J. Rain: Hail Mary

“ Four.”

“ Or four.”

We both drank to that, and I think I might have just helped to add a new bylaw to Leisure World’s security.

“ So who did he expose himself to this time?”

“ Three women.”

“ Where?”

“ They were leaving their singing group.”

“ Any other groups going on tonight?”

“ More singing lessons, which is why I wanted you to come tonight.”

“ Sounds like our boy knows the park schedule.”

“ Sounds like it.”

“ Who heads the singing group.”

“ Mr. Micliwski.”

“ Mr. McWho?”

“ Micliwski. He’s Polish. Lives right there, in fact.”

Joe Hill leaned over and pointed to the same small apartment I had watched the old man exit from with the young man. A house not very far from Poppie’s. A house in the hub of the flashing hits.

“ Oh really?” I said.

“ Sometimes his son helps out.”

“ I see,” I said. “Can the ladies describe the flasher?”

“ The usual. Kind of tall, thin, long dark hair. Wore a bathrobe.”

I studied the small apartment. There were a lot of lights on. Every now and then, a shadow stepped in front of the window. I looked at my cell phone. It was getting on about the time I had seen the old man escort his son out.

We drank and watched, and I kept my suspicions to myself.

Sure enough, at about the same time the door opened and the same old man walked out. The same medium-sized and stooped old man. Another man followed. His son, I presumed. The same young man we had seen the other night.

The same tall young man.

Tony Hill was leaning in my direction, watching the scene from the house. “Yeah, that’s his son. A singer, too, like his old man. We get to know everyone who comes and goes from this park.”

“ I believe it,” I said.

Like Sanchez and I had done a few nights ago, Tony Hill dismissed the younger guy immediately and watched the old man head back into his home where, I assumed, a few older ladies were waiting to finish up their lessons.

Except, I wasn’t watching the old guy, I was watching the young man who had crossed in front of the van and was now heading for the same parked car we had seen the other night.

I watched him get in, start the car, and slowly drive away.

I eased off the lounge chair and, ducking, headed through the small doorway and back into the front seat.

I started the van and, despite Tony Hill’s protests, followed.

“ The kid?” said Tony Hill. “I’ve met him a number of times. He’s like twenty-two.”

“ Perving knows no age,” I said. “I think.”

“ I don’t know. Seemed nice enough.”

“ How long ago did the flashing start?”

“ Six months back. Maybe. I can check.”

“ How long have he and his grandfather been giving singing lessons?”

He thought about it as we cruised at a good distance behind the kid. “Shit,” he said.

“ Six months ago?”

He nodded. “Seems about right.”

“ What’s his name?”

“ Charlie, I think.”

“ Why am I not surprised?”

“ And why isn’t he heading for the exit?” said Tony Hill.

“ Where does this road lead?”

“ Deeper into the park.”

“ Are there back exits?”

He shook his head. “None that we allow visitors to use.”

“ You guys run a tight ship.”

“ The park is five hundred and thirty-three acres. We have to run a tight ship.”

“ That’s a lot of old people,” I said.

“ And a lot of visitors.”

The vehicle, a Volkswagen something-or-other, turned right into what appeared to be another parking lot. The park was full of such parking lots. His vehicle slowed and turned towards us in one of the spots.

I drove slowly past. “Don’t look at him,” I said.

Tony Hill didn’t like it, but he looked forward, although I knew every fiber of his being wanted to turn and look.

“ He’s watching us,” I said.

“ How do you know?”

“ This isn’t my first car chase.”

“ Car chase?”

“ Slow-moving car chases count, too.”

I turned right down the next street, then turned into another parking lot. I slipped in next to a Dumpster. I ditched the lights, rolled down the windows and killed the engine.

“ What are we doing?”

“ We’re listening.”

“ Listening for what?”

“ Let’s see. Or hear.”

It was just past 9:00 p.m. and Leisure World was perfectly quiet. So quiet, in fact, that I was certain I could hear a car start up and pull away. Five minutes later, that’s exactly what happened. We couldn’t see him, but we could hear him.

“ He’s moving again.”

With the headlights still off, I pulled out of the parking lot and nudged my way slowly toward the street.

“ There,” said Tony Hill, pointing.

A pair of brake lights appeared in the far distance, just as the vehicle hung a right.

“ What’s over there?”

“ The amphitheater.”

“ Is there a concert going on?”

“ No, but there’s a play being performed. The old geezers are putting on The Grapes of Wrath.”

“ When’s it over?”

Joe Hill checked his cell. “Right about now.”

The outdoor amphitheater was bigger than I expected.

According to Tony Hill, it seated 2,500 people, and by my estimation, there were probably fifty people presently in attendance.

“ The amphitheater is designed primarily for concerts. We even had Pat Boone here a few months ago.”

“ Very nice.”

“ You a fan?”

“ Who isn’t? Anyone Elvis opened for is all right in my book.”

“ We might get his daughter next month. Debby.”

“ Lucky you.”

From the van, which I had parked near the entrance, we could see some of the stage and about the first third of the amphitheater seating. People seemed to be deeply engrossed and generally enjoying themselves. The lights were low and the stage was brightly lit.

We were both scanning the parking lot. I had parked in some shadows and killed the engine. The lot was surprisingly full. I wondered where the rest of the 2,450 guests parked. The VW had been a neutral color. Neutral colors mean nothing to me. Hell, they might as well be called blah, because that’s what they look like to me.

But I knew what a Volkswagen looked like, and soon I spotted the sucker in the far corner of the lot. I pointed it out to Tony Hill, whose first instinct was to charge it.

“ Easy, tiger,” I said. “Wouldn’t it be better to catch him in the act?”

“ I’d rather not.”

“ How about just before the act?”

“ A little better.”

We waited. There seemed to be some movement in the little Volkswagen, but I couldn’t be sure from our distance.

“ So what’s his M.O.?” asked Tony Hill.

“ He ditches his clothes for the robe in his car, flashes the old folks, slips away somewhere, then works his way back to his car.”

“ Where he changes again and waits for the heat to die down.”

We waited some more. Ten minutes later, applause didn’t necessarily erupt from the amphitheater, but it did spring forth energetically.

The VW’s driver’s side door opened. A dark shadow slipped out. The shadow worked its way near some trees and shrubs that surrounded the exterior of the amphitheater.

“ Did you see that?” I said.

“ Hard to miss.”

Theater-goers began trickling out. Husbands and wives, small groups, big groups, and individuals. Many got into their cars, but a few headed toward the far end of the parking lot. Toward the figure hiding in shadows.

“ He’s near the shuttle pick-up, which will be here in a few minutes.”