“Fair enough,” Shane said. “So let’s do it. What are we looking for?”
“An All-American strip mall.
They found one within a quarter-mile of leaving the interstate, a long, low, L-shaped cluster of concrete-block buildings that could have been stamped out of a cookie-cutter mold and dropped into any city, town or suburb in the United States. Probably a couple of decades old, the businesses looked tired, not quite defeated but struggling to survive. There was a Laundromat, a mom and pop convenience store, a drugstore, a Chinese restaurant, and a half-dozen other businesses, with two or three empty storefronts scattered among them.
“Perfect,” Tracie muttered after looking it over for a few seconds. She drove into the complex and parked the Datsun roughly in the center of the lot, alongside a group of cars clustered in front of the Laundromat.
“I thought we were going to get some food,” Shane said. “The Chinese joint is all the way down at the other end of the mall.”
“That’s true, and we are,” Tracie said. “But once we’re done eating, we’re going to ‘acquire’ a car, remember? Too many customers do take-out at your typical Chinese joint. We wouldn’t want to be in the middle of hot-wiring Suzy Homemaker’s station wagon and have Suzy walk out of China Lucky with her Kung Pao special, catching us right in the act, would we?”
“Us?”
“Okay, me. But you’d go to jail, too. The point is we’re less likely to be caught in the act by someone who’s fluffing and folding inside the Laundromat than by someone picking up their takeout order.”
“What if they throw their laundry in the washer and then go out for a drive, or to get a cup of coffee or something?”
Tracie shrugged. “Then I guess we’re screwed. There are no guarantees in life, right? But it’s clouding up out here and there’s a cold breeze. Hopefully most people would want to stay inside the warmth of the Laundromat, rather than go out and freeze their butts off.”
“Hopefully.”
“Yep. Anyway, that’s my theory, so unless you have a better one, let’s hike across the lot and share a meal, shall we? And speaking of freezing, you probably noticed that driving at highway speeds in Bangor, Maine in a car with a smashed window makes you a lot colder than you might have imagined, even in late May. It’ll feel good to warm up a little.”
Shane hesitated. “Uh, well, I hate to seem unchivalrous, especially since you just ran over a guy holding a gun to my head, but I’ve only got a few bucks in my pocket. I’m not sure I can afford a meal, and it might be kind of hard to keep a low profile with an angry Oriental restaurant owner chasing us into the parking lot.”
Tracie smiled. “I’ve got enough cash to last for a while, and I can get more. Come on, it’s my treat.”
They shared a combination platter, Tracie skillfully and consistently deflecting any questions about her background and about why she had been aboard the doomed B-52 and why men with guns were chasing her around Maine. “You promised you’d answer my questions,” Shane reminded her, surprised but pleased to be eating Teriyaki Steak at this time of the morning, only now realizing how hungry he was.
Tracie nodded. “I can’t tell you everything. I just can’t. But I’ll fill you in on what I can, I promise. Not here, though. We’ll have that conversation in the car, away from potentially prying ears.”
Shane looked around the dining room. It was dark and mostly empty. “Who’s going to hear us in here?”
Tracie shook her head. “Later,” she said, and that was that.
She paid the check and they strolled back into the parking lot. The clouds had continued to gather and there was a chilly bite to the air, more like March than May. Shane watched as Tracie’s sharp eyes scanned the parking lot. She was obviously looking for trouble. “I thought you said those guys would go south,” he said.
“I’m sure they did,” she answered. “But if they hauled ass for ten or twelve miles, pushing hard, and didn’t catch up to us, I think it’s at least a possibility they would have doubled back and maybe started prowling the areas surrounding the Bangor exits, looking for the Datsun.”
“That’s reassuring,” he said as they walked back toward the knot of cars parked outside the Laundromat.
She shook her head. “Everything looks fine. I don’t see anything strange, do you?”
He glanced around and shrugged. “Guess not. So what do we do now?”
“Now we try to pass for a normal young couple as we look for a car with unlocked doors. I really don’t want to drive around in this Arctic air again with a broken window.” She took his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. They wandered across the parking lot, keeping several rows of cars between them and the Laundromat windows.
“What if everyone’s cars are locked?” Shane asked.
“Yeah, right,” Tracie said, grinning. “Sooner or later, we’ll find an unlocked vehicle, and I’m betting on sooner. When we do, we’ll ‘acquire’ it.”
She was right. The words had barely left Tracie’s mouth when Shane spotted a white Ford Granada, unlocked and empty. Tracie took a casual look around, and when she found no one paying the slightest attention to them, she said, “Okay, let’s go.”
She hurried around to the driver’s side door. She slid into the car and pried the plastic cowling away from the lower portion of the steering column almost before her body had even stopped moving.
Shane watched in amazement as she pulled a pair of wires free and then touched the ends together. There was a spark and the Granada started up, running roughly for a second or two and then settling into a contented purr. “I always wondered how they did that,” he said.
Tracie turned to him with a dazzling smile. “I’ve picked up a few skills,” she said. “But it’s time to go.” She wheeled the Ford toward the exit and freedom. Shane twisted in his seat and looked out the rear window, certain the car’s angry owner would be sprinting across the lot in hot pursuit. But there was no one, the lot was quiet, and then they were on the road. Three minutes later they were back on Interstate 95, this time headed south.
Shane slumped in his seat. “That was nerve-wracking,” he said. “I’m really not comfortable with stealing a car. What if we get pulled over? We’ll get busted for Grand Theft Auto.”
“We’re not going to get pulled over,” Tracie said. “I’m going to be the most careful little driver you ever saw, and once we get a few exits south of Bangor, we’ll stop somewhere and exchange plates with another car. The police will have no reason to stop us.”
“Okay, fine, but why can’t we just go to the police and tell them someone’s after you? That way we stay on the right side of the law, instead of becoming wanted car thieves.”
“We’re not thieves,” Tracie said, exasperation evident in her tone. “The owner will get his car back in short order, good as new. Probably. And in the meantime, we stay alive. I can’t go to the police because…well, I just can’t.”
“Not good enough,” Shane said. “You promised you’d give me some answers. Well, we ate, we ‘acquired’ another vehicle, and we’re on our way south, maybe driving into some kind of ambush around the next corner. It’s time for you to tell me what’s going on.”
So she did.
27