sick, and my morale is very tremendous. Where is this pharmacy for which we are looking, anyway?”
6
From the pay phone at the corner of the lot, I could see the station attendant filling the tank of the little Ford. He was a young fellow in reasonably clean brown coveralls sporting the Chevron insignia. Waiting for the fuel to run in, he attacked the windshield with a squeegee, and then proceeded to clean the other glass surfaces including the mirrors, something that happens all too seldom these days even if you pick the lane marked “Full Service.” But the miracle didn’t end there. With the windows clean, he actually went so far as to open the hood and check the oil, using a rag to hold the hot dipstick after burning himself on his first try. Somebody ought to warn the kid to straighten up and fly right, or he’d be kicked out of the Service Station Attendants’ Society for coddling his customers, instead of treating them like the dirt they were.
It had been quite a drive. After picking up Astrid’s medicine, and a bottle of 7Up with which to wash down her ten-o’clock dose only half an hour later, I’d had her bring her seat back upright and pull her safety harness tight. We’d picked up a leech at last. Losing us in Hagerstown, somebody must have got right on the ball and determined that we’d need medicine, even on the run, and that it was medicine that required a prescription, which we didn’t have. Somehow they’d known where I lived and which nearby drugstore would bend the rules for me a bit… They’d known too much, too soon, for a bunch of kidnappers who might be interested in Mac but weren’t likely to have dossiers on everyone working for him. However, that was something I could worry about later. At the moment, the significant fact was that they were right behind us in their white Honda. Two large men. No small blonde girls.
I’d expected, with my sporty little car and my knowledge of the city, that I could easily shake the even smaller car behind; but it had turned out to have more power than I’d thought, and a good wheelman. I’d had to use all the boost of the EXP’s crazy little turbocharger, and all my driving skill, to get clear, perhaps because I came to front-wheel drive cars late. I’m still not used to the idea of having the same tires doing both the steering and the pulling, since you never know—at least I don’t—if applying a lot of power in a corner is really going to drag you through it the way the 4WD advocates claim, or just break the front end loose and let you go sliding off into the boonies. Back in the days when the power went to the rear wheels, you could kick them loose or not as you pleased, while the front tires kept right on steering the heap unless you got unreasonably violent.
Anyway, it had been a bit hairy while it lasted. However, in the end we’d managed to lose them, at least for the moment, and without picking up any cops in the process. Now I was standing at the open-air phone feeling exposed and vulnerable, and wondering whatever happened to those nice sheltering booths the phone company used to pamper us with. It seemed to be my day for nostalgia.
I listened to the instrument ringing in my ear and presumably also down in Florida. None of the cars or people on the street seemed to be interested in me. I’d already triggered the emergency-communication routine by an aborted call to Doug Barnett’s St. Petersburg number from the drugstore where I’d picked up Astrid’s pills. Five rings and hang up. That had let Amy Barnett, covering the number for her absent dad, know that she should await my next call at a safe phone we’d arranged to use a long time ago when we were setting up our crisis system.
Standing there, I watched Astrid emerge from the restroom and open her purse to get out some money. Smart girl. Credit cards have names on them; but a twenty is anonymous. I was counting rings. The suspense was considerable; but on the tenth
6
From the pay phone at the corner of the lot, I could see the station attendant filling the tank of the little Ford. He was a young fellow in reasonably clean brown coveralls sporting the Chevron insignia. Waiting for the fuel to run in, he attacked the windshield with a squeegee, and then proceeded to clean the other glass surfaces including the mirrors, something that happens all too seldom these days even if you pick the lane marked “Full Service.” But the miracle didn’t end there. With the windows clean, he actually went so far as to open the hood and check the oil, using a rag to hold the hot dipstick after burning himself on his first try. Somebody ought to warn the kid to straighten up and fly right, or he’d be kicked out of the Service Station Attendants’ Society for coddling his customers, instead of treating them like the dirt they were.
It had been quite a drive. After picking up Astrid’s medicine, and a bottle of 7Up with which to wash down her ten-o’clock dose only half an hour later, I’d had her bring her seat back upright and pull her safety harness tight. We’d picked up a leech at last. Losing us in Hagerstown, somebody must have got right on the ball and determined that we’d need medicine, even on the run, and that it was medicine that required a prescription, which we didn’t have. Somehow they’d known where I lived and which nearby drugstore would bend the rules for me a bit… They’d known too much, too soon, for a bunch of kidnappers who might be interested in Mac but weren’t likely to have dossiers on everyone working for him. However, that was something I could worry about later. At the moment, the significant fact was that they were right behind us in their white Honda. Two large men. No small blonde girls.
I’d expected, with my sporty little car and my knowledge of the city, that I could easily shake the even smaller car behind; but it had turned out to have more power than I’d thought, and a good wheelman. I’d had to use all the boost of the EXP’s crazy little turbocharger, and all my driving skill, to get clear, perhaps because I came to front-wheel drive cars late. I’m still not used to the idea of having the same tires doing both the steering and the pulling, since you never know—at least I don’t—if applying a lot of power in a corner is really going to drag you through it the way the 4WD advocates claim, or just break the front end loose and let you go sliding off into the boonies. Back in the days when the power went to the rear wheels, you could kick them loose or not as you pleased, while the front tires kept right on steering the heap unless you got unreasonably violent.
Anyway, it had been a bit hairy while it lasted. However, in the end we’d managed to lose them, at least for the moment, and without picking up any cops in the process. Now I was standing at the open-air phone feeling exposed and vulnerable, and wondering whatever happened to those nice sheltering booths the phone company used to pamper us with. It seemed to be my day for nostalgia.
I listened to the instrument ringing in my ear and presumably also down in Florida. None of the cars or people on the street seemed to be interested in me. I’d already triggered the emergency-communication routine by an aborted call to Doug Barnett’s St. Petersburg number from the drugstore where I’d picked up Astrid’s pills. Five rings and hang up. That had let Amy Barnett, covering the number for her absent dad, know that she should await my next call at a safe phone we’d arranged to use a long time ago when we were setting up our crisis system.
Standing there, I watched Astrid emerge from the restroom and open her purse to get out some money. Smart girl. Credit cards have names on them; but a twenty is anonymous. I was counting rings. The suspense was considerable; but on the tenth
Similar Books
