by James Swain
“Pull over!” he yelled.
The Hispanic ignored him. Lancaster ripped out his wallet and flashed the badge the department had given him in a shadow box when he’d resigned.
“You heard me, pull over!” he yelled.
Still nothing. He spun his wheel and made their bumpers kiss. The Hispanic started to freak out. Men who stalked children knew the harsh reality of life in prison. Regular beatings, and when that got old, the other inmates often killed them. Desperate to escape, the Hispanic jumped the curb and drove across a heavily landscaped front lawn.
Pearl called him. “He’s getting away! Are you going to run him down?”
“No. I’m going to let him go,” Lancaster said.
“But he’s stalking Nicki!”
“We can’t prove that. He hasn’t broken any laws besides being a bad driver. If the police get involved, I could get in trouble. Get out of here. I’ll meet you in town.”
“Whatever you say.”
Pearl hung a left at the next intersection and took off. The pickup was still riding on lawns and tearing up irrigation systems, and Lancaster continued to follow. At the block’s end, the pickup returned to the street. Lancaster memorized the license plate before watching it drive away.
There was nothing like a car chase to get the heart pounding. He parked in front of a house being tented for termites and caught his breath. His old partner, Devon, was now employed at the Department of Motor Vehicles, and he texted him the pickup’s license and a message:
I need to know who owns this vehicle
What’s it worth? Devon replied.
I’ll take you out drinking
Try harder
Drinks and dinner
Call me tomorrow
How about lap dances at the Cheetah?
Now you’re talking. I’ll get back to you
He was making progress. He had a license plate and soon would have a name and an address, and that would lead to all sorts of interesting information about their stalker. No sooner had he pulled away from the curb than his cell phone rang.
“There’s another guy after my daughter,” Pearl said.
CHAPTER 10
THE CANADIAN
Las Olas was where the beautiful people hung out, its immaculate main drag filled with sidewalk cafés and trendy bars. Lancaster rarely went there, preferring beachfront dives where shirts were optional and no one was trying to make a fucking statement.
The Pearls had taken refuge in the public parking lot on the north side of the boulevard, huddled inside their SUV with the windows shut. Pearl nearly jumped out of his skin when Lancaster rapped his knuckles on the driver’s window. It lowered.
“You scared me. I never saw you,” Pearl said.
There was an art to stealth and concealment, and it had nothing to do with hiding in the shadows. It was all about blending in and not drawing attention to yourself. He glanced into the front seat and saw Nicki sandwiched protectively between her parents, her eyes moist. Part of his job was to make people feel safe; if he didn’t succeed, his clients fired him. He stepped away and did a quick inspection of the cars in the next row. He’d checked the vehicles moments ago, but repeated the drill to make the Pearls feel safe.
“Tell me what happened,” he said upon returning.
“We drove here and parked in the public lot south of the boulevard,” Pearl said. “We got out of the car and started to walk toward Alex and Ani to do some shopping. That’s when my wife spotted him.”
Melanie leaned forward in her seat and made eye contact. “He came out of nowhere, about thirty-five, wearing jeans and a pale-blue dress shirt. He looked normal, only he wasn’t. He was stalking Nicki.”
“What tipped you off?”
“I heard him muttering under his breath like a pervert.”
“Did you catch what he was saying?”
“Not all of it. But I did hear him say, ‘There she is.’ He sounded very excited, and was staring at Nicki with a horrible look in his eyes and then glancing at his cell phone. It was all I could do not to take out my can of Mace and spray him. Then Nolan got in his face, and he took off.”
“I got a photograph of him.” Nicki handed over her cell phone. “Maybe you can send it to the FBI and they can use their facial recognition software to make a match.”
“Did you learn about that in your CSI class?” he asked.
“Yes. My teacher said the FBI was the best at catching criminals.”
The FBI was run by arrogant assholes who took credit when cases got solved and pointed the finger when they broke bad. Lancaster hoped he never had to work another case with them again, only he wasn’t going to tell Nicki that and burst her bubble. Her cell phone’s pink case was an inappropriate frame for the photo of the creep that had been following her. The creep wore a diamond stud earring and had a pampered look.
He handed the phone back. “Have you ever seen this man before today?”
“Never,” Nicki said.
“How about you?” he asked her parents.
“I’ve never seen him before,” Melanie said.
“He was a stranger,” Pearl said.
Their answers sounded honest. Which made the creep a question mark, just like the rest of the men who were stalking Nicki.
“Do you want me to send the photo to you?” Nicki asked.
“Do it later,” he said. “Right now, I want to take a walk with you and your parents down Las Olas and do some shopping. Then we can grab some lunch.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” Pearl asked. “He might still be hanging around.”
“That’s what I’m hoping,” he said.
It was not unusual to see water running down Las Olas after a late-afternoon downpour, the streets being prone to overflowing after heavy rains. But today’s flooding was different, the water ankle-deep and rushing past with a biblical force. Standing on the curb, Nicki and her parents looked at him as if to say, what now?
