Simple Simon

Chapter Eighteen Lion Eyes

As expected, there was a line at the drive thru, a long procession of desperate morning commuters in need of a cup of hot black heaven to get them ready for another Monday. Nelson Van Horn let his thumbs tap the steering wheel of his van, keeping beat with a Fleetwood Mac tune, turning the stereo down only when he reached the order board.

The three cars ahead took their turn at the window, drivers accepting bags of Egg McMuffins and Danishes, paper trays with steaming cups of coffee, the infrequent orange juice. When Van Horn’s turn came, he handed over exact change and took his order, pulling away to a spot near the exit where he removed his Sausage McMuffin and hash browns from the bag. Then he put something in.

As he drove away, the bag flew from the window and into a line of shrubs bordering the lot.

“Litterbug, litterbug,” Georgie said as he watched the act through powerful binoculars from a vehicle parked in a strip mall across the boulevard.

“I’d say that’s a dead drop,” Ralph commented. He turned on the video camera and the recorders.

All they had to do was wait.

They didn’t have to wait long. Twenty minutes to be exact. A rusted red Chevy Nova pulled into the McDonalds lot and close to the line of shrubs. The driver’s door opened and a black man with no hair leaned out, reaching into the bushes to retrieve the bag. In the passenger seat was a white kid with dark hair.

Ralph put a radio to his mouth as the Nova left the lot, making a left and passing right in front of them. “Fox Five.”

“Fox Five,” came the response.

“East on Washington Boulevard, red Chevrolet Nova, eighty one, license is—” Ralph paused to read the tag number.

“Never mind. Passing us now. We’re on them.”

Ralph patted Georgie on the shoulder. “Let’s get moving.”

“Some cosmetic changes,” Georgie commented, pulling the van into traffic.

“It’s them.”

“When they get wherever they’re going, who do we notify?” Georgie asked. The plans had been changed.

“Whoever answers at this number,” Ralph answered, touching his shirt pocket. He was quite glad they weren’t going to be the ones to make the move. This whole operation had the feel of desperation, and more troubling was that he suspected the most desperate were calling the shots.

“I prefer being the messenger,” Georgie said, unwittingly agreeing with Ralph’s doubting thoughts.

“Me too.”

As they drove, Georgie suddenly looked to Ralph and asked, “Have you got a place to lay low, you know, if they ever throw you to the lions?”

“From day one.”

Anne hadn’t seen her uncle Frederick in ten years and was utterly surprised to hear that he had come to see her. But that surprise changed to bewilderment when she laid eyes on the man through the bulletproof glass of the visiting cubicle.

He winked once at her and put the handset to his ear. Anne sat, eyes studying him, and took her end from the cradle.

“Annie, you look strong. Strong.” The old eyes moved a fraction in a silent gesture, adding more to the words.

“Thank you,” Anne said in a cautious cadence, her words tiptoeing through a strange landscape.

“You look like you could use a sundae.”

A sundae? A sundae. Anne’s gaze changed, finding common ground with that of the stranger, who she thought now was not that at all. A sundae!

“Your G-man could probably use one, too,” Pooks Underhill said, his eyes checking the location of the marshals. When none was looking he gave Anne the ‘okay’ sign.

Anne swallowed and put her fingertips to the glass. “I hope he’s all right.”

“I’m sure he is,” Pooks said.

“And Simon,” Anne added hopefully.

“I’m sure he’s just fine.”

Anne nodded, a sheen making her eyes glisten. “I’m glad you came, Uncle Frederick. What else can we talk about?”

“Oh,” Pooks answered, “lotsa things.”