by Gavin Reese
Suspicious that he would likely conduct other counter-surveillance tactics, Jonathan remained in the slow, far right lane to best allow him to stay with the Alero regardless of its actions. His foresight paid off when the Alero again suddenly and unexpectedly merged right across multiple lanes to exit on 27th Avenue. Brake lights, car horns, and a few middle fingers accompanied his dangerous maneuver, and several vehicles from the far right lane merged onto the off-ramp behind the Alero. Jonathan had enough following distance that he felt safe in making the same exit without drawing “Adolf’s” attention.
As he exited the freeway again, Jonathan saw his target had reached the green traffic signal at the top of the ramp, turned south and accelerated. Jonathan momentarily hastened his speed, but saw little point in doing so as the traffic signal turned yellow, then red with several vehicles in front of him. Despite risking a traffic citation for doing so, Jonathan drove on the gravel shoulder to pass three cars and run the red light, which quickly had him southbound on 27th Avenue.
Immediately after Jonathan merged into the right southbound lane, he saw the Alero merging into the left lanes several blocks ahead of him. He stayed right to avoid drawing further attention. He’s surely looking at anything that follows him now. When the Alero made a wide, unsignaled left turn onto eastbound Van Buren Street, Jonathan didn’t immediately follow it. Instead, he drove through the intersection, quickly turned right and drove through a strip mall parking lot at the southwest corner of Van Buren/27th Avenue, and again turned right to exit the lot onto eastbound Van Buren Street. Despite his willingness to run it, a white-and-blue Phoenix Police Department Tahoe that occupied the opposing left-turn lane encouraged Jonathan’s restraint.
After a frustrating thirty-second delay, Jonathan continued east, and waited until the cop drove out of sight to quickly accelerate and again pursue the Alero. He drove at dangerous speeds for the first mile, but soon realized “Adolph” had disappeared and slowed to forty miles-per-hour; still in excess of the posted limit, but unlikely to warrant a traffic stop.
“Goddammit! Goddammit!” Jonathan punched the steering wheel, which briefly activated the horn and reminded him of the need to blend in. Regaining his composure, he scanned Van Buren Street and all the side roads as he continued east in search of the missing Alero.
Passing 7th Avenue, Jonathan still saw no sign of the sedan. Wait, he thought to himself, that’s it! It’s got to be! He had the car radio turned on to a morning talk show channel for traffic and news updates, but now turned it off to improve his concentration on everything around him. Driving eastbound on Van Buren Street, the downtown high rise buildings loomed directly in front of him as he traversed that direct route to the north side of the downtown commercial district. That asshole has a security job at one of the high rises, maybe at one of the bank towers. They could be planning a robbery, and he has the perfect job to get access and intel.
Jonathan considered calling Landon with his theory, but thought it better to have something more concrete than a direction of travel and a hunch. He instead called his mother to let her know he would need the car for another few hours, maybe the rest of the day, while he ran errands and tried to find employment. Hell, maybe one of the bank security companies is hiring, he thought, it would definitely pay better than mom’s couch.
He wove through downtown traffic, beginning with Van Buren Street and working his way south. Jonathan rarely drove through the area, so the occasional one-way streets, patchy road construction, and light rail tracks complicated his efforts to remain focused on finding the Alero. After searching the densely populated business district for more than an hour, Jonathan finally spotted a tan Alero parked south of him in a parallel spot on the east side of Central Avenue just north of Washington Street, but couldn’t see its license plate. Because Central Avenue allowed only northbound traffic through this corridor, Jonathan had to drive around the commercial block to return on Central and examine the plate. He didn’t want to lose time by parking and going on foot in case this wasn’t the right Alero. After the late rush hour traffic required five full minutes to navigate back to the sedan, Jonathan saw the “410JST” plate hung on the rear trunk.
