The Protector

14

The condo building's entrance was thirty feet from the street. Shrubs flanked a walkway. Half a dozen stone benches provided a further friendly appearance.

Cavanaugh chose the bench nearest the street, motioned for Jamie to join him, and opened the pack of cigarettes. "Smoke?" he asked. "What's gotten into you?"

"Give it a try. Be daring. It'll help pass the time." He handed her a cigarette and lit it, managing to keep his hand steady. "I haven't the faintest idea how to hold this," she said. "Doesn't matter." Cavanaugh lit a cigarette for himself. Jamie coughed.

"Hey, I didn't say to inhale the thing. Just puff on it a little and blow out the smoke… Not so quickly." "Tastes awful."

"Doesn't it, though. I wonder what I ever liked about this." Two women passed them and glanced away in disapproval. "These days, with so many nonsmoking areas, it's the most natural sight imaginable for two people to be huddled outside a building, awkwardly puffing on cigarettes," Cavanaugh said. "We look like we were visiting somebody in the building and got banished down here so we wouldn't stink up the living room when we absolutely had to get a nicotine fix."

A man and woman shook their heads in pity. The next couple actually looked sympathetic, as if on occasion they'd been forced to smoke outside also.

"All right, so you found a way to make us an acceptable presence outside the building," Jamie said. "Now what?" "Do what Prescott does. Listen and learn." People came and went, their conversations filled with references to domineering bosses, newly discovered restaurants, cheap plane tickets to the Bahamas, and women who ought to stop flirting with other people's husbands.

Five minutes passed.

"Gosh, I can't believe we're done with those cigarettes so quickly. We'd better light up again," Cavanaugh said.

"If I get yellow stains on my fingers…" Jamie said.

Cavanaugh gave her another cigarette, struck a match for her, and pretended to ignore two taxis that stopped at the curb. Each cab discharged four well-dressed people. After lighting a new cigarette for himself, he glanced up at the night sky, pretending to ignore the eight people hurrying past.

"What time is it?" a woman asked urgently. "Almost ten? Thank God we made it. Sandy said she and Ted'd be home from the movie by ten-fifteen."

"How's she going to manage that?" a man asked.

"Pretend she's sick, so they don't go to dinner. Isn't she clever? Her sister's going to let us in. Imagine the look on Ted's face when we all shout 'Surprise.'"

They crowded into the lobby, several of them speaking at once to the security guard, who made a phone call, nodded, and buzzed them through.

"Poor Ted," Jamie muttered as she blew out smoke.

Through the windows, Cavanaugh was able to see the console above the elevator the group used. Numbers flashed, indicating the floors the elevator passed. He was too far away to read the numbers, but he could count the times the console flashed. Seventeen. On the eighteenth, the number remained steady. Add another number for the ground floor, he told himself. They're on nineteen.

Flicking ashes from his cigarette, he noticed a car with a domino's pizza sign stopping in the building's delivery zone. A gangly, bespectacled driver got out, lugging an armful of pizza boxes in an insulated wrapper.

"Let's see where these pizzas are going," Cavanaugh told Jamie. As the driver came closer, Cavanaugh stood, put on a convincing smile, and said, "Hi. We thought we'd come down for a smoke and head you off at the pass. Unit six twenty-eight." That was the number of John's unit.

"Sorry. These are all for somebody else." "All?" Cavanaugh looked at the stack. "Must be that party on the seventh floor. That's one of the reasons we came down here. They're making so much racket."

"Nope. This bunch goes to"-the delivery guy squinted through his spectacles toward a piece of paper taped to the insulated wrapper-"nineteen eleven."

"Lucky them," Jamie said. "Guess we'll just have to wait and have another cigarette."

"Shouldn't be long," the driver said. "Sorry we bothered you," Cavanaugh said. "No problem." Balancing the pizza boxes, the delivery guy walked up to the glass door at the entrance just as somebody came out and held the door open for him.

Jamie stubbed out her cigarette. "What was that about? Did you really believe those pizzas would be going to John's apartment?"

"Maybe not this time. But eventually, pizzas or Chinese or some kind of food will probably be delivered there." "How can you be sure?"

"Because I've seen guards make that mistake too many times before. Round-the-clock watchdog duty is tedious. If the guys on the security team don't have any discipline, they keep thinking about eating. They could scrounge the cupboards and cook, but most of them aren't good at it." Except for Chad who could make anything taste delicious, Cavanaugh thought, sorrow blindsiding him. "They start fantasizing about pizza or egg rolls and chicken chow mein. If this is part of the bunch that tried to grab Prescott at the warehouse, they have a few rough edges that suggest they're the type to give in and have food delivered." "We could wait for hours." "If it's going to happen, it'll be sooner rather than later. My call to John was less than an hour ago. Before then, they were too preoccupied to think about food. But now they're getting a routine established."

"Won't the building's guard get curious about us hanging around out here?"

"He can't see us."

"Why?"

"The last time I was here, I noticed that the lobby's more brightly lit than this outside walkway. The glare in there reflects off the inside windows. The guard can't see out."

"But what about the camera above the door?"

"You spotted that? It's pointed toward the area in front of the door, not toward the street. When we get John out of there, I'm going to tell him to move to a building with better security."

"Is that a mind trick you use with your clients?"

"'Mind trick'?"

" 'When we get John out of there.' You put me in the future and made me believe everything's going to be fine. It's very reassuring."

Another car stopped at the building's delivery zone, this one marked pizza hut.

"My turn." Jamie looked grateful for something to do to control her nerves.

As the driver pulled pizza boxes from the car, she approached him, rubbing her hands together in hungry anticipation. "Hi. We decided to come down for a smoke and save you the trouble of going upstairs. Unit six twenty-eight. We're starved."

The pimply teenager looked starved as well, but for something other than food. He nearly dropped his boxes at the sight of the attractive woman standing next to him. "Um," he said. "Um. Lemme see." He studied a delivery slip taped to a box. "Yep, six twenty-eight."

"Wonderful."

"Two mediums? One pepperoni and black olives? The other deluxe?"

"Exactly. They smell delicious. How much do I owe you?" Jamie added a tip and took the two boxes. "See you next time."

"Yes, ma'am." The kid blushed. "Thank you." He looked flustered as he got in the car and drove away.

"Two medium pizzas. Enough for two husky guards," Jamie said.

"Seems that way to me," Cavanaugh said, "unless there's only one guard and he's being generous to his prisoner, which I doubt."

"That they ordered food means they're feeling comfortable, right?"

"Right. They assume nobody knows they're keeping John prisoner."

"So what happens now?" Jamie asked.

"We go back to the park, find somebody sleeping in the bushes, and donate these pizzas. All we need are the boxes."

Jamie looked puzzled.

"I need to tear off the top of one box and the bottom of the other so I can stack them together to hold my Kevlar vest," Cavanaugh said.