Page 92 of Flipping the Script

Usually the only indication that I was being followed was getting the willies and seeing the same black sedan with muddy plates tailing me or driving around my apartment building, and the unmistakable feeling of being watched.

Until now I hadn’t been completely sure someone was following me. The car with the mud-obscured plate was the only concrete proof I had, and even that could have been a coincidence.

They were either slipping or about to escalate things.

Either way, I was ending this tonight.

Being careful not to give away that I’d heard them, I slowed my pace the slightest bit, letting my shadow catch up to me a bit with each step.

When I was at the edge of the parking lot, I paused and dug through my pockets like I was trying to find my keys.

The footsteps behind me stopped too.

I scanned the parking lot while I continued to “look” for my keys. A black sedan with muddy plates was parked in the corner of the lot, two rows over and in a direct line of sight with my car.

Perfect. Now that fucker wouldn’t be able to run because I was between him and his ride.

I pretended to find my keys and took off toward my car like I was in a hurry, only instead of getting in, I unlocked the doors, then whirled toward where my shadow was parked.

A mousy-looking guy in black clothes froze comically, one hand on the door of the sedan, his face turned away from me.

“Are we going to pretend like you haven’t been following me?” I asked, taking off my guitar case and putting it on the roof of my car. “Or are we going to talk about this like adults?”

“I haven’t been following you,” he squeaked, not moving a muscle.

“You have.” I leaned against my car. “Are you going to run if I come over there?”

“Probably.” He was still frozen in place.

“Do you think you can run faster than me?”

This guy wasn’t a threat, not unless he had a weapon. He was about five foot seven and maybe a buck fifty soaking wet. As long as he kept his hands visible, we wouldn’t have a problem.

His shoulders sagged. “No.”

“Do you promise not to do anything stupid?” I asked. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.”

“I promise.” He turned to face me, his hands out and palms up. “Why aren’t you calling the police?”

“Because I’m not a big fan of the police. Do you want me to call them?”

“No, I just…”

“Come closer.”

He took a few steps toward me.

“Closer.”

He stopped at the front of my car.

“Why are you following me?” I asked again.

“I wasn’t following you. Not at first.” He bit his lip. “But I saw you with him and…”

“You started following me,” I finished for him.

“Yeah.” He wrung his hands in front of him.

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