Barely Legal

38

That evening, the Strategic Services car pulled up in front of Herbie’s apartment building. There was nothing to distinguish the black sedan from any number of car services, except for the two men in the front seat. Not that they couldn’t have passed for limo drivers, but limos didn’t have two.

The agent riding shotgun hopped out and came around to open the door for Herbie. He beat out the doorman with a little skip-step, said, “Allow me,” and interposed his bulk between the man and the car.

Herbie emerged, amused by the byplay. “Thanks, guys, I think I can take it from here.”

“What time tomorrow?” the agent said.

“Nine o’clock, unless you hear different.”

Despite the dismissal, the agent watched until Herbie had crossed the lobby and gotten into the elevator, before getting back in the car and driving off.

Carlo almost missed him. He was leaning against a car on the other side of Park Avenue waiting for Herbie to get home. He was alert when the Strategic Services car pulled up in front of the awning, but when a man he didn’t recognize emerged, his attention waned. Carlo was just unwrapping another stick of gum and feeding it into his mouth when he caught a glimpse of Herbie going into the building.

That was a close call. Mario would have been pissed.

Carlo whipped out his cell phone and called the office. “He’s home.”