“Son-of-a-bitch, ya wanna put somebody down ya should at least talk English so’s they get it, ya know?”
“Only if one’s sole purpose is not to amuse one’s self,” Vuur says, following the yellow VW down the same street Dick had taken earlier today.
“Yeah, I get it. Bet it’s like jacking’ off. Ain’t as rewarding’ is it, sweetheart?”
“You are the most wretched—”
“Stop the car!” I shout.
“I don’t think that’s—” the dragon tries.
“Now!” I grab the dash with both hands.
Vuur jams the brakes, swerves to the curb, throws the jeep in park, and glares at me.
“That car, the black one parked down there—” I point at the sedan a block-and-a-half away. “—was in the parking lot at Ferris in front of the coffee shop this morning and the guy driving it is following CeCe … or the girl that was with her.”
Although gobsmacked, I’m totally positive Dick’s about to make some sort of a move right now. A brief wish passes that the other girl is already home—that Dick has followed her, not CeCe.
“And you know this how?” Vuur asks with a good share of sarcasm.
As I watch CeCe’s yellow Volkswagen pull into a driveway on the opposite side of the street a few houses past the sedan, I take a deep breath and check my next words.
“Because the guy inside, the one wearing the black suite … he tried to kill Jane in an Orlando Motel room before we met you,” I say through an inappropriate smile on my lips. I’ve managed not to lie or give away my identity, but Jane’s skin feels like a cold blanket as I finish with, “That, and he took a picture of the girls as they came out of the coffee shop.”
“And you’ve waited until this moment to enlighten me?”
“I wasn’t one-hundred percent sure until now,” I tell him, and before Vuur can comment, Jane pulls the Smith & Wesson out of her hip-boot and points it at the dragon. “You wanna take one for the team?” She waves the gun at the sedan. “Or should I shoot in that direction?”
Vuur starts to speak, but the driver’s side of the black car opens and the only thing that moves is Jane’s arm as she lowers the 9mm to our lap.
The guy in the suit steps out, studies the quiet street—we duck as his gaze rolls over the jeep—and then we watch him cross to the other side. On the sidewalk, he moves at a nonchalant pace up South Michigan toward the driveway CeCe had pulled into.
Vuur turns the key and coaxes the jeep to life. We coast down the street, right past Dick, and past the white house trimmed in purple. The yellow VW is parked in an otherwise vacant driveway.
“What the fuck?” Jane blurts and turns around in the passenger seat, neck craning to see her attacker. “You freakin’ drove right by!”
I’m very pleased the windows are up and the heater is humming.
“I am a paid assassin, a rogue hunter, the man hired to capture his mark, remember? And I am very good at what I do,” the dragon says, stoic, eyes jumping from side mirror to rearview mirror, and probably taking in the whole street, slime ball man included, as the jeep coasts up to a stop sign by a two story red brick building with a library sign out front. “Now, I suggest you sit quietly and let me do my job.” Vuur’s voice is deep, threatening, and confidant. “I will not tolerate otherworld creatures popping from storm drains should your … charming side go on a rant. Do I need to cuff you to the steering wheel, or have I made myself clear?”
“Clear as plastic wrap over moldy leftovers.” Jane slowly holsters the weapon inside her left boot right next to our calf.
“Splendid,” Vuur drawls, as the jeep hesitates at the stop sign.
He slowly turns on his left signal while we all covertly watch Dick check his surroundings again and then dart along the driveway on the other side of a neighbor’s dense hedge.
Vuur makes a right around the next corner of the block at five miles-per-hour over the speed limit, and mid-block, comes to a neck-jerking stop one street over, parallel to the white and purple house.
This neighborhood is one we’ve scouted to no avail since we’ve been here, but we did learn it is relatively quiet during day, because most of the housing are rentals to accommodate students at Ferris. The streets were packed with parked cars in the evening. Light peeked around makeshift curtains hung in windows; some bore school colors, others, sorority symbols. But I remember the purple house, because a small window on one side has a Hello Kitty curtain.
Although the homes are outwardly well kept and newly painted, with groomed yards, I imagine by the end of the year they will be well worn.
My thoughts go back to the guy in the dark suit driving the black car, Dick, and the fact that he’d probably done the same sleuthing, and I wonder why we hadn’t run into him sooner.