Lunch with Legends.
Wilson~
The glaring light of neon signs reflected off the slick surfaces of the streets. Between the electric signs and street lights the night never truly seemed dark in this part of town.
It didn't stop the area from being dangerous, but it was never really dark here.
Patrolman Kyle Wilson grimaced as he hopped over a black puddle. His blue uniform was still clean and crisp, with his shoes highly polished.
He had wanted to look his best for the swearing in. It had never occurred to him that he would be on patrol right after. He was doing his best to keep his dress uniform presentable. Tomorrow he would wear his everyday uniform.
He followed Detective Simmons down the road, past the neon lite pawn shops and dive bars.
His first day had certainly taken a strange turn.
Due to the recent rain the air seemed a little cleaner and he could smell the soup and grill as they approached.
Large red lanterns decorated with black Chinese characters hung from the eves; behind those hung heavy curtains with Japanese Hiragana scrawled over rolling ocean waves.
They all fluttered in the steam and the evening air.
The noodle shop entry door was painted with Korean writing.
As the men entered little silver bells jingled from above them. The interior was one half American diner booths, and the other half bar stools around charcoal grills.
Detective Simmons headed straight towards the back corner booth.
Lieutenant Harding was a living legend in the department. Wilson had heard about him from the other senior patrolmen.
All the detectives either wanted to be like him, or were intimidated by him. He was an old school gumshoe. His hair was grey and his face was weathered. His traditional styled suit was a bit wrinkled and his tie was loose.
Harding was a study of right angles; from his square shoulders to his square frame, top by his square chin. It was joked that he was built with bricks and then shaped with a hammer.
Though old aged had rounded his edges slightly, he was still as much of a brick was as he ever was. One thing time had never touched was the blue of his eyes. Those were still bright and clear.
Detective Simmons was very different in looks and attitude then Harding. He was still young in his early thirties. His black hair was slicked back and his brown eyes were soft and warm. He was tall and wiry with a runner’s build.
The ladies in the department liked Simmons. Wilson didn’t care for him much. Detective Simmons always talked down to the uniforms.
Many of the Detectives acted like they were better than uniformed officers; but when the Incident happened a year ago it was the patrolmen that had stuck it out.
It was the uniforms that had held on without pay, without reinforcements. Most of the detectives and plainclothes officers had never come back at all. That was the reason Wilson had decided to join up in the first place.
Simmons hadn’t been in Detroit then. Harding had been in Detroit before the Fall and the Reclamation project began. He had been here from the beginning.
Simmons sat down at the booth without asking permission. Wilson slide into the booth a nervous excitement filling him to be so close to the legend himself.
Harding was leaned over a huge bowl of thick udon noodles in a dark murky broth. This was traditional ramen, piled high and topped with spring onions, a huge chunks of pork belly, and a golden egg.
There was a plate of grilled meat next to him; a tall sweating mug of golden beer. Harding nodded to them both but didn’t slow his chopsticks down from slurping up thick noodles.
Wilson’s stomach growled.The whole place smelled amazing. The air purifiers somehow manage to not pull the delicious smells from the interior shop but kept the outside pollution at bay. He glanced around the strange shop.
The walls were decorated in a blending of cultures. This place was new, and he had never seen it before. Of course he had never really seen anything like it before either. It was good that the city was getting some new businesses in. He was just glad there were menu signs in English.
Detective Simmons started speaking as he flipped through his case notebook. Wilson was only half listening as Simmons went over the crime scene aspects with Harding.
The attack had taken place in the street but of course no one ever saw anything. The uniforms had canvassed and found the weapons as well as the suspects. However with no witnesses and no links between them and the crime scene the chances at conviction were slim to none.
A young waitress with dark hair and deep dark eyes came up to the table. She wore a little green and gold kimono with matching headband and black pants.
Her hair was twisted and braided in an impossible to decipher pattern on her head. Her face made it seem like she was barely on the legal side of eighteen, and that may have been her makeup.
She saddle up to the table with a smile and wink.
Wilson stared, his heart kicked a little in his chest. He had never seen eyes like that before. The color of the iris was so black it blended with the pupil. It gave the illusion of no pupil or no iris, just bottomless black holes in her eyes.
She set down two ceramic tea cups. She didn’t interrupt the conversation. She studied the new arrivals as she pour each of them tea. She her lush pink lips curled into a smile at made Wilson feel like they shared a secret.
Just as he started return the smile she abruptly headed back to the order counter. He felt confused by his sudden disappointment at her departure.His eyes followed her as she walked across the room.
She held his complete attention. She was very short and but strangely proportional. Her height was just under five foot. It gave her a strange elf-like quality. However her curves gave her a very adult figure.
This woman seemed very designed shaped to torment men. Her father was going to have a great deal of difficulty with this one.
She spoke to the man behind the counter in something that sounded more like chirps and whistles than any language.
The old man grinned and said something back that made her laugh. He was old enough to be her grandfather. His white hair was pulled back in a long braid. He wore the same outfit as she wore.
Behind him hung thousands of strands of different colored noodles. His face was weathered and wrinkled; but he had a sort of glow of health that made him seem un-aging. His smile seemed to strengthen that glow.
Quicker then should be possible he set out two bowls of soup.
The waitress picked them up with practiced ease. Wilson almost got up to give her hand before he caught himself.
The bowls seemed even larger in her delicate hands. She moved with smooth grass leaving steaming trails behind herself as she approached them again with the food that they hadn't ordered.
