The Hard Bounce - [34]

“‘Oh, Sheila,’” I said to Junior as I popped another jelly bean in my mouth.

“Prince. You’re slipping. That’s an easy one.” Junior was munching on a big bag of Sno-Caps, the front of his T-shirt covered in tiny white sugar granules.

“So easy you’re wrong.”

“What? That was so Prince! He wrote it about Sheila E.”

“I don’t know if he wrote it, but he didn’t sing it.”

“Morris Day?”

“Nope.”

“Shit. Who was it?” Just then, a stunning young thing in ripped jeans and a tank top came strolling by with a ferret wrapped around her neck. Only in Boston. From our angle, we could see a big tattoo of the Pisces sign on her lower back, right above her butt cleavage. “Jeeeeeesus H. Crow,” Junior said in awe.

“Yeah,” was all I could manage as I squinted in the last few seconds of her before she turned the corner and was gone. “You know, I’m starting to think we’re not the best guys for this work.”

Junior shrugged as he licked a finger and dipped it into the white sugar orbs accumulated at the bottom of his bag. “I dunno. I think we’re doing a pretty damn good job so far.”

“Yeah, but look at us. Put together, we don’t have the attention span of a squirrel. We’re supposed to be watching the store.”

“Boo?”

“Yeah?”

“If something like that ever walks by and I can’t take my eyes off Sid? Shoot me in the face.”

“Got it.”

“I mean it. In the face. Close the lid. I don’t deserve the dignity of an open casket. Sno-Cap?” He sucked the sugar off his finger as he offered the bag.

“No thanks.”

“Suit yourself.” He dipped his wet finger back in for another go.

“Ready for the World.”

“I’m ready for anything.”

“No, they sang ‘Oh, Sheila.’”

“Damn. It was them, wasn’t it? I thought it was Prince.”

“Nope.” So far, I had the lead. Sixteen to nine. Hollow victories are still victories.

“Oh, yeah. Fine, then. Gloves are off. ‘Pac-Man Fever.’”

I sang the opening riff. “I got a pocket full of quarters, and I’m headed to the arcaaaade…”

“No way. No fucking way do you know this one.”

“Way. Buckner and Garcia.”

“Goddamn it.” Junior flicked a Sno-Cap at me. I switched my jelly bean bag for my gummi worm bag.

Time crept along, and we waited. My legs started to stiffen, and my back ached. How the hell did cops do this shit? Maybe they didn’t in real life. So far, all we had for references on procedure were John D. MacDonald novels and Junior’s Miami Vice DVDs.

Then the Sid’s Vids sign went black. I checked my watch. Quarter past eight. The sun was just starting to lower itself into the horizon, turning the sky into mango.

Timing was perfect. We would have the cover of dusk to follow Sid. Unfortunately, it was too hot to wear trench coats. That would have been cool.

We waited. Another fifteen minutes passed. The lights in the store went off.

Another half-hour. Fully dark now. No Sid.

“Uh… You don’t think she went out the back, do you?” Junior asked.

“Shit. I don’t know if there is a back way.”

“Shouldn’t we have thought of that?”

“Probably.”

“Wait here. I’ll go check.”

Junior scrambled out of the car, hunched low and moving in a serpentine path from car to car like he was on recon in Baghdad. Nice and inconspicuous.

Jesus.

I kept my eyes on the front of the store. Nothing. It was half past nine. Something was fucked up in Denmark.

Junior came back behind the car, still hunched like a gorilla with Scoliosis. “Found her,” he said, grinning.

“Where?”

“Upstairs. We were watching the stupid store so tight we didn’t notice the lights in the apartment above go on. I guess it’s hers. There’s a little lot and a rear door into the apartments back there.”

“How do you know she’s up there? All the shades are drawn on this side.”

“Shadows, my man. Either Sid is up there or they’re renting the apartment out to a wheezing buffalo. Got a dog up there, too.”

“Damn. How big?”

“Sounded like one of those little dogs with fuzzy ears that just piss and shake.”

“Good. I don’t want to head up there and rassle with a Rottweiler.” Along with women, I don’t dance with dogs. I know guys who have; guys like Lefty and Petey One-Nut.

“If what I heard was any longer than my dick, I’ll buy you a steak.”

“Wow. That’s a little dog. Or a barking ladybug.”

“Hardy-har. You’re a fucking riot. You want the front or the back?”

“I’ll take the back door,” I said, climbing out of the car.

“Heard that about you,” Junior said with a cackle as I shut the door.

Point to Junior. That was a good one.

Luck came in the form of a pizza and a prayer. I waited in the back, leaning in the empty rear doorway to the shop next to Sid’s Vids. I watched shadows play in the windows. The shadows looked big, but I couldn’t tell what might be tricks of the light. I could hear the sharp yipping of an aggravated pet. It did sound smaller than a breadbox, which was a relief. Other than that, Sid seemed to be alone up there.

Junior came around the corner of the building, a large flat box in his hands, a huge grin on his puss. “Lookie, lookie,” he said, “Junior found a cookie. It appears Sid here ordered herself a big ol’ pizza that I seem to have intercepted.” He tipped the paper cap that read