SAN FRANCISCO
Molly let her speed drop as the blue
sedan containing the man who had put David Eden in hospital pulled into a
parking lot at the back of a bargain basement motel. She spotted a space on the
opposite side of the motel about fifty yards down and pulled into it.
From there she had a good view of
both the front of the building and the entrance he would have to drive out of
if he left. It was called the Blue Ridge Mountain Motel and looked like more of
a hangout for hookers and dealers than vacationers. It was on the opposite
corner. Down the side of the street to Molly’s left was a line of stores that
were mostly shuttered up. It was a dying neighbourhood; more than half the
stores were closed for good.
She felt scared with a sharp chaser
of excitement. Following cars across town wasn’t something she did on a regular
basis but pretending to be an undercover cop did give out a peculiarly pleasant
buzz. On the other hand, the guy she was following was a bone fide nut and she
wasn’t dumb enough to push it any further. She could leave the arrest to the
police.
A phone booth with broken windows on
every side stood part way between her little car and the junction. That was
perfect. She got out and locked up, trotted down the street and got into the
booth. She got as far as dropping the first couple of coins before she noticed
there was no dialling tone; no cable connecting the receiver to its box.
“Damn.”
There was no other phone booth
visible either way and she couldn’t be sure how long he would stay inside. If
only she had her cell. But she didn’t.
It was starting to get dark. Molly
scanned both sides of the street, hoping for some sign of a phone but there
wasn’t any. One of the open shops near her car was a Seven Eleven. She went in
there. A Vietnamese girl was tending the cash register.
“Hi. You got a phone?”
“There’s a booth outside.”
“I know but it’s broken. Do you have
a phone in here I can use please?”
“No. Sorry.” The girl squinted and
tried to smile but she wasn’t sorry in the least.
“It’s an emergency. I need to call
the police.”
“No phone; sorry.”
A queue started to form behind Molly.
She tried not to lose her temper. “Look, I can see you have one right there
behind you on the counter. I just need to use it for a minute.”
“Sorry,” said the girl. “That phone
not for customers.”
“Give me a break. It’s an emergency.”
“No phone.”
“Please.”
“No phone. No.”
The man waiting behind her cleared his
throat impatiently.
“All right,” said Molly, “All right
fine. Can you tell me where the nearest public phone is then please.”
The Vietnamese girl pointed across
the street. “There’s phone in motel over there.”
Molly followed where she was pointing.
In the growing twilight she could see into the lit interior of the motel lobby.
There was a vending machine and a counter and next to that a smudge that could
have been a payphone hung on the wall.
In the same building as the man who
was after her.
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