Without another word, she launched the taxi into traffic.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Puddles stopped the vid, “You were supposed to follow her. What is this?”
Before Chuck could respond Whiskers asked, “I want to know how you got this vid.”
Back At the Office
Chuck leaned back taking a long drink from his cup of coffee. After putting the cup on the floor, Chuck rubbed his eyes, and sighed. His right eye started to burn, Chuck looked at his paw, and spotted mustard or some other yellow food he missed.
“I have a few micro-recorders,” Chuck responded to Whiskers. “I thought recording everything would help the case.”
Whiskers put a claw to his chin, thinking before responding, “Smart,” holding his paw up to stall Puddles, “out of curiosity where did you have the recorders?”
“Why didn’t you just follow her like I asked?” Puddles, ignoring Whiskers’ paw, blurted out.
Another long drink of coffee, “One in the eye-patch, another in the carryall, and the last in a button on my shirt. I did follow her.”
“This is not following her,” Puddles gestured at the paused vid. “This is…”
“Hilarious,” Whiskers interrupted, “Sorry. But what we have seen is funny.”
“Try living it,” Chuck sighed.
“Again, why didn’t you follow her?” Puddles asked.
“She’s a taxi driver. How was I supposed to follow her all day?”
Puddles closed her mouth.
“See,” Chuck retorted positive he won.
“You could’ve picked a different day to follow her,” Puddles retorted.
Before they wound up for a fight, “Does not matter,” Whiskers announced, “you did what you thought was right. Who is the man throwing food at you?”
Puddles stifled a giggle and looked at Whiskers, then at Chuck, then back to Whiskers, “You two don’t know who he is? Hold on a sec,” she rewound the vid to the costumed man.
“This is the Shaman.”
“Shaman?” Whiskers and Chuck said together.
“He thinks he can tell the future, but only using food.”
“Great,” Chuck said sarcastically, “What’s the costume?”
“Herg loremaster and some human history mixed together along with some bits and pieces for other species and cultures versions of fortune tellers, seers, and mystics,” Puddles said with pride.
Whiskers looked agog. Chuck put his head into his paws.
“How do you know this?” Whiskers asked staring hard at the vid.
“A news special or two,” Puddles responded, “he shows up every so often causing problems predicting the future.”
“Seriously?” Chuck mumbled. “How often is he right?”
“Are you serious?” Whiskers shot back.
“Yes,” Chuck mumbled.
“More often than you would think for someone grabbing food off a shelf and smashing it to the ground,” Puddles said. “There is a large group that follows his every prediction, Prophet’s of Stroud.” Puddles entered data on his computer, then flipped the holo-display to face Chuck and Whiskers, “See. This is one of the more active sites.”
“I’m doomed,” Chuck defeatedly announced.
“Let’s watch,” Puddles said with a giggle.
Whiskers moved the vid forward and hit play.