GOOD MORNING. I’M in a different coffee shop this time. It’s called The Brew Pub. I’m in uptown Waterloo, on King St. Lots of windows here, all facing King. Poured concrete floor, beechwood tables. There are white subway tiles on the wall behind the counter, and there’s no one around but me. There was a young guy with hockey hair and glasses. He was cleaning the espresso machine. He’s around somewhere. Otherwise, it’s free coffee for me, I guess.
The coffee shop’s name is innovative, but I’m wondering how many college kids come in here looking for a beer. I’m in Uptown, and there are actual brew pubs in this area, along with a bunch of other drinking establishments.
I’m just gazing out the window at the street, watching the people go about their daily business while I just try to sort myself out. Three guys in jeans and Polo shirts walk past. A couple of high-school kids in rock T-shirts. Two business women. A bald guy with a beard. He’s got a man-purse or satchel across his body. Looks familiar. I think he might be a local. He’s not entirely bald. The sides and back are long and grey and come down to his shoulders.
There’s a refrigerated display near the counter, with plates of pastries in the top (probably unrefrigerated) compartment, and sodas and bottled kombucha in the lower. What even is kombucha? I mean, I know what it is, but I’ve never tried it. Is it sweet? Salty?
I slept badly last night. I’ve never been a good sleeper, but since this case, I’ve been having nightmares. They go away after a while, but sometimes it takes longer than it should. Ever get a song stuck in your head? It’s a little like that, but instead of Rick Astley never giving you up, it’s much more like a vivid memory of getting shot.
Ugh. Tried the kombucha. Tastes like fizzy crotch vinegar after a five-day hike in the Pacific Northwest. And someone’s added sugar to it and put it in a sweaty shoe. I can’t believe I spent seven dollars on this.
Okay, the husband was a seedy-looking guy with a permanent sarcastic smile who drove an expensive BMW SUV. I wasn’t about to hold his choice of car against him … I know a guy who owned a BMW, and he turned out okay. But this guy waved more red flags than a Soviet marching band on a Formula 1 racetrack. He was totally cheating on his wife. I figured it would be easy enough to catch him in the act. I just needed to point my camera in his general direction and snap the shutter.
First, there was his secretary. The way he pawed at her when they were together. I’d just have to follow them around after work.
Besides his secretary, there was the general receptionist at the business, a one-floor establishment, taking up three units in an industrial park in Kitchener. I saw him chatting her up way past her point of boredom, so she was used to his advances, but uninterested. I didn’t have to watch her.
But also, there was another salesperson. She seemed nice—she dressed like a predatory realtor. They were pretty chummy: a big hug here, a lingering touch there. The way they kissed in the parking lot. Okay, maybe it would be harder to find a situation where he wasn’t cheating on his wife.
However, there didn’t appear to be anything concrete. I couldn’t very well get him at work, although I did fake a package delivery and disguised myself as a courier to get inside his office. That didn’t net me anything, as I didn’t have a plan for after I got inside.
So, I waited in the parking lot of the business and followed him after he left.
He went home, and I resolved to catch him the next day.
The guy with the hockey hair is back, and he’s looking restless. Time for me to move on. I’m leaving the kombucha here. Disgusting stuff.