She had to scramble to keep up. The pigeon was already in line and ordering. He kept looking at the phone near the restrooms. They got in the adjacent line and Charlie talked about their kids. Jesus, she was so nervous and he was trying to bust her up. She had left her gun in the car. Her top would not cover it.

The three of them got burgers and fries at the same time. The guy took a seat close to the phone. They sat next to him. It was a crowded lunch hour, lots of kids. The guy was hungry, Charlie was hungry, she had an ulcer. Charlie nodded to the guy and he grinned back through a mouthful of discount dentistry. Charlie kept talking about their kids: Bart and Penelope. Seemed they were straight-A students and natural born athletes. Only in middle school and already Harvard was sending letters.

The phone rang and the guy jumped on it.

“Hi there?” he said, sounding like a hick from a pig farm talking to deaf grandparents. “Yeah, everything’s cool. No problem. Yeah, I got it in the car. What? No, the car is locked. Huh, sorry, I won’t do that again. What? Yeah, I know where that is. Yeah, okay, got ya.”

The guy returned to his burger. Almost done, he turned to Charlie and asked where Century and Sepulveda Boulevard were. Charlie gave him directions.

“You want to go south to the ten and take it west to the four-oh-five. Take that south and after about five miles you’ll see Century. Get off and go east.”

The guy nodded. “East. That’s left, huh?”

“Yeah. Got to meet someone?”

“Yeah. Is there a Denny’s there, at that corner?”

“Sure is,” Charlie said. “They have great chocolate cake.”

The guy was interested. “I’ll have to try it.”

Shit like this does not happen in real life, Kelly thought.

They let the guy go. They got in their own car and reactivated the radio. Vicki Bane gave them an earful. But she shut up long enough to hear about Denny’s.

“You’re not going in there, Charlie,” she warned.

“The guy won’t mind,” Charlie protested. “He might need more directions. Look, we already have a bond, he trusts me.”

“Kelly?”

She took the radio. “Yes, boss?”

“Your partner is losing it. Keep him in the car.”

“Can we watch?” she asked.

“No closer than a block.” Vicki cut the connection. Kelly glanced over.

“We would never call our kids Bart and Penelope,” she said. Her daughter’s full name was Anna Marie. She took after her father with her dark hair and gray eyes. Kelly wondered how they were doing without her.

“We can call them Buckwheat and Audrey if you’d let me bring them to life.” He was only teasing. He respected marriage vows; and there was a lot to respect about him.