"We don't know if this is home or his supplier's," Reheema said.
"It doesn't look like a drug supplier's house."
"Tells you nothin'."
"It's the end of the day. Browning has to get tired sometime, doesn't he? I'm gonna say this isn't his supplier's, it's his house."
"How you know he hasn't been sleepin' all day? When do you think he makes his pickups, in broad daylight?" Reheema's mouth formed a grim line, and her eyes glittered in the dark interior. "If they both get out of the car, it's the supplier."
Vicki nodded. Reheema was right. They were making assumptions, but reasonable ones. They both leaned forward as the Neon's doors opened and the two men got out. Vicki took pictures of the driver, albeit too dark and too far away, as he hurried from the car and toward the row house. The streetlights were brighter here, but the man's features remained impossible to discern, so she still didn't know if he was Browning. The passenger went around to the driver's side of the car, got inside, and drove off. Vicki lowered the camera. "So if it's Browning, it's his house."
"How you know the one got dropped off is Browning? You didn't recognize him. We got two players."
Vicki sighed. She was getting tired, and ATF legwork was harder than she'd thought. "Our theory was that the driver was Browning, or the boss, and this confirms it. I say, the boss gets dropped off."
"I agree, but we need to cover all bases." Reheema started the ignition.
"We're leaving? I wanted to get another picture."
"Get it another time. We know where he lives."
Vicki took a final picture as the Sunbird took off and snagged a close-up of the back of Browning's knit cap, where a shiny silver shield caught the light. She recognized it in the telephoto. "He wears a Raiders cap."
"Everybody likes football," Reheema said, and hit the gas.
Half an hour later they were in a lesser neighborhood closer to the city, with attached brick row houses in various stages of disrepair. The Sunbird followed as the Neon drove around, evidently hunting for a parking space. Huge piles of plowed snow sat at the corners of the block and cut down on the number of available spaces.
Vicki said, "The only thing more boring than watching a drug dealer dig a car out is watching him find a parking space."
"A day in the life."
"I'll have the same problem when I go home," Vicki said.
"No, you won't. You can't drive this crate, remember?" "Oh. Sorry." "No sweat. I'll drop you off. I'm a night owl." Reheema turned the car to the right, lingering almost a full block behind the Neon, and Vicki realized that one of them would be going home to a very cold house tonight.
"Reheema, you don't have heat in your house, do you?" "I got a coupla blankets." "You want to come over my house, to sleep? I have a pull out couch." "Like a pajama party?" Vicki smiled. "We don't have to do our nails or anything." Reheema was silent a minute. "Nah." "You sure?" "Wait. Here he goes." Reheema slowed the Sunbird to a stop as the Neon finally found a space, when another car pulled out. "It's almost two. Doesn't anybody sleep in this neighborhood?"
Reheema didn't answer, and Vicki sensed she had withdrawn again. It was the invitation that did it, somehow. They watched as the second man got out of the car, hustled to one of the houses, and went inside.
"So that's where Number Two lives," Vicki said. "Right." "Can we find it again? I'm not even sure where we are." "I can." Reheema started the engine. "Let's get you home, sleepyhead." "Thanks." Vicki felt a twinge. "You sure you don't wanna-" "No. Thanks." Reheema kept her eyes straight ahead and they drove in silence to the expressway, which was the last thing Vicki remembered before they pulled up in front of her house and Reheema was jostling her shoulder, waking her up, saying, "You're home."
"Oh. Sorry." Vicki straightened in the car seat stiffly, stretching and vaguely bewildered. "How did you know where I live?"
"Got it from information, on your cell. I don't have my own yet." Reheema handed Vicki her own phone. "Soon as I turned it on, though, it started ringing and it's been ringing off and on all night."
"I slept through it?" Vicki held the phone and reached down for her backpack, and Reheema laughed.
"You woulda slept through anything."
"Sorry." Vicki felt off balance. The Sunbird clock read 3:30. Her street was quiet, still, and frigid. She grabbed her purse, and her phone beeped, signaling she had voicemail. A tiny electric envelope appeared on the screen. "There's a text message, too."
"That'd be the wrong guy."
"I know," Vicki said, with a tired smile. She reached for the door handle.
"Take my advice and leave him be." Reheema nodded. "No married man should be callin' any woman other than his wife this time of night."
"I started getting over him, today." Vicki meant it. "Noth-ing's ever going to happen with him. It's time to let him go, for good."
"Right."
Still. "He's a friend, maybe he's worried about me. I don't usually keep the phone off all day."
"Don't be stupid. That man's a dog."
Yikes. "Thanks for everything," Vicki said, and got out of the car.
"Be back at eight in the morning."
"Okay," Vicki called back softly, so as not to wake the neighbors, and trundled up the front walk, dripping backpacks, purses, and cameras. She'd check the messages when she got inside, not in front of Reheema, who was waiting out front with the Sunbird idling. Surprising. Vicki let herself in and waved from the front door, and the Sunbird took off.
Once inside, Vicki dropped her stuff on the floor, hit the light switch, and checked her text message, which was from Dan.
NEED TO C U TONITE. CALL MY CELL
"No," Vicki said aloud. "Fool me once, fool me twice." She wasn't about to call him again and catch him in bed with Mariella, and she doubted he'd meant her to call him this late anyway. She double-bolted the front door, turned off the living room light, and went upstairs with the cell phone, but the bedroom phone started ringing almost the moment she hit the landing, a jarring sound in the still house. She went down the hall and picked it up on the third ring. It was Dan.
"You home? Where were you?" Dan sounded stricken, not angry. "I was worried out of my mind! Or were you with that guy?"
"What guy?" "The guy from the wake." Delaney. "Of course not." "Then can I come over?" "Now? It's after three!" "Vick, please. I wanna come over." Dan's words came out in a rush. "See you in five."
TWENTY-NINE
It was a reverse of their usual situation, with Dan sitting at her kitchen table, unusually calm for the situation, and Vicki pouring them both a half glass of cold Chardonnay, left over from the other night. His eyes looked a washed-out blue, with anxious circles underneath, and his mouth formed a slash of resignation. He wore khaki pants and a blue-plaid flannel shirt, put on so hastily it was buttoned wrong.
"Drink up." Vicki brought Dan's glass to the table, set it down in front of him, and took her customary seat opposite. "Now, begin at the beginning."
"Mariella's been having an affair with another doc, a big-time plastic surgeon, an older guy, in Cherry Hill." Dan's voice remained even, and he took a drink of wine. "She's divorcing me to marry him. She's been cheating on me for three years. We've only been married four."
Vicki sipped her wine, for something to do. She was shocked and sympathetic, hurt and confused, all at the same time. "How did you find this out?"
"I'll tell it in chronological order, to make it easy. This morning, she served the papers on me at work. Can you believe that? Right at work?" Dan shook his head. "I'm in a meeting with Bale, and they get me out and say Louie's in reception for me. You know, Louie the process server?"
"The process server we use?"