drug deal, and then chastised myself when I saw the flare of the man’s lighter as they shared the flame to light their cigarettes. It was then that I realized the new fissure I was grinding was the man I’d seen slip away from the bar in Kim’s when Richards had walked in. I’d caught the white glow of his skin between his hairline and collar as he disappeared into the dark and the smooth, athletic grace that got him to the hallway without a stumble or hesitation. There would of course be lots of reasons for someone to bail out of the back of a bar when a detective walked in the front, even if she was plainclothes, even if she just looked the part, and we both probably looked the part to someone paying attention. But the bartender had added to the feel that it wasn’t right. If young Marci had some kind of drug dealing going on under the bar, even small-time stuff, they’d be careful. But there had been something in her eyes that lit my suspicion. Whether it was a carryover from my walk down South Street or not, here I was and it didn’t necessarily feel wrong. Nice warm night. Box of manicotti. Hot coffee. Shit. I used to hate surveillance.
At one in the morning I decided to move. The lot was clearing and I had counted three times that a city patrol car had cruised through the center and now he was back. I watched the cop pull into a darkened spot almost in a direct line between me and the windows of Kim’s, obstructing the view I’d had of Marci’s bobbing blonde ponytail. It looked like he was going to stay awhile. Maybe he was there purposely to look after employees of the restaurants and the bar who were getting off work. Maybe some shift sergeant was paying attention to Richards’s concerns after all. I did know that if this cop was smart he was going to notice me before long—single male in a pickup truck parked for hours and up to no good.
I started the engine and pulled out of the lot through the back street exit and swung west. There was another parking area used by movie patrons of the multiplex next door. With the right angle, I could still see Kim’s front door and would hopefully see when Marci left and if she was picked up by a six-foot athletic man who shied away from the smell of cops.
An hour later my coffee was long dead and cold. The movie had let out and I’d watched couples stroll to their cars and head home, chatting about the merits of plot and pyrotechnics and performances. The last movie I’d been to was with Sherry and the damn thing was out on DVD and could have been having its broadcast debut by now. The night had settled into that long after- hours feel when the city drops in decibels and the streetlights take on a more noticeable presence and the cut of headlights across a brick facade sends shadows moving that you would not have seen at ten o’clock.
At 2:20 Marci walked out through the wide wooden door. An older man was behind her and had his fist up against the deadbolt on the inside. We both watched the girl go to a late model, light blue two-door parked right in front and unlock the driver’s side. She waved at the old guy who stepped back and pulled the bar door shut. Marci backed out of her spot and came my way, her lights flashing off my truck windows as she bounced over a speed bump and then turned onto the street. All right, I thought. It was an old cop’s hunch. Sometimes that’s all they are. I sure as hell wasn’t going to follow the girl home. I pulled out of my own parking space and as I approached the street another set of headlights met mine. They jounced over the speed bump and I caught the opaque blue tint of the light bar on top. It was the patrol car. Done for the night. Everybody out safe.
He turned left, without a signal, in the direction Marci had gone. My headlights caught the outline of a dark-haired male officer, clean-cut, and then I turned north toward the beach house.
The annoying trill of the cell phone woke me the next day, snapping a dream that had me somewhere in the Everglades,