Eye of the Beholder

He put out his hand. Gwendolyn looked at it but didn’t take it. She leaned into him.

Well, I can see why you and Cassie get along so well, she said.

Leo didn’t answer. He went to the trunk of the limousine and brought her bags inside. Then he returned to his work, trimming the hedges.

THE WOMAN, pink top and black pants, turns to her left, toward Leo, but she’s still far away, several aisles away, she looks up and acts surprised to see a man, a black guy, she greets him, gives him a quick hug.

Black guy with her now, they’re good, like they’re surprised to see each other, whatever they’re saying to each other, he knows what they’re really saying, We’ve marked him, let’s see what he does, you take the rear, I’ll take the front.

You don’t fool me.

Leo starts toward them, but they separate, she touches him on the arm and says good-bye-looks like good-bye, anyway-and he walks out of Leo’s view.

They separated, getting an angle on him. How many are there?

“Help you, sir?”

Leo jumps. Another man in a long orange apron. He shakes his head while keeping his eyes on the woman.

One thing at a time, no choice here, this is going to have to be fast, he has to do it now, he keeps his head down, walks to Aisle Eleven slowly, his head on a swivel, but he makes it look natural, you’ve marked me but you don’t know that I’ve marked you, too, they’re not going to make their move inside, they’re just looking for information, they just have to report back on what I’m doing here-

He finds the old guy in Aisle Eleven, shelves and containers full of various chain saws.

“I was asking, professional or home use?” the man says. “What are you cutting?”

He needs a Trim-Meter chain saw. He doesn’t see one.

“Trim-Meter?” The man shakes his head. “Sir, Trim-Meter hasn’t made a chain saw for years.”

Leo rocks on his toes, biting down into his lip.

The man taps Leo on the arm. “I know how you feel. You get loyal to a brand. That’s the kind you’ve always used, am I right?”

Leo looks at him, sizes him up.

“Always had a Husky myself. That’s what I’d recommend. Something lightweight, like a 137 here, will do you fine.” He grabs a saw off a tackboard, a long security cord attached to the model.

Leo stares at the man, his hands at his side.

The man sighs. “Okay, well-place called Varten’s? Over on Pickamee? Guy over there has lots of old, used saws. I mean, if you’re dead set on Trim-Meter, he might have one.”

The man gives Leo directions to Varten‘s, like he’s dumb. Like he’s a five-year-old.

I’m smarter than I look.

Leo walks back across the store. He lost the black guy. He lost them both.

Wait.

The woman’s in line. Okay, different now, she’s not just a watcher, she’s trying to get out of the store ahead of him, she’s going to be waiting for him, or she’s going to tell others-

They make eye contact, but her eyes dart away, she’s in an express line, she’s next up, she swipes her credit card and picks up two bags, lightbulbs, yeah, sure, lightbulbs, like he’s an idiot.

Follow her out, see where she goes, keep close but not too close, not until it’s time, sweep the eyes over the parking lot, lots of cars, but hardly any people, can’t tell where the rest of her team is, or how many of them, how many members of her team, watch for an ambush, they could pop out from between any of these cars, head on a swivel-left-right, left-right-quick check behind, they could be anywhere but she was the one who followed, she was the one who stayed back-

She’s the one who will report back, who will tell them about the Trim- Meter-

A receipt, carried into the wind, he picks it up, yes, a diversion, a diversion will work, slip out the knife, keep it in the right hand, against his side, close the gap with the woman-

She stops and turns, next to an SUV, nobody around her but hard to tell, other trucks parked on each side of her, smart of her, good cover, hard to see, hard to-

Hard to see her with trucks on each side.

He takes a breath and goes cold.

He steps left, gets an angle, and moves in. She has the back door open, throwing the bags of lightbulbs in the backseat.

Ten feet away. Five feet. Leo holds out the receipt. Shows it to her.

“Oh.” Like she doesn’t know him. She’s well trained. She reaches out and takes the receipt. It happens in a snap. She begins a Thank you, looks up at him as his left hand grips her arm, shoving her into the backseat while he sweeps the knife across her throat with his right hand. Hardly has to move the knife, her neck moving across it, doing the work for him.

Not a sound. Her lifeless body falls to the floorboard, which immediately fills with her blood. He pushes her legs in the car and closes the door.

He looks around. All clear. He opens the door again, reaches in, gives the woman his signature touch.

Look around. All clear.

Pick up the keys on the ground, use them to open the back hatch, a blanket and a towel, good enough, take them and cover her. No one will notice unless they’re looking hard.

When he’s done, he wants a drink of water.

Punch the LOCK button on the remote, clenching sounds of the automatic locks responding, do it again, the car beeps twice, do it again, he likes the sound, beep- beep, no time, walk, casual walk, to the rental car.

Get in and wait. Nobody coming. They will soon. He will have to hurry.

Drive in a square, look for tails, look for them, any direction.

Then find that store that sells the chain saw.

I MAKE IT TO the police station before five. I give my name to the desk sergeant, who sends me up. The smells of burned coffee and cheap cologne over body odor, the sure signs of any cop house, greet me before Ricki Stoletti does. Behind her, the station house is buzzing. One cop is typing up a report on a computer, with a distressed woman giving him details. Another, in his office, a captain or lieutenant, is having a heated phone conversation. Other people are moving about, handing each other documents and poring over information. Faces I recognize from this morning. The task force at work.

Detective Stoletti greets me with her usual warmth and enthusiasm. I give her the paper bag that holds the letter I just received from the offender. She hands it off to a uniform and opens her arm to an interview room off the squad room. I follow her in and take a seat. She leaves me in there alone, which feels weird. Before my imagination has the chance to get too far down this road, McDermott walks in