Page 49 of Paranoia

He lingered by the dumpster, just a few feet from the road. Then the man took a pack of cigarettes from his chest pocket and lit one.

It felt like God was testing Doyle. It would be so easy to drive by and pop a couple rounds into the man. Or maybe wait and let him get close enough to the street that Doyle could hit him with the car. But not this car. This was a rental that would get examined upon return. Even though he’d used a fake name, Doyle never would let someone come that close to his real identity. No, he needed to think this through. He had enough to do for thetime being without worrying about someone else’s problems. It didn’t matter how pretty she was.

He glanced in the diner and saw Tammy leaning close to one of the men at the counter. Doyle picked up the monocular he’d bought from his Israeli contact and zeroed in through the window. Everything was crystal clear. He hadn’t been steered wrong about this monocular. Unfortunately, what he saw was Tammy fawning over a big biker-looking dude with a sleeve of tattoos on his right arm. Then Doyle noticed the Harley parked on the street a little farther down from the diner.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out why Tammy was all over this guy. It made him a little angry. Maybe jealous. That was not something he was used to.

Doyle took a moment to look at the rear of the building just as Tammy’s uncle was walking back inside.

He threw the Kia into gear and cruised past the diner slowly. His face burned as he saw Tammy flirting with the biker.

CHAPTER 71

A FEW HOURS after losing Antonio Deason in traffic, Rob Trilling and I were back in SoHo, watching his apartment again. Our new plan wasn’t much better than our last one. Trilling had a cheap tracker he intended to slip onto the inside of the car’s bumper. He wasn’t super familiar with this model of car, but he was convinced he’d find a place where the magnetic back of the tracker would stick.

This tracker was not an official NYPD piece of equipment. We didn’t want to risk explaining a potential loss of a tracker on an unofficial case. Instead, I’d sprung for a tracker that worked off a smartphone app. It wouldn’t be nearly as effective as one of the NYPD trackers, but maybe it would give us an edge in our next surveillance.

Terri Hernandez was gathering more information on the weekend’s murders. With everything she had learned, she nowstrongly suspected they had been committed by the same killer who’d orchestrated the faux suicides and accidents among the retired NYPD cops.

I knew how territorial the precinct detectives could be about homicides. I’d experienced it myself. I also knew there weren’t many who could stand up to Terri Hernandez when she started to insist on things. It was one of the reasons I enjoyed working with her so much.

I turned to Trilling. “You sure you know how to work that thing?”

“Piece of cake. The app’s installed on my phone. Should go like clockwork. I only need forty-five seconds to plant it securely.”

“I hope we get it. I don’t know if that was some kind of car service that dropped the Porsche off earlier or what. Either way, I think the car will eventually end up back here in front of his apartment. Even if only for a few minutes.”

Trilling said, “Obviously, because he shot us the bird as he drove away, Deason knows we’re looking at him.”

“Yeah, I have a feeling our clumsy attempt at interviewing him might’ve tipped him off.”

Just then, the Porsche rolled down the street past us and parked in front of the building. Antonio Deason hopped out and headed into the building without looking back.

As Deason disappeared into the building, Trilling got out of my car and hustled up the street, then paused for just a few seconds by the Porsche. He bent down like he was looking at something on the ground, then slapped the tracker under the car near the rear bumper.

Trilling casually stood up, walked past the car, lingered in front of a store, then came back to my Impala. He held his phone out to show me the app.

Trilling said, “Looks like it’s working perfectly. Next time he leaves, as long as we’re within a quarter mile, we’ll know exactly where he’s at.”

“I don’t think he’s going to be inside long. The way he parked and hustled into the building makes me think he’s leaving again soon. Let’s sit tight and see what happens.”

About ten minutes later, Antonio Deason walked out of his building’s front door, dressed in a nice sport coat. He was talking on his cell phone. He walked directly to the car and got down on his knees. He spoke on the phone again, then stood up and moved to the rear of the Porsche. He reached under and pulled the tracker off.

Deason looked up and down the street. Then he dropped the tracker on the ground and mashed it with the heel of his shoe.

Trilling said, “I guess we go to plan B.”

“This whole case is a plan B. Not typically the best way to go about police work. But in this instance, we’ll go with your other idea and we really will hope for the best.”

CHAPTER 72

ROB TRILLING WAS trying to forget about the failures of his day at work. He had no idea how this guy Antonio Deason had figured out so quickly that he was being watched. Terri Hernandez said it had to be counter-surveillance. Whoever was conducting it was really good. None of them had seen anyone watching.

Now, in his apartment, Rob had collapsed on the couch, watching a rerun ofFriendswith his five roommates. They liked it, and it was apparently a highly recommended show for English-language learners. He just needed a distraction. The women were pretty good company. They didn’t say much but appreciated his presence.

The youngest of the women had recently adopted the name Katie. The woman whose English had improved the most, and who had revealed herself to have one hell of a sense of humor,was now calling herself Sylvia. Sabiha, Ayesha, and Fareeha had said they preferred their traditional, Urdu names.

Rob watched the TV as the characters sat down to a meal together. Then came a firm knock on his apartment door. Everyone froze.

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