The Last Minute Read Online Free PDF Page B

Las Vegas.’
    I waited until they left. I watched the street to see if they werefollowed. The CIA had left me alone since I’d declined to return to the embrace of their employ, although I thought it likely
     that they might be checking in on me. I didn’t see a sign that anyone was following Mila and the truck.
    I walked out onto the street. I glanced at the faces of those near me and committed them to memory. It was eight blocks to
     Columbus Circle. The early evening breeze felt good against my face. The night was oddly full of music. From the buildings
     I passed I heard the soft tones of a Mahler symphony, the spice of Cuban salsa, a thunderous beat that drowned out hip-hop
     lyrics. Music was something people living a normal life got to enjoy.
    When your child is missing, you live in a limbo. A purgatory without clocks. A room without windows, without doors, pitched
     into black, and all you can do is fumble along in the darkness and hope you find the knob to the door, or the sash of the
     window. That is hope. That you can throw an exit open, let light flood back into your prison, and standing there will be your
     child, safe and sound.
    I had no intention of staying in limbo.
    I spotted the first tail boarding the subway one car down from me. A sixtyish woman, hair styled short, dark glasses, delicate
     blue earrings. She’d been standing on the corner down from Mr Bell’s building when I walked out. Looking away from me. I’d
     walked at a good pace and she’d kept up.
    I stayed on the train. So did she.
    I got off at the next stop, which was Seventh Avenue. So did she and a moderate sized crowd of people. I slowed, forcing her
     to get ahead of me. I had to figure she had at least one partner, someone who would stay with me if she peeled off, someone
     I hadn’t seen when I exited the building.
    The woman, pushed slightly ahead of me by the crowd, climbed the stairs to street level and she had to choose. She went left
     with brisk, heel-clicking purpose. I headed right. I didn’t look back to see if she’d turned to follow me.
    I didn’t hurry. I wanted to see if she would backtrack. I also wanted to see who was sticking close to me. I turned into a
     small convenience store and I browsed. I bought a bottle of red wine, a couple of apples and a wedge of Cheddar cheese. I
     took my time, waiting to see what fly would stick in the honey. Seven other shoppers in the narrow aisles. I glanced at their
     faces, their profiles, without them noticing. One was familiar. He’d been on the subway with me. Late twenties, a bit older
     than me, dark hair, wearing a Yankees cap and a dark T-shirt and a light jacket although it’d been a warm day. Jackets change
     your appearance to the casual eye, and they’re easy to ditch. So are hats.
    I paid for my purchases and I headed back toward the subway station. I didn’t look back but in the rearview of a parked car
     I saw the Yankees cap coming behind me. I ducked into a clothing store at the next corner.
    At a distance he followed and in one of the mounted security mirrors I saw him enter the store. I grabbed a brightly colored
     shirt that would have embarrassed a peacock off one of the racks and I asked the clerk where the changing room was. She nodded
     toward the back and told me I couldn’t take my grocery bag in with me, like I’d planned to shoplift some ugly plaid. I gave
     it to her to keep under the counter and I went into the changing area. Four saloon-style doors, a tailor’s stand with a triptych
     of mirrors. I went inside one of the changing rooms and I waited.
    If he’d seen me come with just one shirt he might wait. Hemight still think I hadn’t spotted him; at no point had I looked at him directly.
    So I decided to really, really consider the merits of this kaleidoscope of a shirt.
    Five minutes. Ten. The clerk hadn’t come back to check on me yet. Then I heard him. I knew it was him because he gently pushed
     open one saloon door. Then