Bad Guys (23 page)

“I have to get home.”

“Not a word to her about this,” I said. “I don’t know how to bring this up, not without letting her know that I’ve been following her around. Which reminds me, I have to get going.”

“Is that what you have to go do? You’re going to follow her
tonight
?”

“Just to make sure Trevor’s not on her tail anymore. I had a word with him today.”

“You spoke with him?”

“It was just a friendly conversation, that’s all. Friendly, but firm. The kid’s weird, Sarah. He’s not as harmless as you think.”

“Go, then,” she said. “Just go, let me know what you find out.”

“Okay. And tell Dick about this Barbie guy.”

“Why do they call him that, anyway?” Sarah asked. I told her about the thug’s rumored collection. “But doesn’t a grown man who collects Barbie get teased a lot?” she asked.

“Sounds like you’d only do it once,” I said.

I FLEW OUT THE DOOR, jumped into the Camry, and zoomed through four yellow lights on the way downtown to the Mackenzie campus. I approached the university from the north side, found Edwards Street, and drove along slowly until I found the covered walkway that came out by Galloway Hall.

It was dark, and I slunk down a bit in my seat, keeping my eye on Angie’s secret exit. I didn’t have to worry too much about her spotting the Camry. It was such a generic-looking car, and there were so many of them on the market, that it didn’t attract any attention.

It was almost 9:30 P.M. As it turned out, I’d parked right in front of a diner, and I was craving a coffee. Was there time to run in? I decided to chance it, since I could keep an eye on the back of Galloway Hall from inside the diner.

I got out of the car, went up to the cash register that was at the head of the counter, and ordered coffee to go from a fat guy in a white apron. I had it in my hand and was back sitting in the Camry before there was any sign of Angie.

As I sat in the car my thoughts kept returning to Stan. It was unthinkable, that he could be dead. There was already so much going on inside my head, so much that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, so much that I had seen and found out, that I felt incapable of processing this latest information.

I was on overload.

Suddenly, bright light shone out of the walkway. It intensified, and then the Virtue emerged, tentatively, because the passageway was so narrow. It was like seeing the car come out of a sideways mail slot. I could barely see Angie behind the wheel, but I could make out the silhouette of a second person in the car, in the passenger seat. Was it a boy or a girl?

And then there was no need to guess. The passenger door opened, and the same boy I’d seen her with the night before got out and unhooked the chain that prevented Angie from driving over the curb and onto Edwards. Once Angie had pulled the Virtue through, the boy put the chain back in place and returned to the passenger seat.

But before Angie pulled away, her friend leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. And then she turned her face into his, and then their arms were around each other, and I thought, Does she even have the car in park? Or is she making out while the vehicle’s in drive, her foot pressed down on the brake?

I probably wouldn’t tell Sarah about this part. I didn’t think I’d ever tell anyone about this part.

Thankfully, they broke it up after a few seconds, and Angie drove west. I pulled in behind them, my coffee stowed in the cup holder, staying a few car lengths back. When I could, I let another car slip in between us, just so long as I could keep the Virtue in sight.

Angie had the roof open and waved her right hand out in the breeze. The boyfriend put both hands through the roof, and then, for a couple of seconds, there were four hands waving in the breeze.

“Jesus Christ, Angie! Keep your hands on the wheel!”

All parents, I decided right then, should spend some time following their teenagers who’ve recently acquired their driver’s licenses. For sure, I was going to find a way to have a word with her about this.

The Virtue turned left, went a couple of blocks, turned right, then left, then straight on for a few miles. They wandered into the Heights, where the city’s movers and shakers lived in their million-dollar homes. Then they double-backed down to the waterfront, then over by the university again. It didn’t take long to figure out they were simply joyriding, taking a spin in the new wheels.

And when’s the last time, Angie, you made a contribution for gas money? At least, in a hybrid, she was wasting less of it. But it galled me, how kids could drive around for hours without any thought whatsoever to who was footing the bill. And another thing—

Shut up, Zack. Like you never did anything like this when you were a teenager.

The important thing was, throughout this tour of the city, I hadn’t seen Trevor Wylie or his dog Morpheus or his black Chevy once.

