Deadout (20 page)

I did, and so did the tail, and so did Moose.

I was pretty sure I could lose the tail, but I didn't want to lose him. I wanted to find him.

We were driving up Kennebec Avenue, parallel to Circuit Avenue, where most of the shops were. There were no side streets between the two roads, but little pedestrian courtyards cut between the them every thirty yards. Driving past the sign for Back Door Donuts, the back entrance to the bakery, I got an idea.

“You still there?” I said.

Moose said, “Yeah. Why?”

“Keep following.” I took Kennebec to the end, past the Flying Horses, then turned left and left again, looping back up Circuit.

“I need you to do me a favor. Pull over right where you are and wait for me.”

“Um, okay.” He sounded unsure, but in my rearview, I saw him pulling into one of the diagonal parking spaces fifty yards back. I pulled into one by the courtyard near the front entrance to the bakery. The green Dodge pulled into one roughly halfway between us.

I got out of the car at a leisurely pace, making sure Pug-face could see me. Then I went into the bakery and got a coffee and an apple fritter the size of my head. When the woman at the counter wasn't looking, I slipped through the door to the kitchen.

One of the bakers glanced up at me and said, “Hey—”

“Sorry,” I said, holding up my coffee and fritter, as if that explained it. Then I ducked outside under the Back Door Donuts sign.

I cut left and hurried down Kennebec, looping around through one of the cut throughs the next one and back onto Circuit, near Moose's truck. I could see the Dodge parked up the street. I slurped my coffee down to a safe level then darted across the sidewalk and crouched next to Moose's truck.

He lowered the window. “What are you doing down there?”

“Don't look at me. Can you see the green Dodge?”

“Yeah. It's five cars up.”

“What's he doing?”

“Not much by the looks of it.”

I turned on my heel and sat down on the asphalt, my back against Moose's door. “Okay, so here's the thing,” I said. “He's looking for me. I don't know exactly why. He tried to shoot me the other night.”

“What?”

I looked up to see Moose looking down at me, his chin perched on the edge of the car door. “Don't look at me!” I snapped, and his head disappeared.

“What are you talking about?”

“The other night, I was following Teddy—”

“Why were you following Teddy?”

“It's a long story. I'll tell you later.”

“Right,” he said, judging me. “Wait, was this in the Campgrounds?”

“… Yes.”

“Jesus, dude. You shot up half the gingerbread houses!”

I looked up and saw him looking down at me again. “Don't look at me! And no, I didn't. That guy in the green Dodge did. I didn't fire a shot. I don't even have my gun with me. Anyway, in a couple of seconds, he's going to realize I'm taking a long time in the bakery, and he's going to come looking for me.”

“Okay…”

“I need to borrow your truck.”

“What?”

“You can use my rental, but I'd recommend against it, since they've been following it and it's a little conspicuous. But I need your truck to follow this guy when he gives up and goes wherever it is he goes.”

“What am I going to use? I still need to get around.”

“It's a small island, and you've got lots of friends. I'm sure you can borrow a bike.”

He sighed. “Okay. Your friend's headed into the bakery.”

I moved to the side so Moose could get out. Then I slipped into the driver's seat, staying low. “Thanks. I'd say I owe you one, but I know our friendship isn't like that.”

He gave me a sour look. Then he turned and walked briskly down the street, toward Mocha Mott's.

Even sitting low down in the seat, I felt vulnerable being so close to Pug-face's car. Moose had left his bag in the backseat, along with and his big, floppy, “farmer who's too cool to care how he looks” hat.

I let out a sad sigh and placed it on my head. Looking through his bag, I also found a pair of binoculars, several pairs of gloves, a couple of granola bars, and a first-aid kit. I thought about eating one of the granola bars, but then I remembered I had a big old apple fritter, so I started in on that. It was so good I almost didn't notice when Pug-face came out looking extra angry. He took five steps, pivoting in five different directions, but each time he paused and retraced them. Eventually he got back into his car. After a few minutes he pulled away. I waited a few seconds and went after him.