Lancaster kicked off his Topsiders, pulled up the legs of his jeans, and waded in. A school of minnows raced past, tickling his calves. The photograph captured on Nicki’s cell phone might help him identify the creep, but that wasn’t going to tell him what the man’s motivation was. To do that, he needed to get the creep cornered, and put the fear of God into him. Las Olas was filled with alleys, and he planned to drag the guy down one, and make him start talking. As a cop, he was prohibited from doing that; as a civilian, he did it all the time, often with spectacular results.
He reached the median and turned around. The Pearls were taking their time crossing. Traffic was light, and they paid scant attention to passing cars. It wouldn’t have been hard for a car to stop, and a bad guy to jump out and grab their daughter.
They joined him on the median.
“Here’s the deal,” he said. “First, you need to start paying better attention to your surroundings. The driver of one of the cars that just passed was leering at your daughter. It could have been nothing, or he could have had bad intentions.”
“I didn’t even see him,” Pearl said.
“I know you didn’t. You need to keep your heads up when you’re in public with Nicki. If someone’s following you, your peripheral vision will catch him. Understood?”
Nicki’s parents looked ashamed, and they both nodded. Nicki was a good kid, and she grabbed both their hands and gave them a squeeze. It brought a smile to their faces.
“Now, here’s the plan,” he said. “We’re going to cross to the other side so you can do some window shopping. Take your time and keep Nicki sandwiched between you. That way, no one can jump out and make a move for her. I’ll stay twenty feet back and tail you. If I see the guy from earlier, I’ll pull him down an alleyway and make him talk to me. If that happens, I want you to go inside the nearest store, and stay there until I come and get you. We all clear?”
The Pearls said yes. Nicki bit her lower lip and said, “What if someone tries to kidnap me like those horrible men yesterday? Will
you shoot them?”
“If I have to,” he said.
They put the plan in motion. The Pearls crossed to the south side of Las Olas and started window gazing. Lancaster remained behind and studied the street for any suspicious characters. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he crossed as well.
The block between Eighth and Ninth Avenues was filled with art galleries that sold expensive paintings and blown glass, the storefronts painted in bright pastels with each having its own colorful canopy. The Pearls strolled down the sidewalk, stopping to point and admire. They were acting like nothing was wrong, and he gave them credit for pulling it off. Most people were not so brave, especially when their kid’s welfare was at stake.
Reaching the block’s end, they crossed the street. From out of nowhere, a black BMW pulled up to the curb, and a man jumped out holding a garment box. The guy wore alligator cowboy boots and designer threads and seemed intent on making a fashion statement. Either he was going into a store to return an item, or he was a threat to Nicki.
Training for his first deployment to become a SEAL had given him lightning reflexes that were now hardwired into his DNA. He barreled into the man and sent him sprawling to the sidewalk. The garment box hit the ground, and the lid flew off. A purple Lacoste shirt lay inside. Acting embarrassed, he helped the man to his feet.
“I’m sorry, I never saw you. Are you okay?”
The man scowled. “You should be more careful. I could have been hurt.”
“Do you need to go to a hospital?”
“No, I’ll live. Just watch where you’re going.”
“I will. Sorry again. Have a nice day.”
Lancaster caught up with the Pearls. They had stopped in front of New River Fine Art, one of the street’s more prestigious galleries. “I need for you to wait inside the gallery for a few minutes,” he said. “I want to make sure that guy doesn’t call the police.”
Pearl frowned. “But he wasn’t hurt. I heard him tell you that.”
“He might change his mind and press charges. Have you seen all the billboards on I-95 for personal injury attorneys? People like to sue.”
“As a doctor, I’m well aware of how much people like to sue.” Pearl looked at his wife and daughter. “Are you okay with going inside for a few minutes?”
Nicki and Melanie both said they’d be fine inside the gallery.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be right across the street,” Lancaster said.
The Pearls entered New River and were greeted by the owner. Nicki turned around and waved to him through the glass front door.
He crossed to the north side of Las Olas and stood in front of a coffee shop while looking for any sign of the police. As a cop he’d been sued several times, the cases all bull. Yet each one had been settled out of court because the department didn’t want to waste money going to trial. The attorneys who’d sued him were bottom-feeders who’d never tried a case. It was a lousy system, yet no one was in a hurry to fix it.
If the man he’d knocked down decided to sue, he’d first have to press charges, and get the cops to believe his version of things. Every store on Las Olas had surveillance cameras fixed on the street, and the odds were good there was a high-resolution video of the altercation that the police would want to see.
Ten minutes slipped away without any sign of the law. He sent Pearl a text, asking him if things were good inside the gallery.
All is well, Pearl replied. Need to go soon. Melanie wants to buy a painting!
Pearl was managing to keep his sense of humor. That was a good sign, since there was a chance the situation with Nicki would get worse before it got better. Across the street, the man in the alligator boots came out of a clothing store talking into his cell phone. The BMW appeared at the curb, and he hopped in and departed.
Lancaster was happy to have that behind him. He didn’t like hurting innocent people, but sometimes he had no choice. His cell phone vibrated. Pearl calling.
“What’s up?” he answered.
“A guy is staring at Nicki through the front window,” Pearl said.
