Page 61 of Paranoia

I KEPT MY cool and didn’t yell at Jaime Nantes to get moving. The scruffy informant was stopped at the front door, one hand resting on the rail to push it open. He turned to look at me and Rob Trilling following directly behind him.

Nantes said, “C’mon, guys, don’t crowd me on the way back. I can’t be seen walking with you two. In this neighborhood you’ll be made for cops before we take three steps out of this bodega.”

Trilling and I exchanged glances.

Nantes added, “I promise I won’t go inside the warehouse without you. I won’t be out of your sight.” He looked past me to make sure no one inside the bodega or restaurant was paying attention to us. Then he added, “We need some level of trust or this ain’t gonna work at all.”

Reluctantly, I nodded. But he kept standing at the door. I realized Nantes was waiting for Trilling to approve the plan as well. Iguessed it was because he’d been working with Trilling, and this was the first time he’d met me.

My partner said, “None of us will walk together. I’ll be behind you and Detective Bennett can be a few dozen feet behind me. Just three individuals walking down the sidewalk.”

Nantes said, “You’d be surprised what some people notice. The older women sit in their apartments and watch the sidewalk like they used to watch soap operas. But I can live with the three of us spread out.”

I nodded again. Nantes turned and pushed the door open. He stepped out onto the sidewalk and paused. I noticed him look both ways. He still hadn’t moved from the doorway. The street wasn’t busy. I wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Then I had the uneasy feeling he might try to double-cross us. Even if he ran right now, I had no probable cause to chase him. We were essentially threatening him into helping us.

Then he walked straight into the street, crossing it quickly. He slowed once he reached the sidewalk on the other side.

Trilling and I took a slightly different route.

Trilling said, “You cross the street and I’ll hustle up this sidewalk. That way we might be able to corral him toward the warehouse, or clubhouse, or whatever the hell they call it.”

I stepped out of Island Delight. Nantes was already heading up the street on the other side. While I stood there, checking for traffic, Trilling slipped out of the bodega and started striding quickly on a parallel course.

My sixth sense told me this was not going to go the way I hoped it would.

CHAPTER 89

KEVIN DOYLE HAD managed to pull his stolen Ford Taurus onto the street without drawing too much attention. He was essentially parked in the middle of the street as if he was waiting to turn left. At least he had a clear view.

Jaime Nantes stepped out of the bodega. He was alone. Whoever he’d been talking to inside didn’t exit with him. Nantes paused and looked up and down the street. For a moment, Doyle was worried he’d been spotted. Why was the drug dealer so nervous today? Doyle had watched the man on the same street three different times and he’d never seemed jumpy before.

Then Nantes really surprised him. Instead of walking down the sidewalk and crossing the street at the next block, like he always did, Nantes crossed directly in front of the bodega. This was not part of his usual pattern.

Doyle muttered, “Shit.” But there was nothing he could do.He considered the route to the gang’s warehouse. Nantes still had to cross another street. It would just be a little trickier to hit him with the Ford there.

Doyle went around the block so no one would notice the Taurus. He hit the gas a little hard. The wheels squealed as he took the next corner. If his calculations were correct, he had plenty of time to get into position and catch Nantes as he crossed the next street. In fact, this might have worked out for the best. There was less traffic and no crowded restaurants were nearby.

He quickly glanced up and down the streets. There were a couple of people around but no one particularly close to where Nantes was walking. That’s who he was focusing all of his attention on. The casual gait, the sloppy shirt, the unkempt salt-and-pepper beard and messy hair. He was fairly easy to pick out.

Doyle drove slowly, inching along at a couple of miles an hour. As Nantes approached the intersection that he needed to cross, Doyle eased on the gas and picked up speed. Given what he knew about Nantes, this wasn’t going to bother Doyle much at all.

Now he had the Ford Taurus rumbling a good thirty-five miles an hour. Nantes was stepping off the curb. Doyle’s peripheral vision picked up on someone else crossing the other street in the intersection, but it was like he had tunnel vision as he focused on the drug dealer. There were no other cars nearby. This was perfect.

Just as Doyle entered the intersection, Nantes looked up and noticed the Taurus.

As Doyle prepared for the impact, something remarkable happened. The man who’d been crossing the other street darted through the intersection, grabbed Nantes’s arm, and jerked him out of the way of the speeding car. The man moved so fast, Doyledidn’t even get a decent look at him. All he knew was that the guy had dark hair and the reflexes of a cat.

The Ford’s bumper had missed Nantes by a matter of inches. After passing through the intersection, Doyle just kept driving. He was confident no one had seen his face and it would simply be assumed that he was a poor driver. No one would even call the police. There was no accident. No injury. And Nantes was too stupid to think it was any kind of planned attack. Doyle was sure the drug dealer wouldn’t change his usual routine.

Doyle turned onto Crotona Avenue and drove until he was a couple of blocks from the Bronx Zoo. It took only a minute to wipe down the interior of the Taurus. He used a screwdriver to crack the steering column and start the car. Just to be on the safe side, he left the car idling with the windows rolled down. With any luck, someone might see it and take it for a ride themselves. If not, it might be a while before anyone found the Taurus by the zoo.

Doyle walked as casually as he could a few blocks north and west. He went into the nearest subway station and jumped on a 2 train.

He thought back to his mantra: patience.

Tomorrow was another day. Tomorrow Doyle would find a different car and do the whole thing over again. But that meant he had another day or two in New York. More time to think about Tammy. And more time for his employer to decide what they were going to do about Bennett.

This had not been his best day.

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