A Knight at the Opera (17 page)

Without realizing it, I'd continued walking. By now, there was enough distance
between us that, unless he was planning to shoot me, there was one more possibility:
continue pretending I hadn't seen him and just keep walking toward my car, which was
now about ten feet away.

Trying to act nonchalant--at least as much as I could with my heart pounding at
about 145 beats per minute--I headed for the Audi. I could still see him lurking against the
pillar and, to my relief, he had retreated farther into the shadows. As I approached my car, I
pulled the keys out of my pocket and pushed the button to unlock the door. In ten more
seconds, I was safely inside my vehicle.

I wondered, was I was just being paranoid? No, people didn't hang out in that
parking garage at eight o'clock at night. He had to be up to something, but maybe it had
nothing to do with me. As I reached to insert the key in the ignition, it occurred to me that
he might have tampered with my car. Was it going to blow up when I turned the key? No,
that couldn't be the plan. If someone was expecting my car to explode, he wouldn't be
standing thirty feet from what would be the epicenter of the explosion. He might get blown
up in the process.

Fortified by my stream of logic, I put the key in the lock and turned it. The
engine sprang to life. The car didn't blow up.

But my phone beeped.

Someone had sent me a text message. I reached into my coat pocket and pulled
out the phone. The message said, "If you saw me, pretend you didn't. Drive out of the
garage and go straight to the Cricket. I'll meet you there."

My first reaction was that I was being stalked by someone who had a thing for
cheeseburgers and fries, which was a specialty of Duffy's Cherry Cricket. Then I noticed
who had sent me the message, and it all clicked. Something had seemed out of place about
that overcoat, but I hadn't stopped to think about it. Now I remembered that, not only had I
seen it before, it was a birthday gift I had given to someone.

The man lurking in the darkness wasn't a man.

It was Jana.

I couldn't even imagine why she was skulking around my parking garage,
playing cloak and dagger games. But I figured she must know what she was doing.

I jammed the car in gear and proceeded to follow her directions.

Fifteen minutes later, I was cruising around Cherry Creek, looking in vain for a
parking space near the Cricket, a popular local watering hole on Second Avenue, between
Elizabeth and Columbine. At some point in time, one of the owners was John Hickenlooper,
who had since become Denver's mayor and was now the governor of Colorado.

Finding nowhere to park, I pulled into the parking structure on the south side of
the street, which was shared by Sears and Whole Foods. I had to drive up two levels before
I found a vacant spot. I kept my senses on heightened alert as I headed down to the street
level, but nobody showed any interest in me. Nor did I see any sign of anyone who looked
even remotely suspicious.

The Cricket was located in a one-story brick building facing Second Avenue. I
headed inside and put my name on the waiting list. It seemed like there was always a
waiting list. Since I didn't know what Jana had in mind, I just gave my first name to the
woman at the little podium and told her I was a party of one. I figured if they could find a
table for me, it would accommodate at least one other person. The woman told me it would
be about twenty minutes.

The night was chilly, but I waited outside the restaurant with a handful of other
patrons. After a few minutes, I spotted a woman in a dark blue overcoat heading toward
me. I had to do a double take, because even though I recognized the coat, the woman was a
blonde, with short, curly hair. It didn't take me long to figure out it was Jana, wearing a wig.
She was carrying her big floppy purse, which meant the Glock was inside. As she once told
me, sometimes you had to sacrifice style for function.

Not sure what she was up to, I let her make the first move. I didn't know
whether to pretend I didn't know her, or greet her as a friend. She solved that dilemma by
walking straight up to me.

"Hi." She leaned forward and hugged me in a platonic way. Then she whispered,
"You're being followed. He's driving a white Blazer. I've already run his plates. His name is
Andrew Bonners. He's a private investigator."

"Interesting," I said. "And why are we meeting here?"

"Because we're hungry," she answered, as though I had just asked an incredibly
stupid question--which, I suppose, I had.