No parking spots nearby, gotta find a garage. Jonathan drove around the block again and entered a parking garage at the north side of Washington Street between Central Avenue and 1st Street. After hurriedly pushing the “Take Ticket” button and passing under the raised partition, he found the first available spot three levels up from the entrance. Jonathan locked the sedan and ran downstairs, out of the garage, and onto the south Washington Street sidewalk. Once there, he scanned the crowd for a light blue security shirt as he walked the short distance back to North Central Avenue. As he stood waiting for the traffic signal to change on the south side of Washington Street at Central, Jonathan saw the Alero hadn’t moved. Taking a deep breath, he allowed some of his anxiety to subside, and focused on what he needed to accomplish at that moment. What’s important now? He crossed to the north side of Washington Street, passed a loud street preacher, and approached the parked Alero, which he soon saw held no one inside. While trying not to obviously examine the car and its contents, Jonathan stopped as though listening to the preacher, and stayed there just long enough to record a short video of the car. Jonathan knew he couldn’t convince a trained adversary he really cared about the preacher, but he hoped a casual observer would believe the man’s fire-and-brimstone about adultery and prostitution interested him enough to linger nearby and capture a few minutes of cell phone video. Holding his cell in his left hand, Jonathan crossed his arms so the phone’s camera faced outward and held against his right bicep. He stood near the Alero, and tried to react naturally to pedestrians walking nearby, the preacher, and vehicle traffic, and frequently turned his torso, or entire body, to permit him to focus as much time as possible on the car and what may be inside and around it. Satisfied that he’d gained all the intel he reasonably could, Jonathan looked for a place to watch his video and keep eyes on the sedan. Where to do that?
Glancing across Central Avenue, Jonathan spied a local coffee shop that would allow him a covert line of sight to the Alero. He jaywalked across Central, entered the coffee shop, and ordered a large black drip and a pumpkin muffin, all while hoping the debit transaction would go through. Blessed with a momentarily sufficient bank account, Jonathan took his coffee and muffin, and found a secluded seat near the front window that offered a clear view of anyone approaching the Alero.
He reviewed the brief cell-phone video, realized it offered little information about the vehicle or what may be hidden inside, and quickly grew tired of attempting to glean any details from it. After the mass of local office workers had collected their morning coffee and departed, Jonathan began to feel he did, in fact, stand out a bit more than he’d hoped. By mid-morning, no one else remained in the small coffee shop aside from the now-bored kitchen staff, and the attractive young brunette who’d rung up Jonathan’s order. She wasted little time in stopping by his small table to warm his coffee and ask if he needed anything else. Despite his slightly disheveled appearance and obvious lack of corporate employment, Jonathan thought she seemed interested in serving more than his morning beverage needs. The unexpected attention caught him off-guard; simultaneously flattered and embarrassed, he thanked her for the coffee, declined anything further, and explained he expected a friend to meet him there. Apparently encouraged by his blushing, bright red cheeks and undeterred by his lame excuse, she returned to the coffee counter, removed her apron, and set about dusting and cleaning the top display shelves on both sides of the counter, which alternately revealed her flat stomach and matching floral butterfly tattoos on both the small of her back and her front right hip.
Jonathan spent the rest of the morning consuming two pots of coffee while politely deflecting and parrying the brunette’s advances, maintaining watch over the Alero, and running out of things to occupy his mind. Within a few more hours, a bustling lunch ru
sh had come and gone, and Jonathan again found himself the only patron in the small shop. The brunette used a final, unaproned approach at 1:45 to inform him that the shop closed at 2:00, and she would be off no later than 2:30.
“So, there’s a great Irish pub around the corner, if you’re the kind of guy who likes to buy an Irish girl an afternoon drink.” Jonathan looked up and realized she had stunning, bright blue eyes. If she had had darker hair, she would easily pass for Black Irish.
“Thanks for the offer, I would love to, I mean, hypothetically, but my wife, she wouldn’t be happy about that. There’s no good reason for a married man to have drinks with an Irish girl who looks like you do.” Jonathan stammered out the polite declination, and felt both guilt he’d drawn her attention and pride that he still “had it.”
