Warren Wilson lived on the same block as Laurie and Jack but at the Columbus Avenue end. He’d taken the very first shift, starting at six a.m., to look for strangers watching Laurie and Jack’s building. Jack and Laurie’s building was several hundred yards in the direction of Central Park and stood out as one of the classiest buildings in the neighborhood, with neatly tended window boxes and a shiny brass knocker. At that time the window boxes were still filled with winter foliage.
To give himself a bit of cover, Warren had borrowed his downstairs neighbor’s dog. It was a pleasant little white thing that barked at everything, including cars. His name was Killer. Since there were so few people in the street at six a.m. on a Saturday, Warren had wanted some reason to be strolling up and down the block, and Killer was happy to oblige, as long as he was permitted to smell every tree and fire hydrant he and Warren encountered.
After Warren had left Laurie and Jack’s the previous night, he’d gone home and called five of his oldest friends, all of whom had lived in the neighborhood from birth. They all played basketball regularly and had gone to high school together. All were African-American like Warren. All worked and lived in the neighborhood and knew most residents by their first names.
Since it was Saturday they were more than willing to help. With good weather in the forecast, they’d already planned to spend the afternoon on the basketball court almost directly across the street from Laurie and Jack’s house.
Exactly a half-hour late for his stint, which was supposed to have started at ten a.m., Flash showed up. “Hey, man,” Warren said as Flash approached, slouched over, wearing dark glasses and hip-hop clothes. “You look a little worse for wear.”
“Don’t give me shit,” Flash said. “I don’t know why I agreed to this torture. Who am I looking for again, and why?”
Warren explained the situation as he’d done the night before. “Now don’t go to sleep on me,” Warren advised. “Because if you do, I’m going to kick your ass.”
“You and who else?” Flash joked.
For the four hours and thirty minutes Warren had stalked the neighborhood, he’d seen nothing at all suspicious. There had been surprisingly few pedestrians, and those he did see had expressed no interest in Laurie and Jack’s house. Nor had any particular vehicle driven up and down the block. In every way it had seemed like a normal early-spring Saturday morning on 106th Street, with chirping birds, a few dog walkers, and not much else.
As soon as he’d been relieved and had returned Killer to his owner, Warren went back to Columbus Avenue, picked up a
Feeling annoyed that Flash was already bothering him, Warren answered the phone with his emotions apparent. All he said was “Yeah!”
“Pay dirt!” Flash said simply.
“What do you mean ‘pay dirt’?” Warren questioned with growing irritation. “You’ve only been there for fifteen minutes.”
“I don’t know how long it’s been, but I got a bozo here who’s looking might suspicious!”
“Really?” Warren questioned dubiously. “There’s no way you can tell if someone is a watcher in fifteen minutes.”
“This guy is acting awfully suspicious, acting like he’s here for the day, and I’ve never seen him before.”
“Yeah, well, you watch him! If he’s still acting suspicious after a period of time, then call me back.” Warren rolled his eyes and broke the connection. “Jesus Christ Almighty,” he said under his breath, tossing his phone aside as if it had been its fault for bothering him.
Fifteen minutes later, after Warren had eaten half his bagel, drunk half his coffee, and had breezed through an uninteresting sports section, his phone rang again. Again, it was Flash.
“Okay,” Warren said, still highly suspicious. “What’s happening?”
“He’s still acting weird. He’s a Jersey guy, or at least he’s got Jersey plates on the black Caddy Escalade he’s driving. It’s like he’s advertising he’s a watcher. At one point he suddenly climbed out, went through a routine of calisthenics.”
“Don’t get too close. People who are acting as watchers are hypersensitive to being watched themselves. In fact, how far away are you now?”
“Fifty feet or so. I’m across the street.”
“That’s too close. Move away and don’t look at him! I tell you what—go over to the basketball court. I’ll meet you there with a ball. We can pretend we’re practicing.”
“What if he moves his car? Do I follow?”
“No, if he moves just try to get the plate number without being obvious.”
“Got it.”
With a gulp Warren downed the rest of his coffee. Snapping up his paper, he ran out of the coffee shop. When he reached 106th Street, he purposely slowed to a walk. As he headed for his house, he could see Flash entering the playground. He could also see a black SUV parked on the playground side of the street.
“Where have you been?” his girlfriend Natalie questioned casually when Warren came through the apartment’s front door.
“Out!” Warren said, opening the hall closet to get one of his several outdoor basketballs.
“This early?” Natalie questioned. Saturday morning was the morning of the week that she and Warren generally lazed around. “What time did you go out?”
“Around six,” Warren said, coming into the living room and giving Natalie a peck on the cheek.
“Six? What on earth were you doing outside at six?”
“Walking Killer. But look, I’ll explain it later. Flash is out on the court. We’re going to practice a bit.”
“Okay,” Natalie said indifferently. If Warren wanted to be enigmatic about his Saturday-morning activities, she could not have cared less. “Have fun!”
Warren descended back to street level and headed toward the playground. There were now many more people around, including a bunch of toddlers in the sandbox and preteens on the swings. As he got closer to the black SUV, he could see that it had heavily tinted windows that precluded any view into its interior. He stayed on the right-hand side of the street until he was abreast of the car in question, then crossed directly in front of the Escalade. Although he could tell there was someone sitting behind the wheel, he couldn’t see any features at all, partly because he avoided looking directly.
Reaching the sidewalk, he waved and called out Flash’s name. Flash responded in kind. Warren made a point of not turning around as he continued on into the playground.
“Has he moved?” Warren asked, coming up to Flash.
“Are you asking about the guy or the car? I can’t see the guy, and the car hasn’t moved.”
Warren tossed the basketball to Flash. “Let’s do a quick game of one-on-one. Don’t look at the car, but keep an eye on it just the same.
Warren was by far the better player and won easily, but Flash won the trash talk. Both were out of breath. Even though when they started they’d told each other they were just going to play easy, once the game started, their natural competitiveness had taken over.
“Let’s take a rest,” Warren said. He went over to the bench seat, sat down, and took out his mobile phone.
“Oh, yeah!” Flash teased. “He wins one lucky game and wants to retire.”
“Give me a sec and I’ll give you another chance to lose,” Warren teased back. “I want to call the big guys. As much as I hate to admit it, I think you found yourself the watcher.”
While Flash used the opportunity to practice his jump shot, Warren called Grover Collins. Warren told Grover that he believed they’d already identified a watcher at Laurie and Jack’s house.
“How long have you been keeping tabs on the individual?” Grover asked, acting as if he was not surprised in the slightest at Warren’s rapid success.
“Not long—fifteen to twenty minutes. He’s parked just across the street from Laurie and Jack’s house, and
