Nearby was a jungle tour – where the guests were startled by the fierce appearances of oversized carnivores. They were the characters from a huge hit film, a blockbuster. March had seen it. The movie was gruesome and simple. But effective at shocking the audience. As gruesome and simple usually were.
The fake canyon he was now walking through reminded him of the Harrison Gorge. It was strikingly similar. He could smell the moist stone, the leaves, the loam, the dirt, the water. He could see, vividly, Todd. More than the colored leaves. Far more clearly than the leaves.
Focus here, he told himself. You need to get out, and soon. In an hour there’d be a thousand officers poking under every polyvinyl triceratops and singing bush in the place.
And then he saw them.
Two young men, dressed like tourists but clearly security guards, were glancing at printouts and scanning the crowd.
Hell. Had they gotten an image of him as he sprinted through the gate? He’d seen the dozens of security cameras hidden in trees and in the fake rocks of the exhibits.
March was different in appearance now – he’d done the quick change right in the middle of a crowd waiting for some insane roller-coaster, Tornado Alley, not in a restroom, whose front doors he was sure would be monitored by cameras. But had they gotten a picture after he changed?
Out. You need to get out—
Then he turned and, to his shock, another officer was walking in March’s direction, glancing at his sheet and then at people nearby – men, tall men. He was more than thirty feet away.
The pathway here was fairly narrow and his only option was to keep on walking, nonchalantly, with the crowd he found himself in. Or to turn and walk away, which would seem suspicious.
His pistol was in the shopping bag he carried. He didn’t want to use it but he might have to. He maintained his stroll in the direction he’d started, glancing at a map he’d picked up of the park. He paused and asked a couple for directions. The husband glanced at the map, then pointed to a pathway nearby.
The officer continued in their direction, casually, too casually, looking around.
March chatted to the couple – a pleasant duo with southern accents – and felt the cop’s eyes scan them, then look elsewhere. March glanced over his shoulder and saw the officer walking away, not reaching for radio or phone.
Ah, yes, trying to trick him. They didn’t have a clue what he looked like. The sheet of paper was either blank or an advertising flier. They expected he’d see it, then turn and flee, give himself away.
Nice try.
He wondered if the ploy had been Kathryn Dance’s. Betcha, he told the Get.
March turned to the husband, who had been so helpful, and said, ‘That’s odd.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Over there. Uniformed policeman in the park. With the printout?’
The couple both squinted. The husband said, ‘Oh, yeah. And there’re some men over there too with fliers. See them?’
‘Undercover security,’ March said.
‘What’s that about?’ the wife asked.
‘Probably nothing. I just … I hope it’s not terrorists or anything.’
‘Terrorists,’ the wife whispered.
‘Yeah, did you hear that story on Fox? Or CNN? There were reports of a possible terrorist attack in LA.’
‘No!’
‘Rumors, that’s all. You know how the police always say that and then nothing happens. Most of the time.’ March shrugged. ‘Anyway, have fun.’
A quarter-mile down the winding paths, Antioch March found another couple who looked promising. He walked up to them, brandishing the map and nodded.
‘Hi, sorry to bother you.’
‘Sure,’ said the husband. He and his wife were with their three children, about eight through twelve.
March asked this man, too, for directions. Where a particular restaurant was. He was supposed to meet his family there. The couple consulted the map.
The husband said, ‘There you be. Bit of a hike but you’re going the right way.’
March knew where the restaurant was and that proceeding toward it would give him an excuse to stroll along with the couple.
‘Thanks.’ They all started to move in that direction.
‘Come here every year,’ the husband said, as they walked along. ‘You?’
March said, ‘No, first time. Josh was too young. He’s five now.’ They meandered past two uniformed officers consulting their advertising fliers. The men didn’t even glance toward him.
‘I hear you. Beth and Richard,’ the wife said, nodding toward her brood, ‘took them to Disney when they were three and four. Scared to death of Goofy. They weren’t too sure about Tinker Bell either.’
March laughed.
The husband: ‘Wait till they can appreciate it. Even the kids’ tickets’re ridiculous. Break the bank.’
As March walked with them, chatting about the rides, he looked around him. Into the trees, the rocks – well, fake rocks – the lampposts, the grounds. Studying carefully. He was learning some things about theme parks. In truth, he’d never been to one. That had been as far removed from his parents’ idea of entertainment as one could imagine. Go downstairs, play video games, Andy. Go play.
Interesting, what he was noticing.
Then March said to the couple, ‘There’s another one.’ A frown.
‘What’s that?’
‘Another cop. Or whoever it is. With that sheet of paper. I’ve seen about ten of them.’
The wife: ‘Yeah, I saw some too. What’s that about?’
March: ‘It’s like they’re looking for somebody.’
‘Maybe somebody broke in without paying.’
‘I don’t think,’ March said slowly, ‘they’d go to that much trouble for somebody like that.’
‘Probably not,’ the wife said. ‘Hm. Look, two more.’
‘Odd,’ the husband said.
‘I hope it’s nothing too serious,’ March said. ‘Maybe … Excuse me … A text.’ He frowned as he looked at his phone, holding the screen so they couldn’t see it. He pretended to read. ‘Oh. Well.’ He’d nearly said, ‘Jesus.’ But he’d noted the wife wore a cross and he needed his new friends to be with him. Completely with him.
‘What?’