Page 80 of Nobody's Fool

“Still at the Belmonds. Everything okay?”

“No,” she says. “Someone’s stalking us.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN

According to the navigation app, the Belmond estate is forty-two minutes out from where Molly has dropped her pin on the Lower East Side.

Gun Guy keeps his foot on the gas, which I appreciate. I stay on the phone with Molly. She and Henry are now at Katz’s Deli, the famed New York staple that claims to be the oldest deli in New York City. They have a big menu, but if you order anything other than a variant of the pastrami sandwich you deserve to be mocked and bullied. I tell her to stay there, not to leave, to make sure she has people around her and an eye on the door. I call Marty, but he’s at a friend’s bachelor party on the Jersey Shore. I’d try Craig, but really, what can he do? I consider calling the police, but again where would that go?

They’re in an always-busy restaurant. They’re safe.

I’m now, according to the navigation app, forty-three minutes out.

“When did you realize he was following you?” I ask.

“I saw him when I left the apartment,” Molly says. “Then when I left Duane Reade.”

“What does he look like?”

“Like central casting bad guy. Sunglasses even though it’s cloudy. Long hair.”

I sit up. “Face tat and denim jacket?”

“You saw him?”

“He was hanging outside when Belmond picked me up. Is he still out front? Can you still see him?”

“I’m not near a window.”

I want to get a photo of the guy, but I don’t want Molly taking any risks. I tell her to stay put. We keep driving. I tap my foot impatiently, ask her for updates. Fifteen minutes later, I get a text on my phone:

Don’t like Molly in this blue outfit as much.

“Molly?”

“Yes?”

“What are you wearing?”

“This doesn’t seem the time for flirtation, Sami.”

“I’m not—”

“I know, I know. Sometimes I need a laugh, okay? It helps. I’m wearing the blue overalls.”

Another text comes in:

Your wife’s got a great bod. Tell her I like it when she shows it off just for me.

I take deep breaths, try to remain calm.

“What is it?” she asks.

“Another text came in,” I say.

“Read it to me.”

I don’t want to, but I don’t want to be accused of being patronizing again. So I do. When I finish, Molly says, “Am I being fashion-shamed by my stalker?”