He gazed across the street at New River’s storefront. A small group of people was clustered in front of the store, and he couldn’t tell which was the offending party.
“Describe him.”
“He’s wearing chinos and a porkpie hat,” Pearl said. “Slender build, milky white skin. There’s an airline ticket sticking out of his shirt pocket with an Air Canada logo. He’s got a cell phone in his hand that he stares at when he’s not looking at my daughter.”
Lancaster picked the guy out of the crowd. The Canadian was several inches taller than the group he was standing with and skinny to the point of being unhealthy. “I see him. Stay inside the gallery. I’ll be right there.”
“Melanie is starting to get scared. Where are they coming from?”
“I don’t know,” he replied.
He got his shoes soaking wet crossing the street. It was starting to feel like a game of Whac-A-Mole. Every time he got rid of a creep, another one popped up and started stalking Nicki. He hopped a bush in the median and got splashed by a passing car. The navy had conditioned him to being wet, and he pushed it out of his mind. The crowd in front of New River had thinned, and the Canadian stood alone by the front window.
The traffic gone, he started to cross. The Canadian was fixated on Nicki and kept staring at the images playing on his cell phone. The Hispanic in the pickup had also been staring at images on his cell phone. This was the link that tied Nicki’s stalkers together. If he could get his hand on the Canadian’s cell phone, he’d be one step closer to figuring out what was going on. As his foot touched the curb, the Canadian spied him in the window’s reflection and started to walk away.
“Excuse me,” Lancaster said. “Don’t I know you?”
It was a line that he’d often used as a cop. The Canadian wasn’t buying it and beat a hasty retreat down the sidewalk.
“Stop,” he said, trotting after him.
“Leave me alone,” the Canadian said.
“I don’t mean any harm. I just want to talk to you.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Go away.”
“I’m not a cop.”
“Then what are you?”
“A friend of the girl you’re stalking.”
The Canadian’s mouth dropped open, revealing two rows of bad teeth. Darting into the street, he danced around several cars before reaching the median and plowing through the bushes. Lancaster gave chase and ran through the same bushes.
“I just want to talk!”
The Canadian crossed to the other side and ducked into a coffee shop. Lancaster entered a moment later but saw no sign of him. The manager stood at the register holding a napkin to her mouth.
“Where did the skinny guy go?” he asked.
The manager lowered the napkin. “You a cop?”
“Private investigator. What happened?”
“That crazy bastard wanted to use the back entrance. When I said it was off limits, he hit me. If you catch him, kick the crap out of him.”
“Will do. Show me where he went.”
The manager led him to the storage room. The Canadian had trashed it, and torn bags of coffee beans littered the floor. The door leading to the alley was ajar, and Lancaster stepped outside. The alley was lined with overflowing garbage pails, and the sound of a weeping man filled the air.
“Did he hurt someone else?” the manager asked.
“I’m about to find out.”
He walked to the end of the alley, where it intersected with Tenth Avenue. A UPS truck was parked in the street, its uniformed driver standing beside his vehicle. The Canadian lay on his back, his right leg twisted at an unnatural angle and the side of his face bloodied from kissing the pavement. A broken cell phone lay a few feet away, its screen shattered. Lancaster tried to power it up and saw that it was ruined.
The Canadian stopped his weeping. “You win,” he said weakly.
“I just wante
d to talk,” he said.
“So talk. I’m not going anywhere.”
He placed the cell phone on the ground, and knelt beside the injured man. To satisfy his curiosity, he removed the protruding airline ticket and studied it. The Canadian had arrived on a flight from Toronto that morning. Why the hell was a Canadian tourist stalking Nicki? It was another piece to a puzzle that got more confusing by the hour.
“Why are you stalking the girl?” he asked.
“You don’t know about the videos, do you?” the Canadian said, sounding surprised.
“No. Why don’t you tell me about them?”
“Come closer, and I’ll explain.”
Cozying up with the enemy was a risk, but Lancaster didn’t see that he had another choice. Without the cell phone, he had no clue as to what was going on. He lowered his head so his ear was next to the injured man’s lips.
That’s when the Canadian bit him.
CHAPTER 11
THE CALL
He walked to the New River gallery holding a paper napkin he’d borrowed from the coffee shop to his wounded ear. Just as the Canadian had started to bite him, he’d instinctively yanked his head and managed to avoid serious injury. His body was adorned with bullet scars from his military days, and losing a piece of his ear wouldn’t have been the worst thing to happen to him.
New River sold museum-quality artwork that found its way into many wealthy homes. The Pearls stood in the rear of the gallery by a group of new age sculptures made of acrylic. There were a half dozen in all, and each resembled a horse. Nicki was mesmerized and stared at the sculptures longingly while clasping her parents’ hands.
The family turned as he approached, their faces hopeful. His plan to use Nicki as bait had failed miserably, and he decided it would be best to tell them so.
“I struck out,” he said.
Pearl said, “What happened to the side of your head? Did he attack you?”
He removed the napkin and saw a tiny spot of blood. “He ran into the street and got hit by a UPS truck. I attempted to have a talk with him while he was lying on the ground, and he tried to bite me.”
