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“You don’thaveto, but I’d love the help.”
“Since I don’t have to, you’d best be on your way,” he said. “This isn’t the place for a lady like you at this late hour.”
Gila tapped her on the shoulder.
“You tried,” she said, “but this was the last place. You agreed. Let’s go.”
Kat wanted to press the man further. She got the distinct impression that he knew more than he was saying. But she didn't have any leverage, and Gila was staring at her expectantly.
“Thanks for your time,” she muttered, and turned to leave. She was almost to the door when the cashier called out after her.
“Who did this man hurt?” he asked.
Kat turned around.
“So far, he’s murdered five people and I don’t think he’s done yet.”
The cashier looked conflicted. But after a few seconds, he seemed to make a decision.
“A young fella came in here two days ago, on Sunday. He was like you described: tall, white, with a limp. Couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Had dark hair though, not blond.”
Kat stepped back toward him.
“What else do you remember?”
“One thing made him stick out in my mind,” the cashier said.
“What?”
“He was asking for organic vegetables,” he replied, almost chuckling at the memory. “I told him he was lucky we had any vegetables here at all. We don’t do organic on Skid Row. He wasn’t happy.”
“What else did he get?”
“Nothing organic, that’s for sure. Some Ramen noodles. Cereal. Milk. Bottled water.”
“Do you remember how he paid?” Kat asked.
“Cash. Gave me a twenty and took every penny of change.”
“Do you remember which way he went?”
“Yep, he went left after he stepped outside,” he said. “After that, I don’t know.”
“Thanks very much,” Kat said, before stepping out onto the street.
She looked down the block, which was comprised of three giant buildings that all looked the same.
“What’s down that way?” Kat asked the cashier through the open door.
He grunted.
“The crappiest apartments you’ll ever find. All studios. Lots are weekly rentals. It’s where a lot of addicts hole up when they have a little extra scratch on hand. Same for the hookers. This isn’t Beverly Hills.”
“They take cash?” Kat wanted to know.
“You better believe it,” he replied. “Not a lot of great credit around here.”
“How many units are on this block?”
