Falls The Shadow

28

Dawn shambled up the dark city street like an arthritic old man, arms pumping, gums working, a lot of action but not much forward movement. Yeah, sure, the metaphor is strained, but just then so was my bladder.

I was sitting in my car waiting for the day to break, and I was in pain. I had asked Phil Skink, my private investigator, if he had any tips on staking out an apartment. “Other than paying someone with half a clue to do it for you, mate?” he said. “Yes, Phil,” I said, “other than that.” Pro bono, Latin for “on the cheap.” So this is what he told me. Make sure there is no way out the back door of the building. Check. Use a car that fits in socioeconomically with the neighborhood. Check. Reconnoiter the neighborhood to find the best place to set up. Check. Park in front of a store or a bar. Check. Sit in the front passenger seat so it looks like you’re waiting for someone. Check. Sit low. Check. Have a cover story in case a cop or neighbor gets curious. Check. Buy your coffee small. Well, there was maybe where I might have messed up.

I started early, well before old man dawn even put on his surgical socks, and so a small cup of coffee was simply not going to do it for me. Grande or venti? What about big? Whatever happened to just plain big? Give me something big, I said to the barista, who was not young, pierced, and rude but was fat, Greek, and rude, who worked the counter of my diner, and who would have punched me in the face if I called him a barista. Something big, I had said, and now I was paying for it.

I jiggled my leg, thought about dry things, kept my eye on the door beside Tommy’s High Ball on Daniel Rose’s West Philly street. I was parked across from his building and down a bit, in front of a still-closed bodega. Nothing had yet gone in or out that door, but I knew, I just knew, that the instant I left that street to empty the soggy, storm-tossed sea that was my bladder, the door would open, the mark would exit, the morning would be lost. So I waited and watched and jiggled my leg and thought of desert sands, of camels and Bedouins, of all manner of desiccated things. Which was when I started comparing the dawn to Horace T. Grant.

I wasn’t good at this, I was not the patient type, I wanted to go home and pee, but Julia Rose had said her boyfriend had moved out. I didn’t believe her, and I didn’t believe that she was lying because she wanted to. She was lying because someone else wanted her to lie. Daniel had said his name was Randy. Julia had said Randy didn’t want to be involved. But he was already, wasn’t he? If I was going to get a grip on Daniel’s situation, I needed to learn what I could about Randy. His workplace was a start. Hence my stakeout.

It was a little after seven-thirty when the door beside Tommy’s High Ball finally opened. The man who came out was medium height, thick-shouldered, with glasses and short blond hair. He wore a blue work shirt with a name stitched over the pocket and matching blue pants.

Outside, standing now in front of the door, legs spread, he shook a cigarette from a crushed pack, lit it, inhaled, picked a piece of tobacco from his teeth.

I slumped low in the car. The man exhaled through his nose. There was something dangerous about the way he held himself, in his big hands, in the two violent streams of smoke. He looked left, looked right, looked at me. And then he headed my way.

I slumped lower. My knees hit the dashboard. He kept coming.

I was trying to slink all the way beneath the seat when he knocked on the roof of my car.

I looked up through the window.

He smiled. “Hi,” he said.

I waved back, sat up straight, opened the door so we could talk.

“Is there a problem?” he said.

“No, no problem. Just sitting here, in front of the store, waiting for a friend.”

“The store’s closed,” he said.

“Then it might be a while.”

“I’ve been watching out my window,” he said, still smiling. “You been here for over an hour.”

“Has it been that long?”

He pulled the door farther open. “Why don’t you step on out for a moment.”

“I’m fine.”

“There are kids in this neighborhood, mister,” he said. “We don’t need perverts hanging around.”

“I’m not a pervert.”

“Then why’s your leg shaking like that?”

“I have to pee.”

He looked in the car, saw the blue paper coffee cup sitting in the cup holder. “You should have gotten the small.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Just get on out,” he said, and I did. I gave him a close look as I stood before him, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. He was still smiling, but it wasn’t a friendly smile. He had big teeth. The name stitched on his shirt was RANDY, the store name on the other breast was WILSON PLUMBING SUPPLY.

“We got a quiet neighborhood here,” he said. “Lots of families, children. We look out for one another. We don’t like strangers with shaky legs hanging around. Give me your license so I can tell the police your name if I see you around here again.”

“My name’s Victor Carl,” I said.

His smile faltered for just a second, just long enough for me to know he recognized it.

“That’s right,” I said. “I’m Daniel’s attorney. And who I was waiting for, actually, Randy, was you. Do you have a moment?”

He leaned forward and then smiled again. “No,” he said. “I have to get to work.”

“You want a lift?”

“I’ll take the bus.”

“No, really. It won’t be a problem. I’m very impressed with you acting to protect the neighborhood. It gives me more confidence about Daniel’s situation.”

He turned his head, looked at me sideways. “I’m just doing my part.”

“You sound like you know how to handle yourself. Do you have a law-enforcement background?”

“I’ve had some experience.” Pause. “I was in the army.”

“It shows. Let me give you a lift.”

He thought about it for a moment, glanced up at the window of his apartment, made his calculations. “Sure.”

I stepped away from the open door and gestured him inside. “We’ll stop for coffee. You know a place near here?”

“A couple.”

“Good, but let’s find one with a pot.”