I opened the browser on my phone and searched for news. There were plenty of stories about AmeriTel on the business pages. But they weren’t reporting a disaster for the company. They were shouting about a triumph. AmeriTel had trounced its competitors—its bigger, richer, better-connected competitors—and walked away with the plum allocations in four of the five major auction categories.
The news was nothing short of miraculous. To do well in one category would have been a coup. But in four? The stress had been etched into LeBrock’s face yesterday. He’d obviously been pouring his lifeblood into AmeriTel’s bid. At the time I’d thought he was showing the defiance of a dead man walking. But now it looked less like honest exhaustion and more like he’d sold his soul.
The news also explained why no one was answering the phone. They’d be too busy celebrating. The people who, till yesterday, I’d been working alongside. Who now had a rich future. People I should have been happy for. And if I’d still been there, raising a glass with them, I would have been happy. But instead, all I could think of was LeBrock’s parting shot. We don’t want you anymore. He was setting sail for the promised land with all his buddies, but there was no room on board for me.
And what about Carolyn? There was room for my wife. She’d be at AmeriTel now, caught up in the collective euphoria of cheating the corporate hangman. Dodging the noose and hitting the jackpot instead. I wondered who she was with. Who was getting her drinks. Refilling her glass. Watching, as her gorgeous eyes lost a little of their sharpness. Wondering, as her sweet laugh gained an extra few degrees of warmth.
It should have been me she was with. But my wife had turned her back on me for the sake of an errand she’d been sent to run. For a few gigabytes of surplus data. Which I’d lost, anyway. How would things have played out if I’d given in to her demands? Would we be together now, somewhere fancy, all black tie and cut crystal? Tangled up in the sheets of a five-star hotel, the way we’d toasted her last few promotions? Or hopping on a plane to Europe, as we’d done after my first product had sold?
Maybe we’d have been together. But maybe not. Carolyn would have gone to LeBrock, anyway, to hand over his prize like a well-trained errand girl. And would she have come back to me again? I was beginning to wonder. The way she’d reacted yesterday, I was beginning to suspect I’d only seen the tip of the iceberg. And I’d been so certain our marriage was solid, too. Bombproof, in fact. I’d have sworn the needle was firmly in the green. But now? I wouldn’t even have put money on amber.
I slipped my phone back in my pocket. My appetite for news had dried up. I needed something to distract myself. For a crazy moment the thought of more tequila crossed my mind. Carolyn would be drinking. She’d probably be three sheets to the wind by now. I could join her in spirit, if not in body. And I knew there was another bottle of Patrón in the cupboard. I remembered seeing it last night. Still in its fancy presentation box. I’d actually flirted with the idea of opening it, when the first one had run dry.
I made it as far as the dining room doorway before sanity prevailed. I paused, still tempted, then returned to the study to look for the spare keys for the Jaguar. A bit of distance between me and the house would be good. And if I could get into town, I’d have access to the one thing that life has shown me to be the equal of alcohol when it comes to providing consolation.
Pizza.
Plus, my hangover had finally passed, and I was starving.
Tuesday. Early afternoon.
MY LOCAL ENOTECA WAS ONLY TEN MINUTES AWAY. THE FOOD was great. And because I went there at least once a week—to take a break from my computer screen, or just to avoid cooking for myself when Carolyn was working late, especially following a debacle involving an egg and a now-replaced microwave oven—my Jaguar could practically find its own way there.
I pulled out onto the road, and right away I was stuck behind another driver. He was dawdling his way along, braking at every pothole, slowing me down, just like the idiot in the Audi had done yesterday. Only this guy was in a black, aggressive-looking Infiniti SUV. My hopes rose as we neared the end of my street, until I saw we were going the same way. Then something occurred to me. As we’d approached the intersection I’d put my turn signal on before the Infiniti guy had, even though I was behind him. Yesterday, hadn’t the exact same thing happened with the Audi? I thought back carefully, and yes, I was sure of it. Normally I doubt I’d have noticed anything as trivial, but I guess the shock of the break-in and the grilling from the police had made me more observant.
Or more paranoid?
The same thing happened again at the next intersection. Once or twice, and I wouldn’t have been convinced. But at every turn, two days running, with two different cars? I reached for my phone to call the police, but stopped before I even dialed the nine. If they didn’t believe me about the break-in, why would they take this seriously? Some guy driving too slowly in front of me? Big deal. They’d think I was wasting their time again. Or that I was crazy.
Maybe I was losing it. I needed to get a grip. Fast. So I looked at the situation like it was a problem with my work. What would I do if a program wasn’t behaving the way I expected it to? I’d run tests till I could determine what was going on. As we approached the next stop sign I signaled left. The Infiniti signaled left. There was no other traffic, so it pulled out without delay. I waited till it was beyond the point where it could easily swing back around, then I steered right and hit the gas pedal. Hard. The supercharger howled. The Jaguar lurched forward in a hail of gravel. And I kept my foot down till I was safely round the next bend.
After a quarter of a mile I spotted a gas station on the right-hand side. I remembered it had a small grocery store attached to it, with a parking lot tucked away at the back. I checked the mirror. The Infiniti wasn’t in sight, so I turned in. I followed the narrow driveway around the side of the building and slid the Jaguar into a space between a pickup truck and a delivery van. Then I ran into the store and found a spot next to a magazine stand where I could keep an eye on the road.
I’d been there maybe ninety seconds—not long enough to be distracted by the tales of teenage pregnancy and celebrity indiscretion, anyway—when I saw the Infiniti. It was traveling even faster than I’d been and, to my relief, it kept going, leaving me farther behind with every second that passed.
For a moment I basked in a glow of euphoria—I’d proved I wasn’t nuts, and I’d outsmarted whoever was following me—but the feeling was swiftly replaced by worry. Why would anyone want to follow me? And what if the guy in the Infiniti hadn’t been fooled by my trick? What if he’d followed me inside the store? Or ambushed me in the parking lot? What would I have done then? I had no idea. And how long would it be till he realized he’d lost me, and doubled back to look for hiding places? I hurried to my car, not wanting to be caught in the open.
I paused at the exit from the gas station, suddenly unsure which way to turn. Continue to the restaurant? Return home? Or head somewhere else? To some random location, where I’d be less likely to be found?