Desperate Measures

11

On the busy sidewalk outside the restaurant, amid the noise of traffic and the glare of headlights as well as streetlights, Pittman studied the pedestrians to his left, then those to the right, while Jill studied the opposite side of the street.

“What the hell was that about?” Pittman asked.

“I was hoping you’d know. He looked as if he might be ill, but…”

“Or maybe what he said was true-that the conversation overexcited him.”

“The thing is, what’s he going to do about it? Where was he going in such a rush?”

“Come on, let’s split up and see if we can find him.”

“There they are,” a man said accusingly behind them.

When Pittman turned, he saw their waiter and the maitre d’ glowering at them from the restaurant’s open door.

“We needed to see if our friend was all right,” Pittman said.

The maitre d’ fumed. “This is what happens when I make an exception to our dress code.”

“We were coming back.”

“Certainly. But in case you’re detained, I’m sure you won’t mind paying for your cocktails before you look for your friend.”

“Jill, run down to the corner on the right,” Pittman said. “Maybe you’ll see him on the next street. If we get separated, I’ll meet you at the car…. How much do we owe?” Pittman quickly asked the maitre d’.

“Four Jack Daniel’s, a Heineken, and-”

“I don’t need it itemized. Just tell me how much.”

“Twenty-eight dollars.”

Pittman shoved thirty dollars at the waiter, seriously depleting their money supply, and hurried in the opposite direction from Jill, wincing from cramps in his legs after having been in the car for so long.

At the corner to the left of the restaurant, he gazed intensely toward pedestrians on the next street. Immediately he straightened at the sight of Denning, a quarter of the way along the block, lurching from between parked cars to hail a taxi. The elderly man looked more agitated as he got into the taxi, blurting instructions to the driver before he closed the door.

Pittman ran to try to reach the taxi, but it pulled away, and at once Pittman raced back toward Jill, his cramped legs protesting.

“I didn’t see him.” Jill was waiting where they’d parked the car across the street from the restaurant.

“I did. Hurry, get in.”

Pittman started the engine and steered impatiently from the curb, narrowly missing a BMW. A horn sounded behind him. He ignored it and turned left, reaching the street where he’d seen Denning get into the taxi.

“Where do you suppose he’s going?” Jill asked.

“I don’t know. But this is a one-way street headed north. Denning wouldn’t have waited until he was around the corner before he hailed a taxi unless he intended to go in this direction. There’s a good chance that the taxi is still on this street.”

“You’ve already passed two taxis. How will you know which one is Denning’s?”

“I got the license number.” Pittman kept driving. “I don’t see… Damn it, do you suppose we lost him?”

“There.”

“Yes! That’s the taxi.”

Pittman immediately hung back, keeping a reasonable distance between his car and the taxi so the driver wouldn’t realize he was being followed. Fifteen seconds after he obeyed the speed limit, a police car passed them.

“It’s your lucky night,” Jill said.

“I wish I felt lucky. Where on earth is he going?”

“Back to where he lives?”

“In the heart of Georgetown? No way. He doesn’t have enough money.”

Elegant town houses gave way to mansions.

Pittman followed the taxi, turning left onto a street paved with worn bricks, streetcar tracks embedded in them. The taxi stopped in front of one of the few mansions set back from the street. The brightly lit building was on top of a slight hill and had a large landscaped yard, its shrubs enclosed by a waist-high wrought-iron fence.

Denning got out of the taxi and hurried up concrete steps toward a spacious porch, its pillars reminding Pittman of a Greek temple.

“I wonder who lives here,” Pittman said.

“And why was he in such a rush to get here?”

They watched Denning knock repeatedly on the mansion’s front door. A uniformed male servant opened it. Denning gestured, talking insistently. The servant turned to request instructions from someone inside, then allowed Denning to enter.

“Now what?” Jill asked.

“I’m tired of sitting in this damned car. Let’s make a house call.”