Undeterred, she sat down across the small table. Her light, equally-attractive citrus blossom perfume followed immediately behind her. “So, you don’t seem like someone stood you up, so you must’ve planned on being here all day. You don’t seem like the business suit type, and your speech is more correct than most of my professors.” She paused as though waiting for an explanation of what all that meant. “Almost nobody says they’re doing ‘well,’ even though doing ‘good’ requires philanthropy or a badge. I mean, Superman does ‘good,’ right? The rest of us just do ‘well,’ at best.” She paused and never broke eye contact. “So, I’m gonna say that you’re here to hide out, maybe to watch somebody, maybe something. Am I getting warm?”
Jonathan felt very uncomfortable with her direct questioning and how easily and precisely she peeled back his lies. He decided to concede at least some of her assessment’s accuracy without wasting time and effort disputing her statements.
“Yeah, something like that. You saw right through me, woman’s intuition, right? I’m not waiting to meet someone, I was waiting here to see someone.” He looked around as though he were about to reveal a secret, despite already knowing they were alone. “I work for a private investigator and our client thinks her husband is having an affair, so I’m sitting here waiting to see if he leaves work and goes home like a good boy, or goes to the local Irish pub to have afternoon drinks like a bad boy.” Jonathan briefly gave in to his carnal desires to flirt with the girl, but married guilt soon took over his emotions.
“Mmmm, scand-a-lous.” She leaned forward as though to show interest and make the already private conversation even more so.
“But, seriously, I am married to an Irish girl myself, so I will get cut if I accept that drink with you.” Jonathan reflexively leaned back in his chair, away from her advances.
She slowly rose from the table, her eyes and body language professing her continued sexual interest as she extended her right hand to Jonathan. “I’m Leslie.”
Jonathan grasped her outstretched hand, and found it as soft and sensual as he expected. “I’m Jonathan.” He met her gaze, but soon grew uncomfortable with her unflappable flirtations.
“Just so you know, it’d be worth it.” She recognized he didn’t exactly follow her meaning. “The cuts.” Leslie bent forward at the waist and leaned in closer until her strawberry breath wafted over his left ear and neck, and her perky, bra-less cleavage fully exposed itself to his line of sight. “I would make sure they were totally worth it.” She released his hand, walked to the door, locked the deadbolt, and flipped the sign over to display “CLOSED” to the outside world. “If you change your mind, I’ll be in the back, all by my lonesome. If not, you can let yourself out. Either way, good luck with the stakeout…Jonathan.” Leslie provocatively ran her hands over her midriff, which pulled her shirt back up just enough to again expose her tattoos before she sauntered off to the back, apparently to try to sway Jonathan’s moral dilemma in her decided favor.
He sat in silence for a moment, processing what just happened. I have to get the fuck out of here before I do something I can’t take back. He walked over to the door, reached out to unlock the deadbolt, and a blue uniform shirt caught his eye. “Adolph” walked southbound on the east side of Central Avenue, directly toward the Alero. He wasn’t sure who, between the potential terrorist outside and the advancing vixen inside, represented greater danger to him at that moment. “Adolph” clearly scanned the street for anyone who may be watching him, so Jonathan feared he couldn’t stand at the clear glass door much longer. A reemerging citrus scent gave away Leslie’s presence, and close proximity, before Jonathan saw or heard her. He turned around and found Leslie stood only a few inches behind him wearing nothing but her short, black apron and a lacy purple thong. Her perfectly shaped and toned body was absolutely stunning, and her large, unsupported breasts were too perky to be anything but after-market add-ons. Married or not, Jonathan immediately wondered whether Leslie preferred hardwood floors.
“I didn’t hear the doorbell chime, so I hoped you were staying. I wanted to come out and give you one last sales pitch to sway your decision, but it looks like I’ve been upstaged by Reggie.” She put on her best sexy-pouty duckface.