"And the wig?" I asked. "Halloween isn't for another six months."

"Wait till we get seated, I'll explain. If I'm still speaking to you."

After a few minutes, I heard the woman at the desk calling me. Jana and I moved
forward, and we were led to a one of the booths near where a bicycle, as part of the
décor, was suspended from the ceiling. The booths were custom built out of what
looked like stained pine, with black seat backs. We each ordered a beer and the obligatory
cheeseburger and fries.

I noticed that Jana still hadn't taken off her overcoat. "Aren't you getting
warm?"

"I'm roasting. But he's looking for a woman with her left arm in a cast. The coat
covers it."

"You're right, it does. Good thinking. Who is this Bonners character? And, come
to think of it, where is he?"

"Out in his Blazer, waiting for you to come out. So he can follow you home.
Someone pulled out of a spot just as he drove up, and he snagged it."

"And why does he want to follow me home?"

"I don't know" she said. "I'm assuming he's the same man who you say is looking
for me."

"You're probably right. You've been a busy girl today, haven't you?"

"You bet I have," she said in a resolute tone. "At about five o'clock, I got sick and
tired of sitting home, wondering who was out there looking for me. I started thinking about
how I'd go about finding me if I were them."

"How did that lead you to cavorting around in the parking garage?"

"I figured they must know from talking with the security guard that you're
involved." She shook her head in disapproval. "You told me you even gave him your
business card."

"That's true. At the time, it seemed harmless. But he told me he wouldn't tell
anyone I was involved."

"Yeah? Well, evidently he lied. Because they know about you."

"How do you know that?"

"I figured they'd start with you, on the assumption that you'd lead to me. So
I--"

Evidently, I was more jumpy than I thought. "Jana, I get all that. What did you
actually do? If he comes in here, I need to know what's going on."

"Okay, okay. Don't get your panties in a bunch. He's not going to come in here.
He doesn't need to."

"Why not?"

"Electronic surveillance. I figured if it were me, I'd place a GPS device on your
car. That way I wouldn't have to show myself. I could follow you anywhere you went, from
a nice, safe distance."

"That makes sense. Do you keep one of those lying around the house?"

"As a matter of fact, I do, Smarty Pants. You know that my dad loved playing
with his electronic toys. Men are just boys in adult bodies."

"No comment. So after you decided they'd plant a GPS, what did you do?"

"I did them one better." She reached down into her purse and took out a little
device that vaguely resembled a garage door opener. "This is a signal detector. It tells you if
there's an active GPS monitor in the vicinity. I came down and drove into your parking
garage. They charged me twelve bucks to park there!"

"Next time, I'll loan you my parking card." By now, I had consumed half of a
Coors, and was starting to unwind.

She ignored my feeble joke. "I parked on the lower level, away from your car. My
detector told me your car was tagged, and it located the receiving device for me. Of course,
he didn't know I was even there. I waited until I could get a good look at him--and get his
license number. That's why I was hiding in the shadows. After you took off, he waited about
a minute and then followed you. "

"Good work," I said. "What about the text message? Why didn't you just call me
at work and let me know what was going on?"

"I didn't call your office because it's possible they've bugged your phone system.
And cell phones signals can be monitored. Besides," she added with a satisfied smile, "it
was fun."

I couldn't disagree with her logic. Instead, I finished my beer.

When we were ready to leave the restaurant, Jana took charge. She told me I was
to leave first, get into my car and drive away. Her instructions were explicit. "Don't look
around, don't act like you're concerned about anything, especially about being
followed."

I'd already thought of all those things but I saw no benefit in telling her that.
"Then what?"

"I'm parked in the garage, near your Audi. When I get up there, we'll find the GPS
sensor and put it on someone else's car. He won't realize it until it's too late."

"If he sees me drive out, and the signal isn't moving, won't he know what we've
done?"

