John Lutz - Spark

He limped across the bare floor to the bank of mailboxes and intercoms, his footsteps and the tapping of his cane echoing over hard surfaces.

It was difficult to guess which of the names in the slots above the mailboxes might be Adam Beed’s alias. Most of the slots contained the names of women or families. An even half-dozen contained only men’s names. Alan Brake, in the penthouse, seemed a likely possibility. Same initials. Beed was getting plenty of money from somewhere and living high, so why not the penthouse?

An elderly couple walking a practically bald poodle entered the lobby and glanced at Carver as they waited for the elevator. When they’d gone upstairs, he made a note of the six male names, then returned to the Plymouth and sat with the motor idling and the air conditioner humming away on high. He wouldn’t draw much attention where he was parked, so he settled back and let himself slide into his waiting mode, a sort of state of relaxation combined with an acute awareness of what was going on around him. It was a systematic shutting down of those parts of the mind not needed for the task and was a knack you developed after dozens of stakeouts; he thought sometimes it might be a form of self-hypnosis. Whatever it was, every good cop had it, and it allowed him to tolerate hours of stillness and waiting with the self-contained patience of a sniper.

Tenants and visitors came and went at the Heron Tower, none of them without Carver noticing.

When the sun had been down for about an hour, the evening finally began to cool and he switched off the engine and air conditioner and cranked down the Plymouth’s front windows. A gentle, fetid breeze that smelled of the ocean worked its way through the car. He turned on the radio and played the push buttons, momentarily hearing a Spanish station and thinking of Desoto.

He switched the radio off as he saw a new black Cadillac Seville slow down and then turn into the Heron Tower driveway. Carver watched the car’s bright taillights disappear into the bowels of the building, like wary red eyes sinking below ground level. He was sure Adam Beed had been behind the wheel.

Quickly Carver climbed out of the Plymouth, hobbled across the street, and entered the Heron Tower lobby. Planting the tip of his cane carefully on the smooth marble floor, he stood off to the side and watched the digital floor indicators above the two elevators.

One of the elevators descended from the third floor to garage level, then began to rise.

Carver had an uneasy moment as it reached the lobby. There was nowhere to conceal himself if Beed had decided to take a walk or go out and buy a bottle before going up to his apartment, and got out of the elevator.

But the elevator rose past the lobby. Carver watched it stop at the fifteenth floor. The number fifteen continued to glow in orange letters above the elevator.

After a few minutes Carver limped from the lobby and returned to the Plymouth. He checked his list of male tenants. There was only one living on the fifteenth floor: Bernard Altman. Okay, Adam Beed’s initials reversed. The apartment number was 15-B. Carver had calculated the Heron Tower numbering system and figured it had to be a corner unit overlooking the beach and ocean.

He drove around the block and parked farther up the street, where he could see an illuminated window on the fifteenth floor. The window faced north and was just around the corner from a small balcony that provided a view of the sea. No movement behind the window was visible, but the light itself suggested there was someone home and it was the right apartment. Beed wasn’t likely to raise the blinds and pose for Carver.

Well, maybe, if he knew someone was watching.

After about twenty minutes a figure did pass the window. Even in silhouette, Carver recognized the bulk and confident carriage of Adam Beed.

Carver kept an eye on the apartment until almost ten o’clock, getting out and walking around every now and then, once buying a cup of frozen yogurt from a shop down the block and sitting on a bench with it for a while, so he wouldn’t appear suspicious if anyone did notice him. The street here was mostly condos and apartment buildings, some with shops on the lower floors, but more tourists than tenants were driving past or wandering the sidewalks. All of them seemed too preoccupied to pay much attention to Carver.

Finally he decided Beed was in for the night, so he drove up 1A1 to the Sandy Shoes Motel on El Mar Drive, where he’d registered earlier.

After stripping down to his underwear, he arranged for a wake-up call at six the next morning, then stretched out on his back, lay listening to the breaking surf, and fell asleep.

He had to sit in the parked Plymouth for more than an hour the next morning before seeing Adam Beed drive from the Heron Tower parking garage in his black Cadillac.

Carver started the Plymouth’s engine and pulled out into traffic behind the Caddy, driving with the window open in the still-cool morning. It was going to be a beautiful day even if oven temperature; sunlight glinted off chrome and glass and concrete and made everything seem new and clean. The brightly and casually clad vacationers and locals strolling along the sidewalk were chatting and smiling. Joggers bounced with vivaciousness, birds sang, a soft breeze blew, gulls screamed with unbridled joy. It was a fine morning to be following a monster.

He stayed well back, switching lanes from time to time, making sure Beed wouldn’t notice the unobtrusive blue car in his rearview mirror. Plymouths like this were rented by the hundreds in central Florida; that was why Carver had requested one.

Beed steered the Cadillac into the parking lot of the Big ‘n’ Yum restaurant on Talmont Avenue. Carver drove past, parked down the block, and walked back.

He stood across the street and studied the Big ‘n’ Yum. It appeared to be a topless bar at night and a restaurant that served breakfast and lunch during the day. A sign proclaimed the daylight specials to be topless egg-and-sausage sandwiches until 10:00 A.M., then hamburgers on topless buns until 5:00. It was the kind of entrepreneurship Carver admired.

The Big ‘n’ Yum was indeed large, a low brick building with planters along the sills of windows that had been walled up to leave rectangles of newer, lighter bricks. Long vines dangled from the planters, but Carver saw no flowers. There were six such windows and planters on the long side of the rectangular building, bordering the parking lot where Adam Beed’s Cadillac sat among half a dozen other cars and a yellow Isuzu off-road vehicle, all gleaming in the sun as if they were freshly painted.

With so few customers apparently inside, Carver didn’t think he should risk entering the restaurant. He also didn’t want to push things by sitting nearby in the parked car. Unremarkable as the rental car was, Adam Beed might remember glimpsing it near the Heron Tower, or driving behind him this morning.

He bought a Sun Sentinel from a vending machine and sat down on a small stone wall that ran in front of a travel agency that seemed to be closed. A kid about twelve wandered by wearing a Tampa Marlins baseball cap. Carver spun him a tale about being a fan and bought the cap for ten dollars. The kid was astounded and happy. He’d rush home and tell his mom or dad; they’d never figure it out.

Carver sat wearing the billed cap, head bowed, pretending to study the newspaper in his lap. The bill, the covered baldness, made for good camouflage. Even if Beed looked hard, he wouldn’t be able to identify him from this distance.

About nine o’clock, when Carver’s pelvis was beginning to go numb from contact with the low stone wall, Beed and a barrel-chested, dark-haired man in an expensive blue suit emerged from the restaurant. The man was short, and he looked squat and diminutive alongside Beed’s muscular bulk, like a noontime shadow. They stood on the sunny sidewalk and talked for a few minutes, each listening intently to the other. Then they shook hands and Beed got into the Caddy. He started the motor but didn’t drive away until the well-dressed, stocky man climbed into the Isuzu and drove from the lot.