The Second Girl(63)

Wisconsin Avenue ends at Water Street. Any further and you’ll find yourself in the Potomac River. I make a right turn onto Water Street from Wisconsin. It’s a small road under the Whitehurst Freeway, and follows the Potomac River on one side and the southern edge of Georgetown on the other. It ends after a few blocks, under the Key Bridge and at the beginning of a busy hiking and biking trail. I don’t drive that far. After a couple of blocks I make a U-turn and drive a few blocks past Wisconsin in the other direction. I don’t see any cars that match the description of Playboy’s Lexus, or anything else that might be suspicious.

Parking is tough anywhere in Georgetown. I loop around a couple of times until I see someone pulling out of a spot on the south side of Water, about half a block from the intersection at Wisconsin. It gives me a good vantage because more than likely he’ll come in off Wisconsin, like I did.

I back into the space and park between a nice BMW and a U-Haul van. I’m not concerned about getting made for a cop by the corner drug boys in this location, ’cause you won’t find any corner drug boys around here.

When I was a cop fresh out of the academy I had to walk a beat, but not in a place as “up-and-coming” as this neighborhood is now. In fact, nothing was up-and-coming when I came on. It was still like it was when I was a kid. Every neighborhood, including Georgetown, was what it was. But things changed. Everything did. Communities like Georgetown eventually lost landmarks like the Biograph, and then the Key Theatre. But all that resulted afterward was that those businesses were replaced by other businesses.

This city is all about tearing down to build up. That should be DC’s new catchphrase. There’s nothing wrong with progress. Just know what you’re going to do with all the collateral damage resulting from that progress.

I crack the window and light up a smoke while I still can. It’s doubtful he’ll show up early like I did. In all my experience working idiots like him, they never have; they’ll either show up late or not at all. But then again, none of the drug boys back then were showing up for who they thought would be a cute underage girl on crack. Nothin’ to do now but stand by and play the waiting game.

I got everything I need in my backpack just in case it turns out the way it’s supposed to, and I get stuck on surveillance through the rest of the day into the night. I can go through the whole night if I have to. Shit, I’ve done it before. I got a strong back and my legs don’t cramp that often.

When four fifteen rolls around, I snort the contents of a couple capsules, put them back together, and drop them in the pill container. I check myself out in the rearview mirror just in case a bit of that white powder is stuck around my nostrils or the whiskers of my upper lip. I’m clean. Don’t know why I thought otherwise. I’ve been doing this long enough that I’m damn good at hiding it, but the routine checks have become habit.

It’s a busy Friday, so more than a few cars roll by, but I don’t see the one I’m looking for. Then, as if right on cue, I see a shiny black Lexus occupied by a black male roll up to the stop sign at Wisconsin and Water.

I recline myself a bit and look through small binos cupped between my hands. He fits the description Justine gave me. He’s looking around, obviously trying to spot her. A car behind him honks. It seems to startle him, and he makes a right turn, heading in my direction. I slide down further below the window, but stay up just enough so I can clock him driving by. I sit up and look over my shoulder as he makes a quick U-turn about a half a block down. I scoot down again as he slowly passes my car and pulls to the curb near the intersection in an illegal spot five cars ahead of me. I have to look around the parked cars, so I only get a glimpse of his vehicle. But that’s all I need.

He’s got his hazard lights on; it looks like he’s giving my fictional Tamie a little more time.

Sweet Tamie. She’s worth every bill. And there were a couple hundred of ’em.

I start my car up.

It’s almost four forty.

The undercover cell in the center console rings. I take it out. It’s Playboy trying to call Tamie. It rings through to voicemail. I wait for it, but he doesn’t leave one. It rings a second time. Again, no message. He rolls out a couple seconds after that call attempt and makes a left on to Wisconsin. I quickly maneuver my way out and follow.

By the time I turn onto Wisconsin he’s almost at the canal. Another car makes a left turn onto Wisconsin from Grace, cutting in front of me. That’s a good thing. Now I’m two cars behind him and that makes for better cover. I cross over the canal and notice that he hit the red light at M Street, but it looks like he’s staying on Wisconsin. The undercover phone rings a third time. Boy’s sprung, he won’t give up on her. I pull to the curb just before the cut that leads to Blues Alley and wait for another car to pass me before I continue to follow him. I change to his lane, but stay two cars behind.

The light turns green and he continues traveling north on Wisconsin. It’s getting pretty congested, everyone making their way home early on a Friday. We get caught up in crawling traffic before we hit N Street. I’m still two cars behind.

Traffic clears after the signal. He merges into the left lane and takes a right on Q Street. No more calls on the cell. I think he’s given up at this point. I take the right on Q, but slow down to let him get far enough ahead of me so he won’t notice my car. If he sees it once I’d better make sure he doesn’t see it twice or I’m done, especially if it’s going to be a long tail and a possible surveillance afterward. Tailing someone with just one vehicle is tough. You gotta have a minimum of three cars to do it right. I’ve had a lot of practice, so I’m still pretty confident in my skills.