 

33

In my experience, people who are following other people, or trying to, tend not to think that they might be followed themselves. Especially not by the person they are supposed to be following. Even so, I gave the guy plenty of distance. And I kept the hat on, just in case.

Pug-face did his part by driving slowly and obliviously. We seemed to be randomly crisscrossing the island. Then I realized we were on the Doyle Carrick tour: we drove past the Offshore Alehouse, then swung by the Wesley on our way to the Black Dog. After that, we drove through Vineyard Haven and out to Teddy's farm. Pug-face pulled over in almost the exact spot where Percy and McCarter had stopped a few days earlier.

I turned up a driveway a hundred yards down and watched from there. I don't think surveillance was Pug-face's specialty, because after just a few minutes, he roared off, zipping past me doing sixty.

Well, that's no way to find me, I thought.

I gave him a nice cushion through West Tisbury and Chilmark and into Aquinnah before he turned right onto Pasture Road, curving around Menemsha Pond. The road began to twist and turn, and I lost him a couple of times but caught sight of him just as he turned onto Basin Road, curving around the pond once again. We were headed out to a dead end on a little spit of land across the lagoon pond from Menemsha Village, where I'd been so disappointed by my lobster roll.

I let more distance accumulate between us, but I knew I was running out of land and I didn't want to drive up on the guy. I turned onto a dirt road, thinking I would follow on foot through the brush on the opposite side of the road. Before I could, though, I saw Teddy Renfrew zip by in his vintage truck, headed the same way as Pug-face.

That stopped me. I still didn't know if Pug-face had been running interference for Teddy and his mystery pal, or if I had broken up his plan to kill them.

I was rooted by indecision, but I decided if there was a chance Pug-face was here to kill Teddy, I needed to stop him. I pictured my Glock in the trunk of the Impala, back on the mainland. I started up the truck, but before I could put it in gear, Pug-face drove by in his green Dodge, leaving. I paused again, wondering which way to go. I decided to check on Teddy, spinning up a little sand as I pulled out onto the road. After a quarter of a mile, the road widened out into a little parking area, eight spots on either side, maybe a half-dozen cars parked there. One of them was Teddy's truck.

I pulled into a spot directly across from it. At the far end of the parking area, the road continued on another fifty feet, curving down to the water. Teddy was down there on the little bit of beach that surrounded the pond, with a tall man wearing fatigue pants and a black sweater. It could have been his mystery pal. They were having an intense but hushed conversation. They were standing next to a small dock with a few tiny boats, including one that looked like a large aluminum raft. A small handmade sign read
MENEMSHA BIKE FERRY
.

I pulled out Moose's binoculars for a closer look. The guy looked like a serious badass, more mercenary than thug. He had his hand on Teddy's shoulder, speaking intensely. Teddy was mostly nodding. I was reminded of a teacher talking to a child, or a coach talking to an athlete.

When the man turned, I could see the outline of the holster at his back. His boots had a built-in knife sheath; I could see the hilt poking out.

I lowered the binoculars, then raised them back up. I recognized those boots. This was the guy Teddy had been talking to in the Campgrounds, before Pug-face showed up. I lowered the binoculars again, wondering what to do next. When I raised them back up, Teddy and his friend were gone. I spotted the mystery man crossing the lagoon on the tiny bike ferry. Then I spotted Teddy in my side mirror, getting into his truck.

I ducked down low and watched him pull out, then got in the truck and went after him.

Teddy was a pain-in-the-ass-douchebag-spoiled-punk, rich kid, but he was involved in something way over his head. I needed to warn him. And then I needed to quit, before I got in over my head as well.

I ran out of Basin Road before I caught up with him, and I was worried that I had lost him. But Menemsha was almost at the western tip of the island, so I turned east and soon spotted him up ahead. He was moving at a decent clip, and I had to push it to catch up with him.

I flashed my lights at him and gave the horn a brief toot, but he didn't respond. On the next straightaway, I pulled alongside him, in the oncoming lane, and tapped the horn again.

