The City Under the Skin

19. MARILYN’S OWN DEVICES

Marilyn Driscoll wafted into Utopiates, a certain elasticity, maybe even bounce, in her step. Zak wondered if this was a good sign; at the very least it suggested that the place no longer gave her the creeps.

“Your black eye’s not looking so bad,” Zak said by way of greeting.

“You think?” said Marilyn. “Under the makeup it’s looking more purple edged with yellow than black. I guess that’s a step in the right direction.”

“And how was your tattooist?”

“My tattooist was a cranky old lady who has a lot more information than she’s prepared to give me. Especially about compass roses.”

“I can tell you more about the compass rose if you like.”

“Sorry, Zak, not that kind of information.”

Again Zak felt a pang of not quite explicable hurt.

“You ever worry, Zak, that the printed map might be a dying form?”

“I know the printed map is a dying form, but I don’t worry about it.”

“So what do you think of this?”

Marilyn flipped open her laptop, and on the screen was a computer-generated map of the city, with a tiny, stationary red spark flashing at its center.

“What’s that?” Zak asked.

“It’s Billy Moore’s car,” Marilyn said.

“Billy Moore?”

“Our friend with the Cadillac.”

“You know his name?”

“Yeah, and I know where he parks his car, on some new lot that’s opened at the corner of Hope Street and Tenth.”

“Is that worth knowing?” said Zak.

“Yes. And now I know he lives there too, in a trailer, with his daughter. I’ve seen them. And I know some of where he goes. Not very far, not yet anyway, but I haven’t been tracking him very long.”

“What kind of tracking?”

“With a portable tracker. That’s the thing flashing on the map on-screen. You stick it underneath a car, like if you have a fleet of delivery trucks or traveling salesmen, so you can see they’re not goofing off or speeding or going somewhere they shouldn’t. You could use it to keep track of an errant wife if you had one.”

“It all sounds very high tech.”

“It cost seventy-five dollars on Amazon. No bigger than a pack of cigarettes. Thirty days’ battery life. Ideal for rugged outdoor use is what it says on the package.”

Even if Zak had no illusions about the printed map being a dying form, he hadn’t realized how out of touch he was with new developments.

“So far,” said Marilyn, “our man’s been from the parking lot to a school and back every day, his daughter’s school presumably. And the other day he went to a tailor’s.”

“You’ve been following him?”

“Only on-screen. And the fact is, Zak, there are real limits to how much you can learn that way.”

“You want a printed map?”

“No, I want us to follow him in the real world.”

“Us?”

“Yes. I don’t want to come across as a girl, Zak, but I’d like you to come with me. There’s safety in numbers.”

“Two’s a very small number.”

“I don’t want to have to go up against him alone.”

“I don’t want to ‘go up against him’ at all.”

“Come on, Zak, there’ll be some urban exploration.”

“Oh, that’ll make everything all right.”

“I want you as a partner,” said Marilyn. “A partner with a big brown anonymous station wagon.”

“And we follow him where?”

“To wherever he goes. Maybe to where he’s keeping that woman. You might have to close the store a little early.”

“For you, I’d be prepared to do that,” Zak said. He hoped she realized what a big step that was.