Robert B. Parker’s Someone to Watch Over Me

33

I picked up a tail as soon as I headed north on Atlantic.

I’d spotted the car earlier outside Grace Bennett’s building, and now it was three car lengths behind me as I passed the Boston Harbor Hotel and the Aquarium. It was a white Dodge Charger or Challenger. I couldn’t really tell at this angle.

Perhaps it was my friends from Providence we’d met that fine morning in Cambridge. Or perhaps it was someone sent north from Cerberus Security in Miami. Or maybe I was just paranoid, and some poor bastard just happened to be headed in the same direction through the city, up to the North End, and over the Zakim Bridge.

When I crossed the bridge and turned toward the Navy Yard, the car followed. When I slowed down and took a turn into the Navy Yard, the car followed. But when I turned down into the warehouses by the old docks, the car accelerated around and passed me. Still, I couldn’t get a good look inside or get a look at the plate. But now I could tell it was a Dodge Charger. Progress.

I parked my Land Cruiser and headed toward my building, a four-story brick warehouse right down the marina from Old Ironsides. I liked my new digs, but sometimes I missed the closeness to the Public Garden. I’d worn my Braves ball cap that morning and my .38 on my hip. It was a warm mid-afternoon with a nice salty breeze off the ocean.

I was already onto thinking about making a nice snack of some feta, kalamata olives, and flatbread when I heard a yip. Pearl was across the street in a common area, wandering about alone.

I looked both ways and called to her as I headed to the street.

At the same time, the white Charger turned around the south end of the old warehouse and doubled back toward me. Pearl sat down in the middle of the street in a perfect, practiced sit. She was proud of herself as she waited for me.

The car sped up.

I ran toward her.

I picked her up like an authentic Pete Rozelle football and dove over the sidewalk and into the grass.

The car raced past me, and this time I made an effort to see the plate. There wasn’t one.

I brushed myself off and picked up Pearl again. She licked my face and nuzzled my neck as the car squealed into the distance. I could rush back to my car and follow, but I knew they’d be long gone on the interstate or well into Charlestown within seconds.

I carried Pearl into my building and up the side steps to my condo. She was hot and panting. There was no telling how long she’d been outside wandering about. I checked her for injuries, but she seemed no worse for wear.

On the second floor, my door was open.

I set Pearl onto the floor and pulled out my gun. She looked up at me and tilted her head.

I pressed my index finger to my lips.

I didn’t leave doors open. I did not let Pearl roam free.

Susan was with patients all day. Our dog walker wasn’t working with Pearl until later in the week. There was no way she’d gotten out on her own unless puppy Pearl was decidedly more intelligent than her predecessors.

I listened before I entered. I took a deep breath and ran into the condo, toward the kitchen island and some cover. Still nothing. I waited several moments. Pearl had followed. She barked at my back until I picked her up.

So much for the element of surprise.

I got up and checked the large open space. I checked the bathrooms. I checked under my bed and in my closet. I returned to the kitchen and checked in the refrigerator for good measure and found a cold beer.

No one was there. But they’d left my condo a complete mess.

My bed had been stripped of sheets with mattresses tossed to the floor. Cushions from my couch had been pulled away and cut open. Closets and drawers ransacked. A small desk by the bank of windows overturned. First-edition books and treasured record albums littered the floor. Even my collection of wooden animals I’d carved had been knocked across the room.

The air was still and warm. Pearl had followed me in and sniffed at the toppled books. I picked up a rare copy of The Faerie Queen that Rachel Wallace had given me and set it back upon the shelf.

“Sniff us out a clue, Asta,” I said.

Pearl looked up at me, tongue hanging from her mouth and panting hard. I walked to the kitchen, poured some cool water into a stainless-steel bowl, and called Quirk. I drank half the beer while I waited for him to come onto the line.

“Did they take anything?”

“Nothing that I can see,” I said. “But the inside of my condo looks like it was hit by an F-4.”

“You still working on that billionaire sicko?”

“Yep.”

“Think it’s his people?”

“We’d be fools not to.”

I told him about Florida. I told him about Cerberus Security and Poppy Palmer reminding me that I wasn’t invincible or immortal.

“The deuce you say.”

“I know,” I said.

“How in the hell would she know what happened to you?” Quirk said. “Took a hell of a lot to keep that business quiet.”

“Unless a certain someone is on their payroll.”

“Don’t get paranoid, Spenser,” he said. “That guy’s long gone.”

“I’m not sure if he’s ever been gone,” I said. “Just waiting.”