Maybe he’d tried. Maybe he’d followed her from home down to the university, and had been waiting for her at the main entrance, where you picked up your parking ticket. Maybe Angie’d outsmarted him by sneaking out the back way. I wish I knew. If he was still out there, but lost, it meant he’d probably be back at it tomorrow night. But if he’d packed it in, if he’d realized he was pushing a bit too hard, maybe I could let my guard down a bit.

My cell phone rang.

I struggled to drag it out of my jacket pocket and didn’t have a chance to see who was calling before I hit the button and put the phone to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Dad?”

My heart skipped a beat. “Angie,” I said. “Hi, sweetheart.”

Ahead of me, I could see through the rear window of the Virtue that she had a phone to her ear.

“Where are you?”

“Huh?”

“I called home, got Paul, he said you were out.”

“Yeah, I’m just out doing a few things. What’s up, honey?”

“Okay, you know how I told you I had this weird feeling, like maybe someone was following me?”

I felt a bit queasy. “Uh-huh.”

“Like, I know it’s nuts, but I’ve had this car following me for a while, and I’m starting to get that feeling again.”

“Okay. Uh, tell me more.”

“Yeah. It’s some piece-of-crap car, sort of like our Camry? We’ve just been cruising around, trying out the new car, and I’ve noticed this car keeps showing up in my mirror.”

“Can you see that it’s a guy?” I asked.

“Well, not exactly, I’m just assuming, you know? Like, how many female pervs drive around at night following people?”

“Okay,” I said. “Don’t panic. Maybe it’s not the same car. Maybe you’re just on edge or something. It’s probably my fault. I’ve freaked you out with all this talk about what happened to my friend Lawrence.”

“Maybe . . .” Angie didn’t sound that sure.

“Is he following you right now?”

I saw Angie glance at her rearview mirror.

“Yeah, he’s still there, Dad. I’m afraid to stop anywhere or anything, in case it’s some creep and he jumps out or something.”

I eased up on the gas, hung a right down the first street I came to.

“Oh, hang on,” Angie said. “False alarm. He’s gone.”

“Are you sure?” I said. I’d wandered off into some industrial neighborhood. I had absolutely no idea where I was.

I could hear Angie let out a long breath. “Yeah, yeah, he just turned off. I guess I was just imagining it, you know? Maybe I was thinking it was Trevor or something. It’d be just the sort of creepy thing he’d do.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Pretty creepy.” I let out a long breath of my own as I pulled the car over to the side of the road and stopped. “Maybe it’s time for you to head home,” I suggested.

“I’ll be home soon,” Angie said. “We’re just going to grab something to eat at McDonald’s.”

“We?”

“Me and a friend.”

“Don’t be
too
late, all right?”

“Dad, I’m eighteen, okay? Don’t worry. Actually, I’m going to drop by the house in a bit. I have to grab a book for my friend, and then I’m going to give hi—”

“What was that, honey?”

“I said I’m going to drop by the house to pick up a book for my friend, and then I’m going to drive my friend home.”

“Yeah, well, you say hello to
him
for me,” I said.

“Dad, I never said, I mean, I didn’t—”

There was a siren whoop behind me. I glanced in my mirror and saw the flashing red light of a police car.

“Honey,” I said, “I’m going to have to go.”

“Okay.” She sounded relieved that I was ending our conversation. “Talk to you later.” As we each disconnected, I rolled down my window for the approaching police officer.

“Good evening, Officer,” I said.

“License and registration, please,” he said.

“Sure, of course.” As I opened the glove compartment I said, “Did I do something wrong, Officer?” Where the hell was the registration? The inside of the glove box looked like a wastebasket.

“You know you got a taillight out?” he asked.

Oh yeah.

“No,” I said. “You’re kidding. I had no idea. The car was just in for a service, probably a month ago.” I’d located a small plastic dealership binder. Surely the registration must be in there. I rifled through. Bingo!

“Whatcha doing around here?” the officer asked, using a flashlight to examine the registration paper I’d just handed him.

I didn’t even know where “here” was. “I guess I’m a bit turned around,” I said.

“I’m waiting for your license,” he said, still hanging on to the registration. “So, you’re lost?”

