Second Chance

Chapter 86

COOMBS DUCKED into the kitchen of a greasy spoon attached to the hotel. I waited a few seconds, then I followed him.

Now I was the one keeping my head down, casting furtive looks. I saw Coombs, but he'd changed. He'd put on a white kitchen jacket and a greasy chef's hat. I remembered my cell phone and then that it was dead. I wasn't on duty; I hadn't really needed it.

Coombs walked right out the back door of the hotel.

Before I had a chance to signal the patrol car, discreetly, he ducked into an alleyway.

I looked down the alley and saw that it angled toward the street where I was parked. I ran for my car.

Thank God I could still see him. Coombs hurried across the street, not twenty feet in front of my car. I hoped I'd have a chance to signal the patrol car, but I didn't.

Coombs ducked into an empty lot, heading toward Van Ness. I was angry at our people - they had let him out. They had blown it.

I waited until he disappeared into the lot, then I spun the Explorer around and headed toward the intersection. At the light, I made a right, throwing on the car lights. The busy street was crowded. A Kinko's, a Circuit City, people passing by.

I watched where I thought the empty lot might come out.

I sat there, scanning up and down the block. Could he have beaten me out here? Could he have slipped into the crowd?

Shit!

Suddenly, up ahead, I spotted the camouflage jacket slinking out of an alley between the Kinko's and a Favor shoe store.

He'd dumped the cook's jacket and hat.

I was pretty sure he hadn't seen me. He looked around in both directions, then, hands in pockets, started south toward Market. I wanted to run him down with my car.

At the next intersection, I spun the Explorer around and headed back on the other side of the street, about twenty yards behind Coombs.

He was pretty good at this. He moved well. Obviously, he was in shape. Finally, he seemed satisfied he'd made a clean escape. He nearly had.

At Market Street, Coombs jogged into the middle of the street at a BART station. He hopped an electric bus heading south.

I followed as the bus continued south on Mission. Each time it stopped I slowed on the brakes, craning to see if Coombs had jumped off. He never did. He was taking it out of the city center.

Out near La Salle Heights, at the Glen Park station, the bus hung at the stop for a few seconds. Just as it was starting up again, Coombs hopped off.

It was too late for me to stop. I had no choice but to pass.right by. I hunched low; every nerve in my body on edge. I'd been on lots of stakeouts, tailed dozens of cars, but never with so much at risk.

Coombs hung on the platform, scanning in both directions. I had no choice but to continue on. In the rearview mirror, I watched him. He seemed to be following my car as it faded out of sight.

Damn... All I could do was drive. I was incredibly angry, so pissed. When I was sure I was out of sight, I accelerated, climbing a residential hill, cutting a three-point U-turn out of a driveway, and prayed Coombs would still be there.

I sped across the street and spun around to the Glen Park station from the other side.

The sonofabitch was gone! I frantically scanned every direction, but there was no sign of him. I pounded the wheel in anger. “Fucker!” I yelled.

Then, about thirty yards ahead, I spotted a mustard-colored Pontiac B6nneville pulling out of a side street, then stopping at the side of the road. The only reason I fixed on it was that it was the only thing moving.

Suddenly, there was Coombs. He ducked out of a storefront and jumped into the Bonneville's passenger's-side door.

Back at ya, I said to myself.

Then the Bonneville sped away.

So did I.