“I can?t stay here, Jake,” she said, staring at the pictures on the wall. “Every place I look I see him.”
She looked at me. “Drive me out to Windsong, will you, please? Get me out of here.”
“Let?s go,” I said. I could tell her on the way out.
She did whatever women do before they leave the house—it seemed like an eternity of puttering
around—then we left and walked back to my car. We didn?t say anything but she clung to my arm so
hard it hurt.
The security guard flagged mc down as we drove toward the island.
“You got somebody waiting for you?? he asked.
“Why do you ask?”
“There?s this black sedan down to the right. Pulled up just after you went in. He?s been down there
ever since.”
I squinted through the dark and could see the car, halfa block away, sitting on our side of the street. It
could have been one of Dutch?s hooligans, but I didn?t recognize the car.
“Can you tell how many there are?”
“Just the one,” he said.
“Maybe he?s sleeping one off” I said.
“Yeah, well, just thought I?d mention it,” the guard said.
“Thanks.”
“My pleasure.”
I pulled out of the security drive and turned left, away from the parked car. It pulled away from the
curb without showing any lights and fell in behind us. I drifted, letting it pull closer. As usual, my gun
was in the trunk.
“Hook up,” I told Doe.
“What?” she said.
“Your safety belt. Hook it up, and hang on.”
She groped for the belt and snapped it across her lap.
“What?s the matter?” she asked, urgency creeping into her voice.
“We?ve got company,” I said, hooking up my own belt. “Just hang on. It?ll be like the old days in the
dune buggy.”
I waited until the car was ten feet behind me, then slammed down the gas pedal and twisted the
steering wheel. The car leaped forward, its tires tortured by the asphalt, and then spun around. I hit the
brakes, straightened it out, and left rubber all over Palm Drive as I headed in the other direction.
The other driver was faster than I figured. He swerved and hit my left rear fender. I lost control for a
