FOLLOW THE LEADER - Chapter 22

Chapter 22


Terry’s first tail job was Zack Tyler.  The Tyler kid had quarreled with Katherine the day before the Rollins set out for the desert. Over dope, no less. The interesting part was that he had accused her of stealing dope from his supplier. Why would he do this if it weren’t true? Possibly Zack’s source blamed him for the theft.  But why would Zack risk losing his supplier by making up some shit story?  My gut told me that she was the thief.

         I gave Terry the Tylers’ address in Pacific Heights.

         “I’ll stick out like a sore thumb up there,” Terry said.

         I gave him thirty dollars.

         “Get yourself some Giant’s gear,” I said. “No genuine brand jersey officially sanctioned and blessed by Major League Baseball. Cheap stuff. The crap they sell on the street. Hopefully no one will get close enough to you to ask you any questions. You’ll be a Giants’ fan. That’s all.”

         “I can’t just be hangin’, dude.”

         “You’ll be inside my Honda. You’ll keep changing your parking place. Colin says this punk doesn’t get up till noon. He’s supposed to be going to night school to make up for some classes he bombed. So let’s get you placed about six. People will be returning from work. You’re just a kid waiting for your friend.”

         “What’s my friend’s name?”

         “Make one up. Do you watch cop shows?”

         “Sometimes.”

         “Then you know not to follow your suspect too closely. Keep at least one car between you and your bad guy.”

         “Duh.”

         “I know, pretty basic. Sorry to insult your intelligence, Mr. Holmes.”

         “Wait. Don’t cops usually work in pairs?”

         “You’d need a Rent-a-Cop. Not in the budget.”

It was well after six when Terry saw the Tyler’s wide garage door rise. Zack rode out on a black Vespa scooter that looked brand new. Staying with the Goth look, he wore his black hoody sweatshirt beneath a backpack.

         Perfect, Terry thought. Kids didn’t need cars in the city, and scooters made a lot less noise. He was glad to leave the neighborhood because the big mansions had minimum greenery out front. Perhaps they were zoned that way, or maybe the owners wanted everyone to stare at their palaces. The end result was that anyone sitting in his car stuck out.

         Terry drove slowly, letting other cars pass. Zack rode along, beneath or even with the speed limits.  He stayed on Divisadero, which eventually led downhill into a strikingly different neighborhood. Terry saw a hardware store with new garbage cans and lawn rakes out front. He spotted a black-owned barbecue joint, one of the few vestiges of the old Fillmore neighborhood, which used to be full of nightclubs and soul food restaurants and little barber shops. He was too young to remember when the city’s politicos decided to “Redevelop” the old neighborhood.

         Zack turned right, west, passed the UCSF Medical Center, then onto Judah and left on Sunset, which led to Lake Merced.

Terry knew the Lowell High School was on the north end of the lake.

         Zack parked his scooter in the student parking lot and headed for a group of “portables,” well away from the big buildings on a sprawling campus. The perfect setting for summer school losers, Terry thought. He had suffered through a few summer schools, himself.

         Instead of going straight to his class, Zack headed for a brand new black Cadillac Escalade.  The Escalades had been recently redesigned, Terry remembered.

         Still sporting his Giants’ duds, he parked several car lengths behind the Caddy and got out.

         He heard the passenger side window whir down. All the windows and the windshield were opaque.

         Zack was about to stick his head inside the car. He looked both ways, along the sidewalk. He saw a skinny, older kid in Giants’ gear walking toward him.

         They’re waiting for me.

         Terry risked a sidelong glance at the driver. He wore his hair back, pulled tight. Maybe forty-something. Yellow shades. Maybe Ray Bans. Who wore those?  Husky. Even muscle bound. Black T shirt. Something hung around his neck. Terry couldn’t be sure, but it resembled a human ear.

         The big guy’s eyes followed Terry until he was well past the Escalade.

         Terry knew better than to turn around for another look. He heard the two men talking softly but he could not make out any words.  There was no returning to the Honda now. He had to keep walking.

         Less than a minute later, he heard the big car pull out of its parking spot. It was coming up on him, barely moving. He did not look over.  But he knew the driver was looking him over.

         Finally the guy in yellow shades sped up and continued on his way.

         Terry exhaled.