image [https://i.imgur.com/tqOCfcf.png]

When my eyes fell on the prices, I stared in shock. “The fuck? Twelve dollars for an Irish coffee? Why would you pay this much for a drink? You might as well set your wallet on fire.”

Dahlia chuckled as she scanned the menu. “You think these prices are bad? You’ve never seen how much it costs just to breathe in New York City— or even Seattle.”

Completely baffled, all I could do was shake my head.

That day, Dahlia had dragged me to some kind of up-scale bistro - a word so snobby, I felt spat upon just saying it - and, because I didn’t have a better idea, I let her. The second I’d stepped into the building, I already knew I was out of place, my faded shirt and work boots pegging me as an alien life form among the button-ups and blazers of the other diners.

Dahlia, however, blended in perfectly. So perfectly that when the waitress was leading us to a table, she first assumed we weren’t eating together. When we clarified that we were, she shot Dahlia a look of pity.

“I don’t know why we always have to go out to eat when we meet up,” I said as I closed the menu. “Why don’t we go anywhere else?”

“Name a place to meet with tables, air conditioning and permission to be there as long as we’d like.” As she spoke, Dahlia counted on her fingers. “It’s harder to find than you’d think.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I dunno, what about your place?”

Dahlia, too, raised an eyebrow. When I realized the implications, I straightened up in my seat and cleared my throat. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“Cool your jets, hot shot, I didn’t take offense.” She smirked. “Since we live in a democracy, I’ll let you pick the next place we go, alright?”

It was strange to think that there’d be a next time, but I knew that there would be. As long as I still held the hunch that there may be an arsonist running around, I’d be tied up with Dahlia; in passing, I wondered what would become of us if - or when - we’d caught someone.

The prices were so outrageous, all I ordered was a side of fries and a glass of water, earning an eyeroll from the waitress. Dahlia, however, was willing to shell out for a salad and a mimosa, so at least we wouldn’t get kicked out for seeming cheap.

With our orders sent to the kitchen, we fell into our ‘routine’: I traded what I had to offer, she reviewed it and took notes for her own reference while we picked over our food. What must we have looked like to the other people there? Even the waitress was obviously curious when she refilled our drinks, but she was polite enough to keep to herself.

“Damn,” Dahlia said, once she’d finished. “These all seem really random. And these are just the ones that didn’t have an obvious cause, right?”

I nodded. “And they’re all reported by people who definitely couldn’t have been involved in it. Like people who were out walking their dogs, or they were driving home from work, so it just… couldn’t have been them. It’s a different person each time, so unless they’re all in on it… shit, who knows.”

“It’d probably be more suspicious if it was the same person reporting it every time, wouldn’t it?” She bobbed her straw in her drink, then sighed. “I just wish we had more to go off of… I’m dying out here, Manny.”

“I don’t know. Maybe this is all in our heads.” I leaned back, running a hand over my face. “The more connections I look for, the dumber I feel.”

Dahlia hummed thoughtfully. “Let’s take it from the top, then: what was the first fire that made you think something was going on?”

In my mind, I rewound all of the calls from over the last month. Then, one of them stuck out to me.

“It was a fire at an office building,” I said. “It was weird because… a lot of these fires were happening at abandoned buildings, right? Like condemned trailers or empty warehouses, which I thought was kind of strange already, but I didn’t really think anything of it.”

She nodded. “Those could easily be just some dumb kids smoking and trespassing.”

“Exactly. So this office was under renovation, and since the construction workers had gone home, it should’ve been empty. But one of the guys had gotten trapped in the building. He turned out okay, but he did pass out from the smoke, so… he needed medical attention.”

“Are you sure he’s not our guy?” She had a little sparkle in her eye. “I mean, he was the only one there, right?”

“Yeah, but the footage ruled him out,” I replied. “Anyway, it just gave me a weird feeling, right? ‘Cause these fires were so… sequential, and the buildings were always empty. And right after that, boom: they’re back in empty buildings again.”

Dahlia said nothing, simply listening as she ate. She held her gaze on me so steadily, it was like I was giving a presentation, which I found a little flattering. I sat closer and looked around us before I continued.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

“I know we live in Texas, but our infrastructure isn’t so fucked that fires just spontaneously happen this often,” I continued. “It almost always involves a fallen cigarette, or a space heater— something involving people being there. And with these calls, no one’s there, and no one has any reason to be there.”

“That is interesting.” She took a quick, dainty sip of her water. “Why would you set fire to a bunch of empty places, though?”

“Maybe someone wants to set buildings on fire without setting people on fire?” I shrugged. “That’s my only guess.”

