she said.
'Yeah, or a pulp magazine.'
Why would somebody park like that next to my car? It was live-parked, the wipers were going. The car on the other side of me had the wipers going too.
'Absolutely fearless heroes,' Linda said. 'Absolutely hideous villains. Monstrous tortures. But no sex.'
Why would a car be live-parked on either side of mine? Why would two cars sit with the motors running in a theater parking lot at a shopping mall on a rainy Saturday.
I stopped.
Linda said, 'What is it?'
'Something's wrong,' I said.
The two cars sat there, boxing mine. The wipers going. The theater neon splashed brightly on the shiny asphalt. The taillights of cars were bright and their headlights made glistening sweeps as they pulled out and backed up and shifted into first and pulled away. Home for maybe a supper of baked beans and corn bread. Get ready to go out on Saturday night.
I edged Linda sideways between two parked cars. We stood still. Linda had her hood up, but the wisps of hair that stuck out in front were plastered to her forehead. The rain ran in a small drizzle off the brim of my hat when I tipped my head forward. The two cars didn't budge.
Linda hunched her shoulders impatiently and squeezed my hand. 'What are we doing?' she said.
'There's a car parked on either side of mine, with the motors running. It's making me nervous.'
'Why . . .'
I shook my head. 'Come on,' I said. We went down the row of parked cars and swung out wide around the perimeter of the parking lot. The exodus from the afternoon show was over, the influx for the early evening show had arrived and parked and gone inside. There was little movement in the lot. We crossed the street and moved behind the cars parked on that side, moving along the near end of the shopping mall, parallel to where my car was parked and bookended. We stopped behind a Dodge van with the spare tire mounted on a swingaway rack, and some racy stripes swooshed along its side.
'You think those men are after us?' Linda was whispering.
'No,' I said. 'Me. I think that Mickey Paultz is trying to hit me.'
'Shouldn't we call the police?'
'Yes.'
I stared at the cars beside mine. Looking through the rain-splattered windows of the van.
'But we're not going to,' Linda said.
'Not yet,' I said.
'What are we going to do?'
'We'll wait awhile,' I said. 'See what they do.'
Linda tugged her cape tighter around her, the hood over her head, and pressed against the van. 'I'm scared,' she said. 'I'm so scared I can barely stand up.'
'I'm sorry,' I said. 'But I want to keep you with me.'
'Because why?' she whispered.
I shook my head. I remembered another rainy day. In Los Angeles. When I had blundered through an oil field. Looking for Candy Sloan.
Linda's voice became more insistent, and her whisper was louder. 'Because why?' she said.
'I'm not going to lose you too,' I said.
'My Jesus Christ,' Linda whispered. 'They don't want me.'
I looked at her in the semidark with her cape clutched to her and the hood tightened around her small face. She was shaking.
'Yes,' I said. 'They're not after you.' The car on the outside of mine was a light blue Buick sedan with four doors. As we watched, it slipped into gear and moved away from my car and down the aisle toward the theater.
'He's impatient,' I said. 'He's going to look.'
The Buick went down the aisle, turned at the end, and moved slowly up the next aisle. The other car stayed where it was beside mine. It had a maroon vinyl roof and looked like a Mercury or a Ford.
'Okay,' I said. 'In a minute I'm going for the car. As soon as I do, you head for the mall. Get in there and mingle. These guys don't want you and don't even know what you look like. Once you're away from me you'll be safe.'
'Will you come back for me?'
'Yes, I'll meet you in the bar in the mall, Dapper Dan's it's called. If I'm not there by closing, call the cops. Boston Homicide, ask for Sergeant Belson or Lieutenant Quirk. Talk to either of them and explain what happened. If neither is there, talk to whoever you get.'
She nodded. 'Sergeant Belson, or Lieutenant Quirk, okay?'
She nodded again.
