Page 21

Hannah tried not being a back seat—or in this case, a side seat—driver.

It was hard because she thought that Kat was much too close as she trailed Rex Stiller.

“I can feel your anxiety,” Kat told her, “but you can relax. This guy isn’t going to notice that we’re behind him. Hell, he couldn’t even keep his wife from suspecting that he’s having an affair. Do you really think that a manager for a trucking company suspects he has a tail?”

Hannah had to acknowledge that it was a fair point. So far, in the day and a half that they’d been following him, Stiller hadn’t given any indication that he thought anyone was aware of his existence, much less following and recording his movements.

He’d picked his nose in public, repeatedly scratched both his backside and his crotch while waiting in line for coffee and ate one meal as if he were feeding at a trough. He didn’t strike Hannah as the kind of guy concerned with who saw him or when.

“I hear you,” she said, “but I always like to err on the side of caution. It’s not like he’s going to peel out in his Kia Sorrento and leave us in the dust. I just don’t want him to notice that the same car with two chicks in it has been behind him as he’s driven all around downtown running errands.”

“Okay,” Kat relented, “If it will make you feel better, I’ll pull back a car length.”

“Thank you,” Hannah said as they pulled onto 6 th Street. “Hey, we’re getting into a kind of sketchy area here. The worst part of Skid Row is just another block south of here, right?”

‘Yes, but I seriously doubt that’s where he’s headed,” Kat said. “He’d get eaten alive over there.”

But only seconds later, Stiller turned right onto San Pedro Street and slowed to a crawl.

“I stand corrected,” Kat said. “We may have a problem here. While he might not notice someone trailing him on a crowded street, having just one other car behind him around here will stick out.”

The problem was exacerbated when someone pushing a shopping cart stopped right in front of Kat’s car as she tried to turn right. The man had a long straggly beard and hair that covered most of his face, but Hannah was able to see him smile mischievously, as if they were involved in a game that only he understood.

Up ahead, Stiller’s car was still moving, weaving carefully in and out of the crowds of people who milled about the street. So far, no one was playing the shopping cart traffic game with him.

“This is the first unconventional thing that he’s done in two days, and it looks like he’s going to get away,” Hannah said. “I’m just going to get out and follow him. He’s moving so slow that I should be able to catch up to him.”

She opened the door and jumped out.

“Hannah, no!” Kat called out. “You can’t go walking around here on your own. Some of these folks aren’t in the best headspace.”

“I’ll be okay,” Hannah said, not sure she believed it. “Just drive around to the other end of the street and I’ll meet you there.”

She closed the door before Kat could object and moved over to the edge of the street. She couldn’t walk on the sidewalk because it was fully consumed by tents and other makeshift structures. Feeling eyes on her, she zipped up her jacket and pulled the hoodie over her head.

Up ahead, Stiller was still maneuvering through traffic. He was pretty adept at it, moving at about five miles an hour, often veering in wide arcs to steer clear of any human or constructed obstructions. No one seemed to be giving him the hard time that Kat had gotten.

Hannah tried to keep pace, walking as quickly as she could without drawing more attention to herself. By and large, she kept her head down to avoid making eye contact with anyone who might take offense, only looking up periodically to track Stiller’s whereabouts.

After another couple of minutes of this, she saw that the man had pulled his car over to the left side of the street and come to a stop. He got out of the vehicle. As she weaved among the street’s denizens, she noticed a plastic bag in his left hand.

He crossed the street and stepped onto the sidewalk, disappearing behind a bank of tents. Hannah, afraid she would lose him, broke into a jog. She couldn’t help but wonder what a middle-aged middle manager was doing here. If he was scoring drugs or sex, there were less risky areas to engage in that kind of behavior.

She was just reaching the point where she’d lost sight of Stiller when someone stepped directly in her path. It was a tiny, wizened old woman with gray hair that reached her waist. She wore overalls that were several sizes too large for her and didn’t appear to have anything on underneath them. She also wore an old L.A. Raiders baseball cap, which she removed and displayed elaborately as she bowed, as if it was a top hat and they were at a 19 th century ball.

“Young lady,” she said in a rasp, “unless you really need to be here, you really shouldn’t be here.”

“Thanks,” Hannah said, trying not to appear too startled. “I was just trying to find a friend.”

“Who’s your friend?” the woman asked.

“Um, his name is Rex. He just walked by here in a suit. Did you happen to see him?”

