeling of familiarity embraced him again, enveloping him in a warm hug. Daniels knew almost instinctively that he'd walk down this alley for two blocks, make a right and walk up a block. Where that would lead him, he had no idea. However, he knew this sense of direction on an almost cellular level. It was as if someone had turned a switch on and he was remembering paths he hadn't known before. It was like stumbling upon another life that you once lived and had forgotten.

Daniels had no idea what was happening.

Part of Daniels wanted to keep walking down the alley. Another part of him, a bossy part, reminded him that they were on the clock and had a job to do. A sense of urgency flooded his nerves, so he pushed the path and remembered directions aside and promised to come back in a few days when he had a day off.

* * * *

Focused, he turned around and stepped back onto 9th. The place that he was going to was a building next door to Batroni's Italian Coffees, the last shop at the end of the block. Daniels walked briskly down the block, his eyes sharp on the people coming and going. At the end of the block, he stopped at a fruit vendor and glanced at a few things for sale as his eyes scoped out the place across the street. Batroni's looked like a cafe right out of a Rome postcard. The earthy scents that wafted out of the shop mingled with sweet ones of the clementines and peaches from the fruit vendor. The place next to it was part of the same building and had a door marked with a list of names of different businesses.

"You should go get a cup," said a voice behind Daniels. "They have great espresso."

Daniels glanced around him to see an older woman wearing a shaw (it's like 89 degrees!) and putting out a flight of apples carefully into baskets. "I will. I want to check out--"

"--my fruit?" she asked with a grin. "I'm a married woman, fine sir."

Daniels matched her grin. "--your wares."

"That's worse!" She motioned across the street. "If you want a cappuccino, go get one. If you're instead casing the building next door, then you need to buy a bushel of peaches. That's the price I charge for loitering."

Daniels acquiesced and pulled out some cash to hand her. "What makes you think that I am casing the building and not the coffee shop."

She fixed him a look as she took his cash, did not give him change, and handed him back peaches. "I was running counter-ops when you were but a glimmer in your mother's eye. I can save you some time and tell you that no one's up there. That place has been empty for three weeks."

"Really? I looked into a couple of the businesses and they are all--"

"Operational?"

He nodded.

"No one goes in that building. I know. I'm here every single day. Five businesses and no one goes in."

A woman walked by, her phone open, and a shimmering hologram replied to her. It was a friendly conversation. The older woman motioned after her. "This is connection now. We used to talk to each other face-to-face. Now, it's always through something."

Motioning to the both of them, Daniels said, "We're talking face to face."

She gave him an eye. "That's because you want something."

Daniels pulled out a card from his pocket and slipped it into the hands of the old woman. "If you notice anything else, would you call me?"

"You buy fruit, I call."

"Then give me a bushel of the plums and we'll call it a down payment on future information.

She bagged the plums.

* * * *

Eating a plum, the juice rolling over his fingers, Daniels walked back to his car. He was almost at the vehicle when his phone rang. Slipping the phone out with his non-juicy hand, he answered, "This is Daniels."

"Sean," Sol said through the phone.

His breath suddenly caught in his throat.

"Can you meet me at 6th and Market? I need your help."

"Sure! What--"

But she was already gone.

Daniels put the plums in the backseat, then drove back uptown.