"Whatever," said Mike. "Somehow he vanished from the scene, and when he vanishes he leaves his clothes behind. So he must have gotten to the MoPo the old-fashioned way: in a car or on a bike or on foot. Otherwise he would have arrived naked, too."
Alan nodded. "So…"
"So if we’re lucky he left a bike or a car behind. Probably a bike, if he’s as young as we think. Maybe it’s still there and he’ll come back for it."
It made sense. Enough sense that the two of them parked themselves in sight of the store on the morning after the robbery. But by now one or both of them had been sitting there for twelve hours and Mike was beginning to feel a little foolish.
Still, there was a bike there, locked out front. Customers had come and gone, the MoPo employees had even changed shifts, and the bike remained.
The short man they were watching now had arrived on foot, but he left that way, too. "Okay, that wasn’t our guy," said Mike. "But the sun’s going down. We wouldn’t really expect our guy to come for his bike during the day if — if, you know."
"Right," said Alan.
"Man, what’s with you?" said Mike. "I’ve seen you more excited about traffic school. I’ve seen you more excited about that Best Lighting award you got for CatCops. We’re actually close to…something here. We’re not just harassing Eurotrash like we usually do."
Alan was quiet for a moment. "You can’t tell the rest of the crew," he said. "Not yet."
Mike listened to the silence a moment, then exhaled and stared back out at the road. "Shit," he said. "We’re canceled."
Alan nodded. "Almost certainly. I have a conference call tomorrow, but…yes, we’re canceled."
The sky had darkened to the color of a bruise. Across the street, the MoPo’s exterior lights flickered on.
"We’re under contract for two more shows," Alan added. "So. I’ll be pitching something new tomorrow, I’m calling it America’s Top Psychics. If they go for it, I might be able to bring the whole crew over without much downtime."
A trolley pulled up to the corner just past the MoPo, as trolleys had done every ten to twenty minutes throughout the day. Someone got off, as someone often had.
"There," Alan whispered. "There."
Mike followed Alan’s eyes and was surprised to find the bass suddenly turned up in his chest, his heart pumping out a beat he could feel in his ears. Something had stepped off the trolley, something he’d only seen in grainy black-and-white video.
"There’s our Bigfoot," he said.
The boy walked directly to the bike and unlocked it.
"This is bloody amazing," said Alan, switching a handheld camera on and training it on the boy. "What is he, five four? Five five? The Littlest Vampire."
"The littlest…person of interest," Mike answered, and started the engine.
"Easy."
The boy wheeled his bike around and started off quickly, glancing back only for a moment at the bright lights of the MoPo. Then he turned onto the road, settled into the bike lane, and pedaled west. Mike pulled out behind him.
"Not too close," said Alan. "Give him room—"
"I’ve seen the same cop shows you have, Alan. I know what to do."
In fact, following a bicycle in a van turned out to be far more difficult than Mike expected. Their quarry was by no means riding slowly, but he wasn’t traveling at thirty-five miles per hour, either. They would pass him, then have to casually crawl below the speed limit to give him a chance to catch up. But then their van would get caught behind traffic or stuck at a light, and the boy would weave through the red and have a two-block head start again.
"I can’t see him anymore," said Alan. "You’re losing him."
"I’m not losing him."
"Maybe we could just offer him a ride. Lure him with candy. That’s how you get kids into vans, isn’t it?"
Mike glanced at the camera. "I think we’re going to have to edit that last part out."
"Oh, what are they going to do — cancel us?"
Mike closed the gap just in time to see the bicycle turn off the main road and onto smaller, quieter streets. There were no traffic lights here and few cars, but every corner was pinned with a stop sign.
"Won’t lose him now," said Alan.
"But this is worse. I have to roll through every stop just to keep up. He’s going pretty fast. And it’s only a matter of time before he—"
The boy looked over his shoulder, looked right at the van.
"Shit!" said Mike.
"Turn off the lights."
"Then we’ll lose him. Look, he’s turning east again. Why is he—?"
"Don’t do it."
"I have to do it."
Mike turned right and followed, and the rider was already far down the block, just a shining mote in their headlights. He’d picked up speed.
"He’s turning again," said Alan.
"He’s taking us around the block. Making us prove we’re following him. Dammit! Look how fast he’s going!"
Now they were hurtling through intersections, bucking over cracked pavement and divots in the road. Alan held the camera in his left hand, braced himself against the dashboard with his right.
"You should really put on your seat belt," said Mike.
"Uh-huh," said Alan, gazing cross-eyed at the camera’s bright LCD.
"This is…really fast. I couldn’t ride a bike this fast."
"Uh-huh. Uh-huh."
"Should we stop?" said Mike with a glance toward Alan. "This is really dangerous. And it’s not like he’s gonna lead us home at this point."
"It’s fantastic footage. Like nothing we’ve ever had. Something like this could save the show."
"Yeah. Yeah, get a shot of the speedometer." Alan leaned over and focused on the backlit dial. Forty-five…forty-seven miles per hour through residential streets. "Good," Mike added, and laughed. "They can use this as evidence at our trial."
The rider swerved past another stop sign and narrowly missed an SUV. Mike slammed on the brakes and the horn at the same time. The SUV honked back, the driver shouting through his tinted glass as he crept through the intersection.
"Aah! Shit! Move!" said Mike.
The SUV finally cleared a path, and Mike urged the grumbling van forward into…fog.
"What the hell?" he said. The headlights barely cut into the thick white cloud ahead of them. He switched on the high beams, but that was worse.
"My god," said Alan. "My god. Go, go! We’re going to lose him!"
Mike accelerated cautiously. They passed another stop sign. It emerged from the bright mist suddenly, like a magic trick.
"There’s no fog down the side streets," Mike muttered. "Did you see? It’s only ahead of us."
"That’s how we know we’re still on his trail. Go faster."
Mike went faster. "Alan?" he said. "Alan, what are we gonna do if we catch him?"
Then a white face came out of the smoke, a bright, hideous face. Mike looked into the eyes. He saw the teeth. The bike and its rider came at them and swerved to their left; and Mike swerved to the right and saw briefly the shapes of houses and an electrical pole and then red.
His head hung forward, tingling, and then it was all dark, like he’d been pulled by his hair into sleep. In a moment the sleep faded and he thought of Alan.
"You okay?" he groaned, and turned his head slowly.