“No,” the woman said, “But I know him. He was probably going to see Randy.”

“Randy?”

“Yes,” the woman said, slowly turning her shriveled body and pointing at a narrow alley twenty feet away. “Randy lives in there.”

“Thanks,” Hannah said, not sure what else she was expected to say before departing.

The woman didn’t share the same concern for proper goodbyes. She put the cap back on her head and, her attention now on something or someone in the distance behind Hannah, wandered off into the street.

Hannah dashed over to the alley and peeked in. It was barely wide enough to hold the half dozen dumpsters that had been dragged in at some point. She scanned the collection of people in the dark passageway, most of whom were slumped on the ground.

After several seconds, she saw Rex Stiller. He was leaning over someone sitting on the ground with their legs crossed. It was hard to be sure in this light, but the person appeared to be a male, probably in his twenties, though the scruffy beard and long hair made it hard to be certain about anything.

What she could be sure of was that Stiller was pulling several Styrofoam boxes out of the plastic bag and placing them on the ground beside the person she assumed was Randy. The two of them spoke, but Hannah couldn’t make out any of it.

After several seconds, Randy reached down and grabbed one of the boxes. He opened it to reveal what looked to be French fries. Why was Rex Stiller bringing a homeless man what appeared to be lunch?

Before she could figure that out, someone tapped her on the shoulder. She turned around to find two men staring at her, each wearing smiles that were lacking multiple teeth.

“Yes?” she said.

“You’re pretty,” said the taller and thinner of the two men.

“Thanks.”

“I want to know you more,” said the shorter one, who was bald and had a potbelly.

“I was just leaving, actually,” Hannah explained. “Maybe another time.”

“I want to know you more now ,” the shorter man insisted, reaching out and grabbing her forearm.

She looked down at her arm, then back up at the men. The taller one had started giggling uncontrollably, but the shorter one was staring at her with dead-eyed seriousness. Fighting off the creeping hint of fear that was starting to seep into her chest, she stared back at him.

“You’ll have to know me more later,” she said forcefully. “Right now, I have to talk to Randy.”

“I don’t care about Randy,” the shorter man said. “I care about you.”

Hannah looked around. A crowd was starting to form around them. She realized that unless she nipped this in the bud, it could escalate quickly.

“What’s your name?” she asked the shorter man, forcing a smile onto her face.

“Grady,” he said.

"Grady, if you want to know me more, you have to behave like a gentleman," she said. "Instead of grabbing my arm, why don't you hold my hand? Then we can find a private place, just for us?"

Grady’s toothy grin got even wider at the suggestion. Next to him, the tall guy’s giggling had turned into a full-on, hyena-like cackle. Grady, unbothered, let go of her arm and extended his hand to grab hers. That was the moment she’d been waiting for.

Without any hesitation, she turned and shot past the assembling throng, darting into the middle of the street. Once clear of grasping hands, she turned west and sprinted in the direction of 7 th Street, the intersection she hoped Kat had found her way to.

After about ten seconds, she glanced over her shoulder. Grady was nowhere to be found. But the tall, cackling guy was right there, only about five strides back and keeping pace. She faced forward again. In the distance, she saw Kat's car easing into the intersection.

Hannah figured she could make it to the passenger door and maybe even open it before the tall guy got to her, but she doubted she could get in and close it before he caught up. That’s when she decided she had to change her plan.

She was still a good twenty yards away from Kat’s car when she suddenly stopped and spun around. She dropped into a squat and launched her shoulders at the tall guy, whose eyes turned to saucers when he realized that he couldn’t stop his momentum.

Hannah slammed her hunched right shoulder into the man’s groin. His rapid movement and the force of her thrust sent him toppling over her. He did a somersault in the air before landing hard on his backside. He sat there, clearly stunned, before shaking his head from side to side, like he was trying to extricate cobwebs from inside his brain.

Hannah didn’t wait for him to get back up. Instead, she turned and continued her sprint toward the car. It was only then that she noticed that Kat had exited the driver’s door and was pointing a gun in their direction.

“I don’t think you’ll need that,” Hannah panted as she opened the passenger door and got in. Kat did the same.

“What the hell happened?” the private detective demanded.

“I’ll explain later,” Hannah said, looking over at the tall guy, who had managed to get to his feet and was still hobbling in their direction. “Let’s just go!”