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“I think that’s it up there,” Noah said, jerking Rowe from his darker thoughts. Rowe spotted the small, single-story building painted black with the large front windows darkened. The sign at the top of the building was written in a frantic script, proclaiming “You Are Toast” beside the image of a toaster emblazoned with a bull’s-eye. He couldn’t stop from rolling his eyes at it. After spending nearly eight years in the Army, Rowe couldn’t get into video games that mimicked battle. He still managed to get his high from covert operations provided by his day job.
They drove around a couple blocks before finding an open spot on the street big enough to handle Rowe’s truck.
Noah unbuckled his seat belt, his eyes scanning the immediate area. “How we playing this?”
“Low key,” Rowe said with a shrug. “We’re just in to grab some coffee. That’s all.”
Noah chuckled. “Yeah, we’ll start there.”
Rowe didn’t reply as he picked up his vibrating cellphone. He couldn’t blame Noah for his skepticism. They’d been on plenty of missions, as well as just a few nights out for laughs, that had started “low key” and then went all to shit. Maybe Snow was right and he was a magnet for mayhem and chaos. Fuck knows he didn’t ask for it…most of the time.
He glanced at the caller ID before answering the phone and immediately putting the caller on speaker. “What’s up, Quinn?”
“Boss, are you there?” Quinn came back in a frantic voice.
“Yeah, I’m here,” he said, raising an eyebrow at Noah.
“No, I mean are you there at the café?”
“Yeah.”
“He’s there. Right now!”
“The arsonist?”
“Yeah, he just logged into the chat room I’ve been monitoring. His first post went live thirty seconds ago. The IP address matches the café. He’s there!”
Noah waved his hand at Rowe as if presenting him with proof to say, “and there’s the shit that’s about to hit the fan.” Fuck. He really did attract it. He was cursed or something. But this could work for them…sort of. They had no idea what the person looked like, but there was good chance that this fucker knew what Rowe looked like.
“Hey Quinn!” Noah suddenly chimed in. “Most monitors have built-in cameras now. Can you use your tech voodoo to get a picture of this asshole?”
“I can try.”
“Great.”
Rowe couldn’t stop the smile the tugged at the corners of his mouth. How they thought alike surprised even him at times.
“Quinn, we’re going in. We’re a couple blocks away. Don’t engage this asshole unless it looks like he’s going to log off. He needs to stay online until we get there.”
“Gotcha, boss.”
Rowe hung up the phone and looked over at Noah, who was struggling not to laugh.
“Low key, huh?”
“Fuck you. Let’s see if we can catch this guy without shots being fired,” Rowe grumbled, throwing open his door before climbing out. It would actually be better if they didn’t pull their guns. Rowe had no intention of calling the cops in on this. Sure, it would help their investigation into the fires, but Rowe was after much bigger game than a little firebug. He wanted Jagger.
They walked briskly down the street, talking loudly about the fact that they were missing the Bengals-Steelers game on TV. Just two guys out, grabbing coffee. No big deal. Until they stepped inside the Internet café. Rowe stopped upon crossing the threshold and blinked several times, forcing his eyes to adjust to the lower light of the interior compared to the bright sunlight shining on the city. The front half of the café had the typical set up of wooden tables and chairs. There was a small scattering of people on laptops, paper cups beside them. A few people looked up at Rowe and Noah, but they all went quickly back to whatever they were doing, brushing them off.
A bar stood off to the right, a glass case displaying a handful of aged pastries that had probably looked appetizing when they were first put out a day or two ago. A shiny machine with an assortment of nozzles, making loud grinding and steaming noises. Behind it was a large chalkboard filled with the specials of the day and prices.
As they walked up to the bar, Rowe caught sight of a room on the left filled with long tables divided into cubes similar to what you’d see in a library. Each cube held a large monitor and keyboard. From what he could spot, another dozen customers sat at the computer screens.
“Can I help you?” demanded a bored-sounding barista wearing a shit-ton of dark eye make-up and multiple lip piercings. Yeah, this was so not the type of place Rowe would normally find himself in.
“One black coffee and a salted caramel mocha with an extra shot,” Noah said with a wink. The kid blushed and Rowe suddenly had to fight the urge not to reach across the counter and strangle him.
