Elysium Dreams

Fourteen

Seven hours later, I was stiff; my head hurt from my vending machine lunch and my eyes were tired. The whiteboards were now covered in pink notes. I had even had portable whiteboards brought in.

Michael and I had taken all the photos and arranged them in chronological order. He had made a few notes in bright green. Together we had found something. It was a minor something, but it was still better than where we had been when everyone left us.

"What do you think, dinner and then the hotel?" Michael asked as he stretched.

"I thought hackers were supposed to be able to sit for long periods of time?" I teased him.

"They are. I'm losing my touch. Being a Marshal is making me soft," he yawned and stretched again. "And I am getting over pneumonia."

"Ok, real food and then we go back to the hotel and await our fearless leaders," I agreed. Agent Gentry had been left with us. Most of the time, it didn't bother me to have a handler. Sometimes, it felt like I was on a short leash with armed guards just in case I went crazy and started killing people. This was one of those leash moments.

She ferried us to a restaurant that was close by and proclaimed that it's special of the day was something weird with lobster. I was sure the lobster was fine, but there was no way in hell I would order it from here.

We took a table near the back. The restaurant was decorated in 1950's decor. There was a faux car front that worked as the counter. The floors were black and white checkered linoleum that had seen better days. The walls were white with black pin-striping. However, the white had yellowed with age and grease. It had been a while since someone had taken the time to clean them.

The tables were all done in a car theme. The booths looked like the bench seats out of Buicks. The tables were formica and metal. Both showed wear and tear.

A waitress looking about as old as I felt most days, handed us menus and sloppily poured us glasses of water. She stood there, hand on her hip, waiting for us to order. I glared at the menu.

The choices were limited. Most of it was seafood. My brain instantly turned to mercury poisoning. I didn't really believe eating a piece of fish or shellfish would instantly cause me to fall to the ground with convulsions and begin hyper-salivating, but why take that chance? The cook could be a nutcase with an easy method of administering extra doses of mercury into the seafood.

This was not the kind of place that served low-calorie items other than diet sodas. Most of the items were fried or served with fried foods. Even the salads were heaped with ham or fried chicken or seafood. The dessert portion touted triple chocolate cake and pies of different varieties, all served with ice cream and, if you wanted, fudge or caramel sauce.

"Ace?" Michael said my name.

"Sorry, I was thinking about mercury poisoning," my eyes unglazed, I looked at the menu again. They had chicken salad. Chicken and tuna salad were some of the fastest ways to get food poisoning. I frowned.

"Just order something that isn't likely to be toxic," Michael chided after a minute more.

"What cuts of meat are on the Philly?" I asked our waitress.

"Brisket," she answered. I marked it off the list of possible food options.

"Ok, well just give me a roast beef sandwich."

"Do you want fries, waffle fries, seasoned fries, or a baked potato?"

"Um, do you have onion rings?" I countered.