Word on the street was that another one of them went missing. Apparently, that made enough of them for an official law enforcement investigation. People didn't normally notice when the people on the streets went missing. They didn't usually care. Dal vaguely knew this last victim. They'd had coffee a few times at that all-night diner near the patch they worked. He wouldn't say they were friends; he really didn't know much about the guy.

The people investigating came around in the wee hours before most of them scattered to whatever shelters, motels, or even private apartments they stayed at by day. Sometimes Dal thought himself lucky to have a private space. It was a tiny little studio he paid for weekly, but at least it had a door he could lock so the few things he owned could be safe and secure. He could only just afford it and he's sure a lot of that had to do with the fact that, unlike some of his, uh, colleagues, Dal didn't have a drug problem. The one thing he'd manage to stay away from on the street.

"I'll talk to you if ya get me somethin' hot to eat," he offered to the cop coming toward him. His accent was obvious. But also, there were plenty of little diners and some of the street food vendors hadn't vanished into the dawn yet.