Distracted by the Jezebel’s beauty and overt sexuality, and confused by her statement, Jonathan sought to regain his mental acuity. “I’m sorry, uh, Leslie, I don’t follow.”
She stepped forward, almost into physical contact with Jonathan, and he had to step backward to prevent her breasts from pressing against his chest. “I’ve been standing here long enough to know you’re watching that security guard across the street. Reggie. He works at American Bank Tower, takes his coffee black, doesn’t ever tip, and wears a cheap wig and cosmetic cheek implants.” She sauntered closer, despite the shop’s clear door and windows, and spoke with a breathier tone. “Now you know he stays at work like a good boy, so maybe you should consider staying here, with me, and being a real bad boy.”
Jonathan looked back outside to see Reggie and his tan Alero merge into northbound traffic, apparently unaware of the nearly naked drama unfolding only a dozen yards west of him. Yep, outside is now definitely safer, Jonathan thought. As he unlocked the door, he turned toward Leslie. “I have to go, but please don’t feel turned down or insulted.”
“I promise it would be worth your while.” Leslie reached up with both hands behind her neck and started tugging on the only tie holding her apron on.
“No, I don’t think it ever could be.” Jonathan quickly turned back toward the door, swung it open, and walked decisively into the hot summer air. A free man of clear conscience, he literally fled the coffee shop for the relative safety of terrorist surveillance.
“If you change your mind, I dance at Pin-Ups on Friday and Saturday nights!” The door closed just as her final plea ended.
Thank God, Jonathan thought, that satisfies my curiosity about her behavior, and instantly makes her unattractive as a crazed homewrecker with daddy-issues. Great fuckin’ body, though, his masculinity forced him to objectively recognize. Now what to do with Reggie’s info? Jonathan knew he should call Landon, but didn’t want to get an expected ear-full from the detective. Fuck it, I don’t think I’ve done anything he can arrest me for. I wonder if the criminals in witness protection have it this bad?
Jonathan dialed Landon’s cell from memory and slowed his walk. Reggie’s departure in the Alero meant Jonathan had no reason to hurry; his quarry long gone, he had no way to predict the man’s route or destination and no reason to try to catch back up to him. He passed a bank on the northwest corner of Washington Street and Central Avenue, and saw the extremely wide sidewalk immediately south of the bank offered some privacy near Washington Street as pedestrians stayed under the shaded overhangs and didn’t linger out in the afternoon sun.
“Landon.” The detective answered almost immediately after the phone started ringing.
“Yeah, Detective, it’s Jonathan McDougal.”
“Sorry I haven’t called you back, we’ve been a bit busy here.”
Oh, fuck, Jonathan thought, I haven’t spoken with him about the shed yet. “Yeah, well, me, too.”
&
nbsp; “Are you coming in to complete the paperwork?”
“No, I’m calling because I have to pass some information along to you, got the guy I-D’d that I think might be Cleveland’s boss.”
“I thought we were pretty clear that you were going to stop involving yourself in the investigation unless you came in and let us vet you as an informant. I thought I explained that we have to make your information admissible in court.”
“Yeah, I remember that same understanding, and I remember not being all that interested in letting you guys that far into my personal life. Do you want what I have or not?”
He heard the detective sigh as though considering his options. “How did you get it?”
Jonathan paused and thought about where he should begin. He started with their last conversation while he’d been inside the Rio Arriba restaurant. Although he’d used the kid’s phone to email Landon the parking lot photograph, Jonathan hadn’t yet explained how he got it or that the kid’s phone remained in his glovebox. At least it was turned off and couldn’t be tracked, he thought, well, I hope, anyway. He discussed the Sunvalley Parkway property location and described it to Landon so the cops could locate it, as well as the owner identified on the county assessor site, and hesitated when he began talking about the IED manual.
“And, the biggest thing, I suppose, is that the shed near the southeast side of the property has a few, um, bomb-making components and a copy of my stolen IED manual inside.”
