Go looking for the grocer
It’s a might hard to get to Vinegar Hill, but once you’re there, its easy to cover it on foot. The blocks are short, the streets are skinny, and if you ask after someone at one corner store, odds are they know the guy you’re looking for. The only question is if they’ll be willing to say so.
Sadly, this time they weren’t. I went into the fruit shop and picked out a shiny red apple to smooth things over. The woman working the fruits and vegetables was a little brick of lady, and when I asked if she’d seen any red heads, her lips went tight. I tried asking another way, and the brick picked up a tomato and started waving it at me. I didn’t want to ruin my coat, so I paid for my apple and left.
What do do? It’s a small enough neighborhood, populated with plenty of black-haired Italians; you’d think I’d see a redhead pop up before too long. The question was one of strategy. Should I find a watering hole with a big window — it was getting to the part of the afternoon where I get thirsty — or should I make the assumption that he, like every other Joe within three miles, was working at the Con Ed Power Plant down on the water?
