But I timed it wrong. Just as I stepped out, Rachel turned in her seat to reach back over her shoulder for the seat belt. Our eyes caught and she smiled as the fed car pulled away. I took it as an apology smile. And a goodbye look.
Rodrigo came up behind me.
“Mr. Jack,” he said. “You’re all set. First row, keys on the front tire for you.”
“Thank you, Rodrigo,” I said, still watching Metz’s car as it turned out of the garage onto Cahuenga.
Once it was gone from sight I walked alone to my car.
44
I decided I had nowhere to go but home. I pulled out onto Cahuenga and headed north. I followed the road as it made the big bend west until it became Ventura Boulevard and I was in Studio City. My new place was a two-bedroom apartment on Vineland. I was thinking about what I had just seen in the parking garage and how I should interpret it. I wasn’t paying attention to the road and didn’t register the brake lights in front of me.
My new SUV’s anti-collision system engaged and a sharp alarm issued from the dashboard. I came out of my reverie and slammed the brake pedal with both feet. The SUV came skidding to a halt two feet from the Prius stopped in front of me. I felt the dull thud of an impact behind me.
“Shit!”
I settled down and checked the rearview mirror, then got out to inspect the damage. I walked to the back of the car and saw that the car behind me was a good six feet away. The back of my car had no sign of damage. I looked at the other driver. His window was down.
“Did you hit me?” I asked.
“No, I didn’t hit you,” he said indignantly.
I checked the back of my car again. I still had a temporary tag on the car.
“Hey, buddy, how about you get in your pretty new car and keep moving?” the other driver said. “You’re holding up traffic with this bullshit.”
I waved him and his rudeness off and climbed back into the driver’s seat, confused by the whole situation. I continued driving, thinking about what had happened. I had definitely felt some kind of heavy thud of impact when I hit the brakes. I wondered if something was wrong or loose in the new car, then thought about Ikea. My new apartment was nearly twice the size of my old one. It had dictated the need for more furniture and I had made several runs to the Ikea in Burbank since getting the new SUV, making good use of the rear storage compartment. But I was sure I had not left anything back there. The compartment was empty. Or it should have been.
Then it hit me. I checked the rearview mirror but this time was more interested in what was on my side of the back window than behind my car. The pullover cover for the rear compartment was in place. Nothing seemed amiss.
I pulled my phone and speed-dialed Rachel. The ringing came blaring out of the car stereo’s surround sound. I had forgotten about the Bluetooth connection the car salesman had set up for me when I took delivery of the car.
I quickly hit the button on the dash that killed the sound system. The buzzing returned to only my phone and my ear.
But Rachel didn’t answer. She was probably still with Metz and thought I was calling for some kind of maudlin let’s-get-back-together conversation. It went to her voice mail and I disconnected.
I called again and while I waited I reached over to my laptop on the seat next to me and opened it. I knew I had Metz’s cell number in a file on the desktop.
But this time Rachel answered.
“Jack, this is not a good time.”
I slapped the laptop closed and spoke in a low voice.
“Are you with Metz?”
“Jack, I’m not going to talk about who I—”
“I don’t mean that way. Are you still driving with Metz?”
I checked the rearview again and realized I had to stop talking out loud.
“Yes,” Rachel said. “He’s just taking me back to my office.”
“Check your messages,” I said.
I disconnected.
Traffic slowed again as I came to the intersection with Vineland. I used the moment to type out a text to Rachel.
I’m in my car. Strike is hiding in the back.
I realized after I sent it that autocorrect had changed Shrike to Strike. I figured, though, that she would understand.
She did and I got an almost immediate response.
Are you sure? Where are you?
I was coming up to my apartment building but drove by it. And typed in a reply.
Vineland
My phone buzzed and Rachel’s name was on the screen. I connected but didn’t say hello.
“Jack?”
I coughed and hoped she understood I did not want to reveal I was on the phone to the person hiding in the back.
“Okay, I get it,” Rachel said. “You can’t talk. So, listen, you have two choices. You get to a populated area, pull into a parking lot where there are people, and just get out and get away from the car. Give me the location and we will try to get the police there and hopefully catch him.”
She waited a moment for any sort of response before going to choice two. She must have registered my continuing silence as interest in the alternate plan.
“Okay, the other thing is we make damn sure we get him. You drive to a destination and we set up a horseshoe like we did before and we finally get this guy. This choice is more risky to you, of course, but I think if you keep the car moving he’s not going to make a move. He’s going to wait.”
She waited. I said nothing.
“So, Jack, do this. Cough once if you want the first choice. Don’t cough, don’t do anything if you want to go with the second.”
I realized that if I took any time to consider my options, my silence would confirm that I was going with the riskier second option. But that was okay. In that moment, I flashed on a vision of Gwyneth Rice in her hospital bed surrounded by tubes and machines, and her electronic plea that we not take the Shrike alive.
I wanted the second option.
“Okay, Jack, option two,” Rachel said. “Cough now if I have it wrong.”
I was silent and Rachel accepted the confirmation.
“You need to get to the 101 and head south,” she said. “We were just on it and it’s wide open. You’ll be able to get to Hollywood and by then we’ll have a plan. We’re turning around and we’ll be there.”
I was coming up to a southbound entrance to the 170 freeway. I knew it merged with the 101 less than a mile south. Rachel continued.
“I’m going to keep the line open while Matt sets things up — he’s talking to LAPD. They’ll be able to mobilize quicker. You just have to stay in motion. He won’t try anything while the car is moving.”
I nodded even though I knew she couldn’t see me.
“But if something happens and you have to stop, just get out of the car and get clear. Get safe, Jack... I need you... to be safe.”
I registered the quiet, more intimate tone in her voice and wanted to respond. I hoped my silence communicated something. But just as quickly, doubt started to move into my mind. Had I left something in the storage compartment? Had the thud I felt simply come from a pothole in the road? I was mobilizing the FBI and LAPD on what amounted to a hunch. I was beginning to wish I had just coughed once and pointed the car toward the North Hollywood Police Division.
“Okay, Jack,” Rachel said, her voice modulated back to a command tone. “I’ll get back to you when we have it set up.”
I got lucky and saw up ahead that I had a green light to turn into the freeway entrance.