05 - One False Move by Harlan Coben

Author:Harlan Coben
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Publisher: Little Brown
Published: 2011-07-06T03:43:39+00:00

20

Once on the road Myron switched his cellular phone back on. Two incoming calls. One was from Esperanza at the office, the other from Jessica in Los Angeles. He briefly debated what to do. No question really. He dialed Jessica’s hotel suite. Was it wimpy to call her right back? Maybe. But Myron looked at it as one of his more mature moments. Call him whipped, but engaging in head games had never been his style.

The hotel operator connected him, but there was no answer. He left a message. Then he dialed the office.

‘We got a big problem,’ Esperanza said.

‘On Sunday?’ Myron said.

‘The Lord may take it off, but not team owners.’

‘Did you hear about Horace Slaughter?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry about your friend, but we still got a business to run. And a problem.’

‘What?’

‘The Yankees are going to trade Lester Ellis. To Seattle. They’ve scheduled a news conference first thing tomorrow morning.’

Myron rubbed the bridge of his nose with his pointer and thumb. ‘How did you hear?’

‘Devon Richards.’

Reliable source. Damn. ‘Does Lester know?’

‘Nope.’

‘He’ll have a fit.’

‘Don’t I know it.’

‘Suggestions?’

‘Not a one,’ Esperanza said. ‘A fringe benefit of being the underling.’

The call waiting clicked. ‘I’ll call you back.’ He switched lines and said hello.

Francine Neagly said, ‘I’m being tailed.’

‘Where are you?’

‘The A and P off the circle.’

‘What kind of car?’

‘Blue Buick Skylark. Few years old. White top.’

‘Got a plate?’

‘New Jersey, four-seven-six-four-five T.’

Myron thought a moment. ‘When do you start your shift?’

‘Half an hour.’

‘You working the car or the desk?’

‘Desk.’

‘Good, I’ll pick him up there.’

‘Pick him up?’

‘If you’re staying in the station, he’s not going to waste a beautiful Sunday hanging outside it. I’m going to follow him.’

‘Tail the tailer?’

‘Right. Take Mount Pleasant to Livingston Avenue. I’ll pick him up there.’

‘Hey, Myron?’

‘Yeah.’

‘If something big goes down, I want in.’

‘Sure.’

They hung up. Myron backtracked to Livingston. He parked along Memorial Circle near the turnoff to Livingston Avenue. Good view of the police station and easy access to all routes. Myron kept the car running and watched the townsfolk handle Memorial Circle’s half-mile perimeter. A tremendous variety of Livingstonites frequented ‘the circle’. There were old ladies pacing slowly, usually in twos, some of the more adventurous swinging tiny barbells. There were couples in their fifties and sixties, many in matching sweat suits. Cute, sort of. Teenagers ambled, their mouths getting a far better workout than any extremity or cardiovascular muscle. Hard-core joggers raced past them all with nary a glance. They wore sleek sunglasses and firm faces and sported bare midriffs. Bare midriffs. Even the men. What was up with that?

He forced himself not to think about kissing Brenda. Or how it felt when she smiled at him across the picnic table. Or how her face flushed when she got excited. Or how animated she’d gotten when talking to people at the barbecue. Or how tender she’d been with Timmy when she put on that bandage.

Good thing he wasn’t thinking about her.

For a brief moment he wondered if Horace would approve. Strange thought, really.

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