On the way, I thought up possible cover stories for my presence at the police station. After multiple scenarios, I finally settled on saying a thief stole my purse. I had the whole thing planned out in my head. I didn’t plan on using the excuse unless I truly had to. I also didn’t plan on being in there long. Just long enough to get a name and get out. But, if they did ask me why I was there, I imagine the exchange would go a little like this:

 “Miss, is there anything I can help you with?” a police officer might ask.

 “Yes! I believe someone stole my purse.” I would say, feigning weakness.

 Then the police officer would then probably ask if I had a description, and I would tell him to wait a second, as I had written it down. I would then proceed to rummage through my purse, look surprised, and leave. As hard as it is to believe, I thought of all this in the short 10 minute walk to the police station. I slipped in, wincing as my presence was made known by the bell hanging above the door. Walking over to the wall of ‘Wanted’ sketches, my eyes ran over face after face of unknown and unnerving men until I found the one I recognized. Underneath his sketch was his name. Taking out my pencil and paper, I wrote down the two simple words: ‘Byron Sike’. Hastily putting my writing utensils back in my purse and walked towards the door. Thankfully, none of the police officers took much interest in me since I was leaving. Running down the street as fast as my shoes, dress, and gender could allow, I went to get Joey and Roy. Since their bosses would fire them if they saw them talking to me, I just handed them a piece of paper with the name and the time they should meet me at the shop.

 At the set time, Joey and Roy walked into my shop. Sitting down, Roy started talking first.

 “I started striking up casual conversation at first. Just a question here or there to someone who seemed like they might know what I’m talking about. I got no direct answer, after I asked a group of tough looking men if they ever heard of man called Byron Sikes, and they all said no. As they walked away, I heard one of them men turn to another and say, ‘Sikes is back?’ Then they all started talking at the same time, telling the first man that ‘of course Sikes is back!’ and ‘ya haven’t heard?’ I didn’t catch the rest of their conversation, just that Sikes usually hangs out in this shady pub called ‘The Hydra’s Head’.” Roy finished, looking quite proud of himself.

 Scribbling to write what Roy just said down, I turned to Joey. “Did you hear anything?”

 Joey sighed, then began. “I tried my very best, but you know I sell newspapers. That isn’t exactly a job where you can make small talk, and I didn’t want to shout out his name like it would be in the papers.” Roy and I nodded solemnly in agreement. “But I did keep my ears open, and stuck to shadier streets. Alas, I didn’t hear anything. I’m sorry Darcy.” Joey looked down, as if he had failed.

 “It’s okay, Joey.” I said tenderly, patting him on the shoulder. “You did the best that you could.” Joey looked up and gave me a bleak smile. “Now, the next step is to go to the Hydra’s Head and see if we can find out anything.”

 “I’ll go. I look older than you two do,” Roy volunteered.

 “Just be careful, okay?” I asked the redhaired boy. Smiling, he bobbed his head in agreement. “See you tomorrow,” I said as the two boys strode out of my store.