“Ugh…” With a pout, Dahlia rubbed her temples. “If we could puzzle out a motive, then we might have an idea of where he’d go next. Like if he was after insurance, or something…”

I narrowed my eyes. “Why are you so certain it’s a guy?”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” she scoffed. “The majority of arson cases are committed by young, white males in late adolescence to early adulthood with troubled backgrounds. It’s not an indictment of your sex, if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“Someone’s been doing her homework.” I paused to accept another glass of water from the waitress, who was clearly annoyed that I hadn’t ordered anything else. “How many papers have you read to spout that line off?”

“Too many, that’s for sure.” She sighed, gazing down at her empty drink. “I’ve been reading about it as much as I can. Since you’re pretty much my only source, I have to wait to see what you’ve got for me to build up this particular story… and I can’t do a lot of investigating without looking like a suspect to the police.”

“Mmhm.” I chewed the tip of my straw in thought. “Question. Why shouldn't I suspect you?”

In the middle of eating the last bite of her salad, Dahlia blinked, then let out a sharp cackle. “Good point! I suppose you have no reason not to, right?”

“Right, you think you’re off the hook ‘cause you’re an old Asian lady?” I gestured at her with my glass. “It’s always the ones you least suspect.”

“Excuse you!” She wrinkled her nose in offense. “Thirty-eight isn’t old, little boy.”

“Shit, are you more offended at being called old than being called a suspected criminal?” My smile split into a grin. “Seems a little vain.”

“Of course I am!” Her fork made a tinging noise as she dropped it into the empty bowl. “Nobody takes old women seriously. Now, bad girls on the other hand…”

I raised an eyebrow playfully. “Is this your way of telling me you’re bad?”

“No, but I refuse to let anyone stop me from what I want in life.” For a moment, she paused, looking unexpectedly resigned. “And to a lot of people, that’s essentially the same thing.”

Sensing that I was about to tread into waters deeper than I’d meant to, I said nothing and left it at that, wiping my hands clean now that I’d finished my plate.

There was something about Dahlia that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. She was so measured, so put together, but there was something brewing underneath it all. I didn’t think she actually cared as much about journalistic integrity as she claimed to; in fact, I was starting to believe she was trying to prove something, but it felt disrespectful to pry.

After she’d dabbed her face with a napkin, Dahlia reached down into her bag and fished out a tube of lip gloss. While she checked her reflection in her phone, my gaze ran down from her cheeks to her mouth right as she pressed the brush along her bottom lip. Even though the gloss’ shade suited her, I found myself wishing she’d leave her lips bare; seeing their natural color felt like a peek underneath her skirt, a little thrill I hadn’t expected.

In a split second, Dahlia’s eyes flickered from her reflection to me. Just as she was about to speak, her Apple watch let out a chorus of beeps, and when she glanced down at it, a revulsion overtook her features out of nowhere. She swiped the notification away with such irritation, I was a little surprised.

“Woah, what’s that all about?” I asked.

At first, Dahlia said nothing, resuming the application of her makeup. With a firm twist, she closed the lip gloss and threw it into her bag, turning to face me like she was at confession.

“It’s… my husband.” Dahlia sighed, looking as if she regretted having to tell me. “Soon to be ex-husband, to be precise.”

“Oh— shit.” I blinked stupidly. “I… I didn’t realize.”

Awkwardly, I scooted my chair back from the table to give us space. At my reaction, Dahlia frowned apologetically.

“The bastard doesn’t seem to realize we’re in a no-fault state, so he thinks he can stop the divorce from happening if he pesters me enough.” She collected a couple bobby pins out of her bag and tucked the flyaways away from her face. “I really should just block his number and let him talk to the lawyer, but… well, as shocking as it may seem, even I have a heart– though it’s mostly to get my dog back.”

“That… sucks.” I flattened my mouth, annoyed that I lacked anything smarter or more sensitive to say.

She flattened her mouth, too. “Yes, it does.”

An air of tension hung over us now. Whatever the story between her and her husband was, it dampened Dahlia’s mood completely, and I wasn’t sure how to break the ice without being accidentally inappropriate, so I stayed quiet. There was hardly any conversation as we had the waitress collect our checks separately, and when a few agonizing minutes of silence had passed, it was clear that we’d finished our business. Frustrated, Dahlia let out a long, weary sigh.

“Okay, well, I should probably get going,” she said. “I’ve got lots of things to do.”

“Yeah. Yeah, me too,” I stammered as I closed the folder I brought for her. “Uh, did you need anything else?”

“No! Everything you brought was great.” She began to collect her things from her side of the table and crammed them into her bag, which was nearly big enough to hold half of Alaska. “I’ll call you soon, okay?”

“Yeah,” I repeated. “Sounds good.”

Dahlia stood from her seat, and so did I, and we left the bistro. On our way out, when I held open the door for her, the scent of her perfume lingered after her.

I tried not to think anything of it.