“Yeah,” I said, shifting in my seat to get at the wallet in the back pocket of my new khakis. The pants were so new, it was hard to wriggle my wallet out. “Maybe you can help me. I’m looking for the closest McDonald’s? Is there one near here?” I finally freed it and got my license out.

He told me where he thought I’d find the closest one, then started scribbling down some information from the two official bits of paper I’d handed him.

“I’m going to have to write you up,” he said. “And you’re going to have to get that brake light fixed. Tomorrow.”

“You bet,” I said.

He spent about another five minutes with me, handed me my ticket, and went back to his car. I turned the car around, hoping that a U-turn here wouldn’t amount to another infraction, and drove back to the street where I’d lost track of Angie a few minutes earlier.

If I could drive past the McDonald’s, I thought, see that she was okay, make sure that Trevor’s car was nowhere to be seen, I’d pack it in. I’d head home.

The McDonald’s was right where the cop said it would be, its golden arches visible nearly a mile away. It was on the left, and as I approached I put on my blinker, pulled into the turning lane. I figured I’d do a sweep through the parking lot, and if everything looked satisfactory, I’d call it a night.

I drove down the west side of the restaurant, the windows to my left, the cars parked on an angle to my right. And there was the Virtue, pulled in between a couple of small cars, neither of which was a black Chevy.

I swung around the back, where there were only a few cars parked, probably those belonging to employees, then down the east side, past more cars.

Everything looked okay.

There were two vehicles ahead of me, the first of which was turning left, across two lanes of traffic. I put on the brakes and waited to pull out.

I happened to glance left, and saw Angie and her boyfriend seated at a table, Angie’s back to me, the boyfriend looking in my direction. I saw him raise his head as my car went by, saw him say something to Angie. As she turned to look outside, I was able to pull ahead another car length so she wouldn’t be able to see my face.

Let’s go, let’s go, let’s go, I thought, trying to will the car ahead of me to get moving.

And then, all of a sudden, he was at my window. Angie’s boyfriend, banging on the glass.

“Hey!” he shouted. “Hey, you!”

I wanted to pull ahead, but the car ahead of me was still in the way, and there was no place to go.

“I want to talk to you!” he shouted.

I was going to have to fess up, come clean. Admit to my daughter what I’d been up to. I hit the button, brought the window down.

“Why the fuck you following us around?” he demanded.

“Listen,” I said, trying to be calm. “You don’t understand. I’m actually—”

And then his fist was coming through the open window, so fast it was a blur, and then it was connecting with the side of my head.

I TRIED TO AVOID HIS FIST, but it came through the window so quickly, I didn’t have time to react. And when you’re sitting in a car, seatbelted in, you don’t have a whole lot of room to bob and weave. So Angie’s boyfriend was able to strike the side of my cheek, just below the temple, bouncing my head sideways a foot or so, and it was like a rocket had exploded in front of my eyes.

He was still yelling at me, I’m not sure what, exactly. I heard “pervert” in there somewhere, and “fucking asshole,” I believe, and somewhere off in the distance, a more familiar voice, screaming, “Cam! What are you doing? Stop it!”

I figured the odds were that Angie had no inkling who her boyfriend Cam was punching out, and I now preferred to keep it that way, which precluded jumping out of the car and attempting to beat the shit out of Cam, who was probably twenty or more years younger than I and in a hell of a lot better shape, and would probably have beat the shit out of me, anyway.

So I hit the gas and swerved right, narrowly missing the bumper of the car in front of me, squeezed between it and a fence, and hung a hard right out of the parking lot, nearly cutting off a Corvette, whose driver had to slam on the brakes to avoid rear-ending me. The resulting squeal was no doubt heard a couple of blocks away.

I floored it. I wanted to put as much distance between me and that McDonald’s as quickly as I could. So intent was I on making a fast getaway that I had yet to notice how much the side of my face was smarting.

My heart was doing a fair bit of pounding, too. Once I’d put a few blocks between myself and that McDonald’s, I pulled into the parking lot of a 7-Eleven, swinging the car around so that I was facing the street, and turned off the ignition. I switched on the interior light and adjusted the mirror so I could get a look at the side of my face. It was already turning blue and puffing out.