Rae looks thoughtful.  "I be seein' yer point," she concedes. " But I also be hearin' that the enemy o' yer enemy be yer friend, aye?"

Rae finishes her syrupy tea.  "Aye.  What say ye, Lorenzo?  Be ye interested in this mystery?"

"This diner be right on the river," Rae confirms.  "Th' outside looks like it be made from a boat run aground, like the Kaz school o' seafarin' building"

"aye, that be a fine idea," Rae says.  When Lorenzo leaves, she turns to the spooky waiter. "What be a pitchfork?"

"Ah, yes, a pitchfork," the waiter says, somewhat puzzled that he has to explain. "It's a farming implement comprised of long, pointed tongs on the end of a pole. Used for... pitching hay." He makes a stabbing-and-tossing gesture, still trying to keep his passively mysterious air. "Often used by angry mobs because it's the closest thing to a weapon many of the rural poor possess. It, um... isn't a terribly likely choice of mob gear for an urban area like this, but the stereotype stands."

The water is cold and a bit murky for a freshwater river, but nothing compared to the swampy areas Lorenzo is used to. This close to the docks, nothing unusual stands out to him immediately.