He turned to look at me, annoyed, but not as much as I expected. I realized he didn't recognize me. I pulled off Moose's hat, and he rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Teddy!” I yelled. “We need to talk. Pull over.”

He nodded back at me with an utterly unbelievable expression of sincerity. Then he stood on his gas pedal and pulled ahead of me. We were approaching a bend, and suddenly a UPS truck, too. I tapped my brakes and pulled in behind Teddy, then had to push it again to catch up with him.

As we sped through Chilmark, I tried pulling alongside him again, but he tried to block me, flipping me off as he did.

We were speeding past the Chilmark Library, approaching a three-way intersection with a triangle in the middle, and Teddy wasn't even slowing down. At the last second, he jerked to the right, and almost plowed into a minivan when he did. It screeched and swerved into the other lane, causing more screeching and swerving. Suddenly, there was a knot of cars between us, and he was speeding away.

By the time things got straightened out, Teddy was a hundred yards away and I was still behind a minivan. Traffic had thickened up, and when I finally passed the minivan, Teddy was nowhere to be seen. I didn't know what else to do, so I just kept passing cars when I could. To my surprise, a couple of miles later I spotted him up ahead. I kept a little space between us and satisfied myself with keeping pace with him. We drove on like that for two or three miles, me following at a distance, him not making any effort to elude me. As we approached the airport, I could see cars backed up and a cluster of flashing lights.

Teddy's brake lights came on as he approached the mess. The two cars remaining between us both turned and went back the other way. I slowed down behind him.

There was no sign of an accident, but a cop was standing at the entrance to the airport, stopping traffic.

I was just pulling up behind Teddy's bumper when he coasted onto the side of the road. Instantly, the traffic cop was pointing and blowing his whistle as more cops climbed out of parked cruisers and feds began magically appearing out of unmarked black cars.

Teddy got out of the truck and lowered the tailgate, and for a moment I thought things were about to go violently bad. I pictured Teddy turning back with a weapon or a bomb, or even a banner or some paint. But instead he pulled out a dirt bike, bouncing it onto the ground.

I got out of the truck and watched as he swung a leg over the bike and paused to flip me off one last time. Then he started it up and took off, zigging and zagging between the trees as he disappeared into the woods across from the airport.

I stood there watching, wondering what that crazy asshole was up to.

“You know, I've been meaning to talk to you about the caliber of people you've been hanging out with.”

It was Jimmy Frank, standing at my elbow. I nodded hello.

“What was that all about?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the distant sound of a dirt bike fading into the woods.

I shook my head. “I'm sure I don't know.” I tilted my head toward the commotion in front of the airport. “What's this all about?”

“Motorcade,” he said as two police motorcycles emerged from the airport and turned left, followed by a cruiser and a stretch limo.

I looked at him and raised an eyebrow as the limos kept coming. “Who are the bigwigs?”

He sighed and looked at me. Then he lowered his voice. “Well, lets see,” he said as the limousines rolled out. “I believe that's Senator Wilson Deveaux, then Senator Jeffery Wilden, Senator George Burlholme. Maybe some others, but that's who's on my list.”

“What are they here for?”

He looked at me sideways. “I was thinking of asking you the same thing.”

“Me? What would I know about it?”

He shrugged. “You tell me.”

The line of limousines was interrupted by another pair of motorcycles, then a string of massive black SUVs with diplomatic flags on the front fenders. I recognized the Kenyan flag, with its Masai warrior shield, and several others that were mostly just blocks of color.

As I watched, Jimmy stepped back. “I gotta go follow along,” he said. “Part of the official ‘make 'em feel important' escort.”

He was deliberate about saying it, like he was telling me I should be listening to him.

I got back in my car and waited for the entire motorcade to pass, Jimmy Frank bringing up the rear. It took a few minutes for the knot of traffic in front of me to loosen. Then I followed along behind them.

 

34

As we made our way across the island, I had a pretty good idea where we were headed. Even before we turned toward Vineyard Haven, onto Main Street, past the stores and restaurants.