Page 39 of Princess's Revenge

“They just go in and take an envelope, say hi, maybe some chitchat and they leave. The owners are all friendly with them.”

“Is it a Manila envelope?”

“Usually, why?”

“I just saw a fat guy in a trench coat put one in his pocket when he came out of the hardware store.”

CHAPTER 12

Francis makes an illegal U-turn and horns blare at us. I don’t care—we can’t lose this guy.“Did you see the car?”

“Bronze Cadillac,” I point, “there!”

There are three cars between us when we get to a traffic light on the four lanes of road. Store fronts are on either side, nothing higher than two stories—It’s a sleepy kind of neighborhood.

The light turns green and we follow along.

“Get closer,” I say.

Francis shakes his head, “That’s not how you follow someone. We get too close while we’re matching his movements and he’ll make us. You also need time to react to any changes. Three car lengths is good, don’t worry.”

“Okay,” I squeeze his thigh again, “you’re the expert.”

We follow the bronze Cadillac for five blocks before he uses his blinker and makes a right.

We tail him another three blocks at a leisurely pace and his blinker fires again, this time to park at the curb.

Francis gives me a worried look, “I don’t like this, Andrea. It’s too exposed.”

“You letmeworry about that,” I point to a vacant spot ahead, “park there.”

We breeze past the Cadillac on our right as the fat guy gets out. Seconds later, Francis slots us in two bays down.

I give him a kiss on the cheek, “Don’t move.” I get out of the car and tuck the silenced Glock under my black hoodie, close the car door and hug myself like I’m cold, then start walking.

I move slowly, like I’m stranded with nowhere to be—maybe just another runaway who can’t afford a bus ticket.

I check out the street and traffic lights to see if there are any cameras mounted on them—Nothing.

The store the fat man went into is a butchery. The façade is a thick glass window with the specials painted on it from the inside. There are no cameras here either—None that I can see.

I spot the fat man at the counter, he’s talking to a skinny old man in an apron.

A week ago, I’d never have imagined myself in a situation like this. Today, there’s not one cell in my body that feels any hesitation.

The street is quiet. In the minute that I wait—at the side of the window where they can’t see me—only one car goes by.

This is going to be risky, there’s no doubt about that. I’m no professional, but I know this guy has a lot of meat on him. Body shots won’t do. If I don’t drop him first, he’ll sure as fuck drop me.

Also, there are the guys in the store. When they see the fat man fall, they’re going to run out here to check what’s going on—they’ve got a clear view through the window.

He’s got to go around the car to get into the driver’s side, so my options are to take him before he gets there and give the guys in the store a show before they chase me…or…take the fat man out when he gets in his car.

Option #2.

I hear a bell chime as the door to the butchery opens and the fat man comes out, sticking another Manila envelope into his coat.

He doesn’t notice me.

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