“I won’t be here that long,” Virgil said.
“Can I ask you what you’re looking for?”
“Can’t talk about that,” Virgil said.
“But there won’t be any... shooting... or anything like that.”
“No, no. And it’s not right here anyway. I’m looking up the block.”
The guard looked up the block, where a half dozen buildings were partially visible in the orange lights, and said, “I’ve got a station, up those steps, right inside the double doors.” He jerked a thumb back over his shoulder. “There’s a candy machine and a pop machine and a restroom right inside. If you need something, need to pee, just knock on the door, I’ll come let you in.”
“You sound like an ex-cop,” Virgil said.
“I was that, up north,” the man said. “Turns out the retirement benefits weren’t good enough to keep my head above water, so now I sit and watch TV pictures of empty parking lots. Shit job. Save your money, buddy.”
He tapped the Tahoe’s door panel a couple of times, then faded back toward the building, trailing fumes of disappointment anddepression. Virgil went back to the iPad with renewed intensity, made notes for an article on possible ways to control the Canada geese population. He was thinking: weed whips.
—
Jenkins called a few minutes before two o’clock. “We’ve got movement. Looks like one guy, in a big, black Audi. He backed out of the garage, so I couldn’t see if he was carrying anything.”
“Where are you?”
“On the back side of the block, watching his taillights. Haven’t even started the engine yet.”
“Be cool.”
“I’m cool. His taillights are really distinctive. I’ll sit way back. I’ll call you when I get an idea of where he’s going. Right now, he looks like he’s headed toward Highway 100.”
“Call me.”
—
Jenkins called again. “He’s headed south on Highway 100. Not much traffic, but I’m way behind him. I gotta tell you, this Audi’s made to be followed: there’s a taillight on each side of the rear, with a bright red line across the whole back of the car that connects the two. You can see it for half a mile.”
“Then you’ve got no excuse for losing him,” Virgil said.
—
Jenkins called a third time. “East on 494. He’s coming your way, big guy. Hot damn, this is better than sex. Your kind of missionary, son-of-a-preacher sex anyway.”
—
And again. “South on Pilot Knob.”
“Okay, he’s coming here,” Virgil said. “Don’t turn down Pilot Knob. I want his rearview mirror to be empty. There’s hardly any traffic right now.”
“I’ll go on through and circle back. I’ll come up behind your location and walk over to your truck.”
—
Virgil called Jenkins ten minutes later. “He’s not here yet. I wonder what the hell happened?”
“Maybe heischecking his rearview mirror before he comes in. Doing a random check. I better stay away for a few more minutes.”
“Do that.” As the words came out of Virgil’s mouth, a pair of car lights turned onto the street that led down to the Surface Research building. “Wait a minute, I got lights. Hang on.”
The car was moving slow, slowed even further, then made a decisive turn into the Surface Research parking lot and pulled in between the tractor-trailer and the SUV. The taillights were as distinctive as Jenkins had described them. Virgil said, “All right, that’s him. He’s here.”
