shoulder, looks at me and shakes her head, worried, and gets out of the car.
With Grandma still sleeping, I drive to my house. Like her, I’m overcome with exhaustion, and need a break before I can plot my next move.
But as I arrive at my block, my adrenaline starts to pump. In front of my building, fire.
Chapter 25
It takes a second to realize the flames are shooting up from a Porta Potti.
The street is empty. But it won’t be for long. People will come to gather and talk. The fire department will be called, and the cops.
“We can’t afford to get embroiled in this, Lane.”
No response.
What to make of this attack? It seems obvious the cops want to punish me for my story. But this also seems risky for them.
Regardless, I can’t afford to pick a fight. Doing so might come at a serious cost. Adrianna admonished me not to go to the police; so did Chuck. He said that it was someone in the force who had called me anonymously.
“May I make a pun, Grandma?”
“I hate puns.”
“It’s a warning shot across our bowels.”
“I’d like orange juice, Nathaniel.”
I look at Grandma. I can’t risk that they’ll separate us, or take her from me. But they can’t catch me by phone.
From my wallet, I retrieve the business card and number for Officer Everly, the cop from the park. “Everly,” he answers.
“Idle.”
“Nat Idle?”
“You haven’t called me back,” I say. “I’m wondering if you’ve got any more information about what happened in the park.”
“Where are you?”
“Respectfully, what difference does that make?”
“Your reception is bad.”
“Have you learned anything?”
“Want to come down to the station and talk about it? I’m at the Taravel branch. I’m here until seven tonight.”
“Prior commitment,” I say. “What have you got?”
“Some but not much. We found shell casings in the park. Automatic weapon, something nasty. We’re looking for a match.”
Automatic weapon. I tell Everly about the drive-by shooting, but not about Chuck.
He asks me for a thorough recounting.
When I finish, he says: “Mr. Idle, you should come down so we can talk about it. Honestly, you’re never safer than in a police station.”
“What do automatic shell casings look like?”
“Do you have some? Bring them to the station and we’ll compare.”
“Rain check.”
“Would you prefer if I meet you somewhere?”
“Busy day. Can you call me if you make any progress on your end?”
He accedes to the idea. We hang up.
“Grandma?”
“That’s my name. Don’t wear it out.” She smiles.
“Want to hang out with people who most certainly won’t threaten us in any way?”
“I’d like that.”
We’re a few blocks from the Pastime Bar — and my confidants Samantha and Bullseye.
I’m particularly interested in getting Bullseye’s technical expertise; can he help me access the encrypted file on the computer thumb drive I’ve been sent by Lulu Adrianna Pederson?
I pull a U-turn. My phone rings. It’s Pauline.
“Thirsty?” she says.
“I usually begin with ‘hello,’ ” I respond.
She laughs.
“I like to get right to the point,” she says.
“And the point is?”
“Martinis. Remember, we planned to drink together and solve the world’s problems. And we can celebrate.”
“Celebrate?”
“Indictments in the Porta Potti case.”
She tells me that the Attorney General nailed a police lieutenant as the ringmaster.
The Case of the Flaming Potty, cracked.
“I’ll write the blog post myself,” she says. “Or you write and I’ll give you a backrub and edit your grammar from over your shoulder.”
Before I can tell Pauline I won’t be able to make it, she reminds me that she’s staying the night at her downtown loft. She’s made appetizers.
“After a few drinks, you won’t believe the view in this place. I’ll have you swooning.”
“As I recall, the views are pretty nice sober.”
“So I’ll see you soon — an hour?”
I look at Grandma.
“No can do. I’m babysitting.”
I hear a moment of silence.
“Whose baby?”
“My grandmother,” I say.
I explain that I’ve given Grandma a break from the home, and am taking care of her tonight.
“So,” Pauline says.
“So?”
“She doesn’t like vodka?”
I laugh.
“Her bedtime is eight, and she’s already starting to snooze.”
Pauline sighs.
“It would be nice to catch up,” she says.
“I’ll drink you under a table soon.”
We hang up.
I pull up to the Pastime Bar.
“Harry, will you hand me a blanket?”
After a seasonably warm day, the weather is poised for its seasonable evening turn. And Lane thinks I’m Harry.
I turn on the car’s iffy heat.
“What you need is a costume. I’m seeing you as Cat Woman, with a warm, flowing cape to go with your