She had to think about that. "I guess so. Maybe I could distract him. Or--"

"Jana, the less he sees you, the better. You've done a fantastic job of anticipating
what they might do, and finding out who's doing it. But even if we manage to evade him
tonight, won't he just try again tomorrow? And the next day? Maybe next time with two
sensors, or a friend to help him follow us?"

"He might," she said, looking peeved that I was questioning her plan. "Do you
have a better idea?"

"I don't know if it's better or not. But I don't want to keep wondering who's
following me around and when he might decide to do something unpleasant. He was
tampering with my car. That's criminal trespass and probably several other misdemeanors.
You have your Glock with you. What if we just walk up to his car and have a few kind words
with him?"

She gave me a disgusted look. "That's how O.J. Simpson ended up in
prison."

"I'm not planning to take anything from him. And we're not going to barge into a
hotel room. I just want to talk with him. You don't have to participate if you don't want
to."

"And if I don't, you're going to talk to him, anyway?"

"I am. I don't think he poses any real threat to me."

"I'll make sure they put that on your tombstone. Do you at least have your little
toy pistol with you?"

"No."

"Then I'm going with you. He's parked on second, just past Columbine."

I led the way out of the restaurant and along Second Avenue. It wasn't hard to
spot his Blazer, parked half a block from the restaurant. The space he'd been lucky enough
to find was directly under a street lamp. It afforded him a perfect view of the Sears lot exit
through his side mirror, which meant that Jana's sleight of hand with the GPS device
wouldn't have fooled him.

"I guess you were right," she grumbled.

"I'm going to walk up to him, on the driver's side. You can wait around the
corner, on Columbine, and pretend you're just moseying along the sidewalk. Don't show
your weapon, and don't use it unless you need it. Okay?"

"Okay," she said in a reluctant tone. "I sure hope you know what you're
doing."

"So do I."

I marched right up to the Blazer and tapped on the tinted window. I couldn't see
anything inside, but of course he could see me. At first, nothing happened. I waited, and
then tapped again. "Come on, Bonners, open up."

After about ten seconds, the window came down and I found myself face to face
with a very large and angry man. His face was big and beefy. He was wearing a
windbreaker, and his shoulders bulged underneath the cloth. His gruff voice was as
menacing as the vicious curl of his lips. "Why the fuck are you banging on my
window?"

"I have a better question," I told him. "Why did you plant a GPS device on my
car?"

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"Too bad. Because I can prove you did, and I may decide to prosecute. "

"Big fucking deal."

I took a few seconds to size him up. There was something wrong about him,
something that just didn't add up. His bark didn't match his bite.

Finally, it clicked. It was the Andrew that had thrown me off. Not Andrew
Bonners. Everyone knew him as Drew. I said, "Of course, this would all be unnecessary if
you'd stop acting like a jackass and just talk to me. You're an ex-cop, right? Drew Bonners.
You worked with the burglary unit. And, as I recall, you actually spoke in English instead of
street slang."

I didn't mention it, but the rumor was that he also had a drinking problem,
which was the reason he was no longer a cop.

He glared at me, and I glared back. Then he broke into a sheepish grin and his
body visibly relaxed. Gone was the tough guy routine and he no longer spoke like a goon.
"Larsen. Damn it! I should have remembered."

"It's been a long time," I said.

"You want to talk to me?"

"I do. I don't know who hired you, and I'm guessing you have no intention of
telling me."

"That'd be a good guess," he said. "So we have a standoff?"

"Not really. Why don't you just tell him to call me? He and I can talk, instead of
all this hide and seek nonsense. I know the woman he's trying to find." I didn't mention that
she was standing half a block away, pretending to talk on her cell phone. She had it in her
left hand, and even if he had been able to see her, he couldn't have known that her arm was
in a cast, because it was covered by her coat. Nor would he have known that her right hand
was thrust into her coat pocket, no doubt gripping the handle of the Glock.

"Not gonna happen. If I tell him all that, he'll know that you've caught onto me.
That doesn't make me look so good."

"Then we do have a problem. I'd prefer not to have you following me around
town."