$5 bottles of Coke and acres of cement flooring, the Greater Baltimore Convention Center awaited. Taylor put his SecurCon ID on and joined the crowd exiting the elevator. Yawning he perused his schedule of seminars. He just had time for a quick cup of coffee.

At the Convention’s coffee kiosk, Taylor waited in line. He never slept well away from home. Taylor needed Maggie, one crying baby, and at least two snoring dogs to get any shut eye.

“Grabbing a cup of enthusiasm, soldier.”

The stranger’s comment roused Taylor from his dreams of home. Nondescript and soft in middle, the stranger offered Taylor a smile.

“So how are you liking your first convention?” The stranger asked.

“Fine, sir. Hey how’d you know it’s my first time?” Taylor asked.

“You’ve have a map in your suit pocket, and circles on every seminar in all four sessions. Signs of an eager agent. Federal or state,” the stranger said with a chuckle. “My guess is you’re state. And that tan says you’re in a field office somewhere out West.”

“Nevada Bureau of Investigation. You’re good at guessing. You are FBI or ATF maybe.”

“I’ve swam all around the alphabet. Due to retire next year but I have one case I need to bring home,” the stranger said. “Gave up on everything to catch monsters and now that’s all I’m good for. Don’t forget to call the missus.”

The older man poured himself a large coffee from the carafe. With a friendly nod, he headed away. Something about the old guy seemed familiar like a half remembered song. Taylor watched him go. Mesmerized Taylor poured himself a coffee.

“Hey Tayz, that coffee is a hate crime. Come on over to Booth 67. We have Starbucks. How’s the NBI? I didn’t know you knew Hornsetter. You know Hornsetter, Cap’n Ahab, the greatest profiler there ever was. I wonder who’s he’s trailing out here?”