Page 31

CHAPTER 31

BABY AND I SAT in the Chevy and watched the wire-fenced parking lot of the Public Utilities Commission hub just north of Skid Row in downtown Los Angeles. Of the twenty-seven vehicles in the lot, sixteen were regular cars and eleven were pickups, vans, or trucks. Of those eleven, only one was rigged with a foldout ladder and a huge spool of electrical wire. We figured that one belonged to George, Troy Hansen’s work buddy.

A guy left the building and crossed the parking lot, and as soon as I laid eyes on him, I knew it was George — I recognized the big, bearded Black guy from the photo in Troy’s living room. He had Troy Hansen’s same uncomfortable, stooped walk and downcast eyes, plus weirdly delicate hands that looked silky soft even from a distance. He and Troy were kindred spirits. I watched him get in the truck with the ladder, and Baby snorted in the seat beside me.

“That’s him,” she said. “Dude moves like a kicked dog.”

I started the car and followed the pickup at a good distance. The bearded guy was talking on the phone the whole time, driving edgy and distracted, not noticing when the light turned green, not remembering to signal. He pulled into a mall parking lot, and I had to shunt the Chevy into an unofficial space against a wall so we could get out and keep up with him.

He walked into a Walmart. Baby and I followed the guy into the store full of visual clutter — shelf stackers wearing blue vests, heavy with lanyards; bright lights; hundreds of bikes on racks; a big inflatable monkey nodding over the toy section. We stood near the women’s clothing section and watched George rake T-shirts and pants off the stands in the men’s section.

“Clothes for Troy,” Baby said.

We followed George to the sporting goods section. The big man snatched a backpack off a shelf without even stopping.

He headed for the gun counter, and I noticed a movement behind him. Dave Summerly was marching down the party-supply aisle, his eyes on his phone. I realized with stomach-churning clarity that Summerly had had the same idea we had and was probably following directions given to him by a police team tracking Troy’s pal.

“Oh, jeez.” Baby spotted Summerly at the same time I did. She didn’t say anything. Neither did I. We moved in tandem, a machine with interlocking parts. Baby rushed forward to intercept Summerly while I sprinted toward the gun counter and grabbed George’s arm. He jerked it away hard and whirled around to look at me.

“If you really want to help Troy, you’ll leave this store with me right now,” I hissed.