"He's not answering," Jake revealed needlessly.
"Good. Maybe I can avoid the fight," Luke joked, watching as his friend typed a message. He'd witnessed Phinn's tantrums over cases in the past. So, he fully expected Jake's partner to be upset over being unable to listen to their conversation with the Tarrs.
"I don't know if that's a good thing or not. Phinn's pissed at me, or he's off working another angle," Jake admitted while they continued to sit in his car outside the Tarr mansion. "However, you up for lunch? I owe you for helping."
"Hmm, I could eat. We're not far from Market Square. Maybe Harbor Pub?" Luke suggested.
"Ah, I might be a little light in the wallet. Phinn used the last of our funds to bribe...nevermind that part," Jake said. Although Harbor Pub wasn't expensive, he hoped to go somewhere cheaper.
"I can pay for myself," Luke offered.
"No, it's my treat."
"Portside?"
"Sounds good," Jake agreed about the dingy diner in the Harbor District.
Checking over his shoulder, Jake pulled the sedan away from the curb and started down the narrow street. A part of headlights five houses down flicked on. Although he didn't notice a car pull out too, Jake's subconscious did.
Jake weaved the old narrow streets as the rain increased again. He traveled over sections still covered in bricks to keep the old-world ambiance. Those non-paved sections caused him to grit his teeth as the ancient sedan shook from all the groves.
Heading toward the oceanfront, Jake took a right at the next turn. Immediately, Luke gestured over the wrong turn. He pointed out that it was a dead end. With a groan, Jake drove until he reached the wide part of the cul-de-sac and turned around. Returning to the intersection, Jake paused as he noticed a car coming from his left. However, it slowed down considerably, so he took the minor chance and pulled out onto the same road to his right.
Suddenly, Jake glanced at his side and rearview mirrors. After Jake swore, Luke looked over and asked what was wrong.
"We got a tan and black Trans Am behind us."
"So?" Luke replied, looking in his side mirror.
"Phinn took Bandit out for a walk last night. While on it, a tan and black Trans Am followed him around. That's why he called me last night at Smashburgers," Jake explained.
"What you wanna do?"
Jake took a quick left and a sharp right. It took several long seconds, but the Trans Am continued to follow their course. Shrugging his shoulders, Jake decided to keep their lunch plans and head for the Harbor District.
"Let them follow. Phinn thought two people were in the car last night, and it looks like it again. They already know we visited the Tarrs. Maybe they'll slip up, and I can get a picture of their license plate while down by Portside," Jake speculated.
Jake hung back as Luke pushed open the Portside's heavy, weather-beaten glass door. A dangling bell jingled over the entering teen's head. The Trans Am seemed to have vanished from sight for the moment. Jake felt frustrated over his inability to catch a glimpse of its license plate. Although he didn't like being followed, he hoped it would reappear when they finished lunch.
An L-shaped building, the diner had seen better days, which was part of its charm for locals and tourists. The original pre-World War II diner sat in front with a post-war addition in the L-shape's rear section. The scent of greasy food and stale coffee met their nostrils. A first-timer might assume the smells came from a busy Saturday, but they lingered from ages past. The only signs of a packed breakfast and lunch came under their feet. The checkered floor squeaked from a sticky combination of mud and spilled soda.
Luke lifted his shoe with mild disgust, but Jake hardly noticed the sticky floor. As the son of a local football hero who owned a sports bar, he always appreciated the time capsule of bygone eras on the diner's different walls. They were lined with a mishmash of peeling posters for forgotten boxing champions, yellowed newspaper clippings about lost-at-sea tragedies, and photographs of local celebrities and politicians beside the diner's owner.
Only a Portside regular knew the boxing memorabilia represented the love of a fighter turned cook turned past diner owner. Or that the dwindling line of fishermen liked to trade war stories about their parents, uncles, and grandparents as they battled the sea's wrath to provide for their families. And a select number knew the Portside's owner agreed to the wall photos merely to provide cover when he bashed politicians of every political stripe.
The two teens scanned the front of the diner for a seat. Instead, they found its chrome-lined countertops and vinyl stools filled to the brim with plates and customers. The plush booths, which looked like they hadn't felt the touch of a vacuum in weeks, told the same story. Walking deeper into the interior, they reached the old jukebox, which played a mournful tale of the sea.
Turning past the brightly lit jukebox, Jake finally spotted a couple of open booths in the rear section. He opted to lead Luke to the one furthest in the back. Sitting down on the cracked vinyl, Jake nodded at how well their seating arrangements worked out. The junior sleuth could effortlessly watch one of the two front doors from his vantage point. Anyone else coming inside to watch him or use the restroom also would be easy to spot.
Luke grabbed a pair of peeling plastic menus and handed one over to Jake. A glance confirmed that nothing had changed. Already aware of what he planned to order, Jake took in the sights and smells of the diner. The air was thick with the aroma of frying onions and bacon, while the lingering odor of burnt toast hinted at a crazy breakfast rush. Jake also heard the sounds of sizzling ground beef and frying french fries.
Scanning the room for familiar faces, Jake first made eye contact with a heavyset woman with a beehive hairdo and a pen cap dangling from her lips who stood behind the counter. Recognizing Marvin Magnum's son, she nodded before returning to take a customer's order.
A young couple, likely college graduates, sat in a booth in the corner, sharing a plate of fries and whispered secrets. Jake wondered if they were tourists or recent transplants as they looked out of place in the dingy diner. A truck driver, his cap emblazoned with the logo of a defunct company, stirred a cup of coffee that had grown cold in his massive hand. His eyes were bloodshot, and his jaw moved rhythmically as he chewed a piece of gum to stay alert. Luke noticed him, cracking a comment about not wanting to be on the same road as him.
In the front corner, a woman with brown hair and blonde streaks spoke into a cell phone in hushed tones. An occasional flash of an angry expression hinted at a conversation that was more than just a casual chat. The bell jangled, ushering in a teen wearing way too many clothes on a hot, humid day. Under his hooded sweatshirt, he gave his name before grabbing a pickup order.
One of the few non-taverns frequented by the remaining fishermen and dockworkers, Jake spotted several of them sitting in one section. Some engaged in lively debates as loners nursed cups of coffee while lost in their thoughts.
Jake did a double-take upon noticing a grizzled fisherman sitting on the periphery of his fellow anglers. Although his face barely appeared over the top of the newspaper he read, Jake would never forget the weathered, scraggly face of Edgar Fowle. The sea captain had crossed paths with the teen detectives on a couple of past occasions. Hopefully, Fowle wouldn't notice Jake or wasn't in the mood to express his disapproval in his usual sharp way.
"If it isn't little Jakey Magnum! What can I get ya, hun?"
Jake caught the fishing captain's eye twitch at hearing his name. Fortunately, that was the only reaction from his past antagonist. Pulling his attention away, he gave the heavyset waitress his broadest smile.
"Morning...I mean, good afternoon, Dolly. How have you been?"
"I'd be better if this heat broke. Because God forbid that Otis ever hooks up an air conditioner to this bandbox," Dolly commented, rolling her eyes as Otis looked up from the grill. "Your usual?"
"Yep," Jake acknowledged.
