Hitting the sidewalk chest-first, I scramble on my elbows to the front of the car and pray he doesn’t stop. In this neighborhood, alarms go off all the time. Lying on my stomach, I rest my weight on my elbows, which already feel damp. A single sniff tells me I’m lying in a puddle of grease. My suit’s ruined. But right now, that’s the least of my problems. I count to ten and slowly crawl back to the sidewalk. The alarm’s still screaming. I’m on the passenger side, my head still ducked down. Last I saw him, he was diagonally up the street. I slowly pick my head up and take a quick peek. There’s no one there. I crane my neck in every direction. The page is gone. And so’s our money.
In full panic, I’m tempted to run toward the overpass, but I’ve seen enough movies to know that the moment you rush in blindly, there’s always someone lying in wait. Instead, I stay crouched down, slowly chicken-walking up the block. There’re enough parked cars along the street to keep me hidden all the way up to the overpass, but it doesn’t calm me down a bit. My heart’s punching against my chest. My throat’s so dry, I can barely swallow. Car by car, I carefully inch toward the overpass. The closer I get, the more I hear the droning hum of traffic along 395 – and the less I hear what’s right in front of me.
There’s a metal clink to my left, and an empty beer can comes tumbling down the concrete incline underneath the overpass. I go to run, but then I spot the sharp flap of wings on the pigeon that set it in motion. The bird flies out from the overpass and disappears in the gray sky. Even with the clouds hovering above, it’s still bright as noon outside, but under the overpass, the shadows at the top of the incline are dark as a forest.
I step out from behind a maroon Cutlass, and the
What am I, insane? I spin around and walk away. He can keep the money, for all I care; it’s not worth my li-
There’s a muffled clacking in the distance. Like dice on a gameboard. I twist back to follow the sound. Further down. On the other side of the overpass. I don’t see it at first. Then I hear it again. I dart behind one of the enormous concrete pillars that hold the highway overpass in place. Above my head, the bees continue to buzz. But down here, I focus on the sound of the dice, downhill from where I’m standing. From my angle, it’s still obscured. Heading deeper into the overpass, I rush from my pillar to one directly ahead. Another die moves across the board. Angling my head around the concrete column, I take my first full look. Outside the overpass, cars once again line the street. But what I’m looking for isn’t directly in front of me. It’s off to the left.
Up the block, a dip in the sidewalk leads to a gravel driveway. In the driveway, there’s a rusted old industrial Dumpster. And right next to the Dumpster is the source of the noise. Dice against a gameboard. Or tiny stones being kicked by someone’s feet.
Dead ahead, the page makes his way up the gravel driveway – and in one quick movement, takes off his suit jacket, yanks off his tie, and skyhooks both items up and into the open Dumpster. Without even a pause, he heads back to the sidewalk, looking happy to be free of the monkey suit. It doesn’t make sense.
My Adam’s apple now feels like a softball in my throat. The page steps out of the driveway, once again kicking the stones at his feet. As he fades up the block, he’s still tapping the envelope against his thigh. And for the first time, I wonder if I’m even looking at a page.
How could I be so stupid? I didn’t even get his name…
… tag. His nametag. On his jacket.
My eyes zip toward the Dumpster, then back to the page. At the end of the block, he makes a hard left and vanishes from sight. I give him a solid few seconds to double back. He doesn’t. That’s my cue. Even with his head start, there’s still time to catch up with him, but before I do…
I spring out from behind the pillar, dash down the sidewalk, and leave the overpass behind. Rushing across the gravel driveway, I go straight for the Dumpster. It’s too tall to see inside. Even for me. On the side, there’s a groove that’s just deep enough to get a toehold. My suit’s already ruined. Up and over…