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here? See what he had to say for himself. See whether he could, on the spot,
come up with some convincing lie.
Possibly.
But suppose he denied following Angie down here? What was I going to do,
exactly? And what if, in the middle of this confrontation, Angie and this
leather-jacketed player from the tonsil hockey league emerged from the coffee
shop and witnessed this exchange? And who d have a lot of explaining to do
then?
So I drove by Trevor and did another slow turn around the block. This time,
another spot had opened up, this one close to the corner, half a dozen cars
behind Trevor, which was perfect. I could park here, keep an eye on both
Trevor and the front door of the coffee shop. I slipped into the spot. It was
fully dark now, and I felt fairly anonymous sitting in the car, watching
people stroll by on the sidewalk.
Okay, how about this, I thought. I walk up, open the passenger door of Trevor
Wylie s car, slip in, close the door. Have a frank and open exchange of ideas.
It was a plan with some merit. It might put a little fear into him, even
though Trevor didn t act like a kid who was easily intimidated. But to be
caught on his little stakeout, by the father of the girl he was stalking,
well, wouldn t that mess up his shorts a bit? If the roles were reversed, I
knew it would scare the living shit out of me.
It must have taken me close to twenty minutes to decide this was the way to
go, and I had my hand on the door handle and was just about to pull it when
Angie and this guy who, even without knowing a great deal about him I could
tell was not right for her come back out of the coffee shop.
They chatted for a while on the sidewalk. Angie rested her hand on his elbow,
and her head was nodding up and down enthusiastically, and then he reached up
and brushed some of Angie s hair back over her shoulder, and I could see her
head lean, ever so slightly into his hand, beckoning it.
I felt sort of, I don t know . . . what s the word I m looking for here?
Slimy? Yes, that will do. And a bit queasy, too.
Just say goodbye, come on, let s get this show on the road, I said.
They kissed again, not quite as long this time, thank God, and stood back
from each other, and Angie slung the strap of her purse up over her shoulder,
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made a small waving gesture, and so did the guy, and then he turned and
started walking up the street in my direction, and Angie headed back the other
way, toward the Camry.
Ahead, I could make out the edge of the Chevy s taillights, and could see
that Trevor had his foot on the brake as he turned the ignition and put the
car into gear. I did the same, engaging the Virtue s oh-so-quiet motor,
slipped the car into drive, and held my foot on the brake, waiting for this
convoy to get under way.
Even further ahead, I saw Angie get into her car, and about a minute later,
she had her blinker on (good girl!) to indicate that she was pulling back into
traffic. Then Trevor pulled out, and I brought up the rear. So far, I was the
only one who had any idea how ridiculous this all looked.
Angie was heading crosstown along one of the main thoroughfares. Four lanes,
lots of traffic lights. I wasn t always able to keep the Camry in sight,
although the burned-out brake light helped. But when I couldn t spot Angie, I
looked for Trevor, since he was closer and every bit as eager to keep Angie in
his sights as I was.
I had a hunch where we were going. If we stayed on this route, we d be at the
Midtown Center, the site of Lawrence s and my shootout with the black
Annihilator. The mall sign came into view, and Angie, and then Trevor, moved
over into the right-turn lane as they approached the entrance.
Angie swung into the mall parking lot without signaling, trolled up and down
the aisles looking for a spot. It didn t look much like it had the night
before, when Lawrence s Buick and the SUV did doughnuts chasing each other,
not another car to be seen anyplace.
Angie found an opening, pulled into it, and Trevor s Chevy rumbled past
behind her. I needed to find something fast, before I lost her going into the
mall. About twenty spaces further away from the mall entrance I found a spot
flanked by a massive Ford Expedition and a small sports car. I slipped in,
hopped out, locked the car, and started running in the direction of the mall.
Under the lights of the entrance, I could see Angie heading inside. About
sixty feet behind her, I could see the back of a young white male in a long
black coat I was pretty sure was Trevor.
I could guess what he was up to. Another accidental meeting. He d bump into
her near the food court, be amazed that they d run into each other, suggest
they grab a coffee or something to eat. I could already imagine Angie s
discomfort.
Following someone in a car was one thing, but trailing someone two people,
actually on foot was going to be something different altogether. What now,
Marlowe? I hadn t trained long enough with Lawrence to know how to handle this
one.
By the time I reached the mall doors, I saw Angie rounding the corner of a
jewelry store to enter into the main part of the mall. Not too far ahead of
me, a boot-clad Trevor walked by briskly.
My breathing became shallow and rapid. I hadn t counted on doing anything
like this at all. I thought all I needed for this kind of work was a car and a
Snapple bottle. Now, I needed a disguise. A fake face, like everyone wears
inMission: Impossible, would be good. Or, a hat. Something I could pull down
over my eyes.
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Angie wandered into a Banana Republic. There was no need to follow her
inside. There was only one way in or out, which Trevor must have figured out,
too, since he was hanging back, positioning himself on the opposite side of
the mallway, in front of an electronics store that sold CDs and DVDs. He
pretended to check out the new releases set just inside the door. I parked
myself behind a two-sided mall directory sign that offered sufficient cover
while I kept watch on both the Banana Republic and the electronics store.
I figured I d be in this spot for a while. Angie, like her mother, never went
into a fashion store and walked right back out again. Whenever I happened to
accompany either of the women in my household to the mall, even on a
supposedly short errand to go into a drugstore to buy a lipstick, I always
allowed an hour.
I usually killed time in a bookstore or grabbed a coffee. Sometimes I left
the mall altogether, ran some other errand, maybe trekked over to some hobby
shop that carried sci-fi models, and came back in sixty minutes. But this
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