Urban Prey by S. J. Lewis Page A

coffee shop. He kept walking past the shop. Through the window, he saw her sit down at a table and order something. She looked relaxed, but she kept looked out the window at him as he went by. The coffee shop had only one entrance. He moved out of her sight and pretended to do some window-shopping of his own. He could only keep that up for so long, though. It was cold out here, and the wind was picking up.
    Most of the city streets were laid out in a grid pattern, but near the coffee shop there was one odd street that ran straight through the area at an angle. Down the block from the coffee shop, it cut two small triangular areas out of the grid. There wasn’t room to put up any buildings in them, so the city had turned them both into miniscule parks. He crossed the street and entered one of them. Three big planters made out of concrete enclosed the area. There was a gap at the point of the triangle, and two more gaps at the other end through which pedestrians could come and go. The sheer bulk of the planters ensured that a careless driver couldn’t go careening through the parks. They also supported a lot of plants. Some were bare and leafless, but there were enough evergreen shrubs to give him some cover while he kept an eye on the coffee shop. Inside the park there were metal tables and folding chairs, scattered around in no particular order. In spite of the cold, a few people were seated there. One woman had several shopping bags piled on the table in front of her.
    Best of all, at the base of the triangle, which faced towards the coffee shop, there was an enclosed kiosk that served hot coffee, hot tea, and cold drinks that probably weren’t in much demand today. Behind the counter, Ron could see prepackaged sandwiches and an assortment of chips. The kiosk was manned by a wiry little character with a bald head and a bushy white beard. He laid aside his newspaper as he saw Ron approaching and slid open a window. Warm air briefly blew past Ron’s face.
    “What can I do for you?”
    “Coffee, large, black,” Ron answered. “Can you recommend any of those sandwiches?”
    “Don’t eat ‘em, myself,” the kiosk operator shrugged. “Never had any complaints, though, so I guess one of ‘em’s as good as the other.” He poured coffee into a big paper cup without getting up off of the stool he was sitting on. “You want one?”
    “I’ll pass,” Ron shrugged.
    “Dollar fifty,” the man said as he passed the cup over.
    “Tax?” Ron asked.
    “That’s with tax,” the man grinned. “It’s a pain dealing with pennies, so everything here’s priced to come out even with tax.”
    “Clever idea.” Ron put two one-dollar bills on the counter and took a sip of his coffee. It had been in the pot just a little too long. He decided not to ask for fresh. He took another sip and looked towards the coffee shop. He didn’t see his quarry.
    “Some city bureaucrat thought it up,” the whiskery little man said. He rang up the sale and slid two quarters back to Ron. “These kiosks are all owned by the city. Funny how it’s okay for businesses to have to count all the pennies, but it’s too much trouble for the city to do it.”
    “Isn’t it always that way?” Ron grinned. He pocketed the quarters.
    “I guess,” the man shrugged. “At least this job gives me something to eke out my Social Security. Gets me out of the apartment too. Otherwise, it’d be a race to see if I starved to death or went crazy first.”
    He slid the window shut and went back to his newspaper. He was working on the crossword puzzle. Ron tried sitting for a moment, but the metal chair was too cold. He stood back up and walked around, keeping the coffee shop in sight.
    His coffee was half gone and cold before she came out. He saw her stop just outside the shop and look up and down the street before she started walking up the street in the same direction as the two little parks. At the same time, he saw a man detach himself from the crowd and