James Swain - The King Tides

In his mirror he spied a black Ford pickup filled with lawn equipment riding his bumper, the driver a burly Hispanic with a handlebar mustache and borderline crazy eyes.

He called Pearl on his cell phone. “See the black pickup behind me?”

“Yes, I see him,” Pearl said.

“I think the driver’s following you. There was a black pickup on your list. Did it have lawn equipment in the bed?”

“I believe it did.”

“Must be the same guy. I want you to speed up. I’ve got your back, so don’t get scared if he tries anything stupid.”

“Got it.”

Pearl hit the gas and sent waves onto several manicured front yards. Within moments, a block separated their two cars. The crazy Hispanic punched his horn. Lancaster looked into his mirror and raised his hand as if to say What do you want? The Hispanic shook his fist, then passed Lancaster on the left and raced down the street.

His cell phone rang. Pearl calling.

“He’s chasing us!” Pearl said. “What should I do?”

“Nothing. Leave the heroics to me.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Run him down and have a talk with him.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“You and your wife ask too many questions. Just drive.”

Lancaster ended the call. The Hispanic had caught up to the Pearls and was riding their bumper. The situation was teetering out of control, so he got in the opposing lane, pulling up alongside the pickup. The Hispanic was watching a video on his cell phone while he drove. Lancaster strained to see and made out a girl’s face.

“Pull over!” he yelled.

The Hispanic ignored him. Lancaster ripped out his wallet and flashed the badge the department had given him in a shadow box when he’d resigned.

“You heard me, pull over!” he yelled.

Still nothing. He spun his wheel and made their bumpers kiss. The Hispanic started to freak out. Men who stalked children knew the harsh reality of life in prison. Regular beatings, and when that got old, the other inmates often killed them. Desperate to escape, the Hispanic jumped the curb and drove across a heavily landscaped front lawn.

Pearl called him. “He’s getting away! Are you going to run him down?”

“No. I’m going to let him go,” Lancaster said.

“But he’s stalking Nicki!”

“We can’t prove that. He hasn’t broken any laws besides being a bad driver. If the police get involved, I could get in trouble. Get out of here. I’ll meet you in town.”

“Whatever you say.”

Pearl hung a left at the next intersection and took off. The pickup was still riding on lawns and tearing up irrigation systems, and Lancaster continued to follow. At the block’s end, the pickup returned to the street. Lancaster memorized the license plate before watching it drive away.

There was nothing like a car chase to get the heart pounding. He parked in front of a house being tented for termites and caught his breath. His old partner, Devon, was now employed at the Department of Motor Vehicles, and he texted him the pickup’s license and a message:

I need to know who owns this vehicle

What’s it worth? Devon replied.

I’ll take you out drinking

Try harder

Drinks and dinner

Call me tomorrow

How about lap dances at the Cheetah?

Now you’re talking. I’ll get back to you

He was making progress. He had a license plate and soon would have a name and an address, and that would lead to all sorts of interesting information about their stalker. No sooner had he pulled away from the curb than his cell phone rang.

“There’s another guy after my daughter,” Pearl said.

Las Olas was where the beautiful people hung out, its immaculate main drag filled with sidewalk cafés and trendy bars. Lancaster rarely went there, preferring beachfront dives where shirts were optional and no one was trying to make a fucking statement.

The Pearls had taken refuge in the public parking lot on the north side of the boulevard, huddled inside their SUV with the windows shut. Pearl nearly jumped out of his skin when Lancaster rapped his knuckles on the driver’s window. It lowered.

“You scared me. I never saw you,” Pearl said.

There was an art to stealth and concealment, and it had nothing to do with hiding in the shadows. It was all about blending in and not drawing attention to yourself. He glanced into the front seat and saw Nicki sandwiched protectively between her parents, her eyes moist. Part of his job was to make people feel safe; if he didn’t succeed, his clients fired him. He stepped away and did a quick inspection of the cars in the next row. He’d checked the vehicles moments ago, but repeated the drill to make the Pearls feel safe.

“Tell me what happened,” he said upon returning.

“We drove here and parked in the public lot south of the boulevard,” Pearl said. “We got out of the car and started to walk toward Alex and Ani to do some shopping. That’s when my wife spotted him.”

Melanie leaned forward in her seat and made eye contact. “He came out of nowhere, about thirty-five, wearing jeans and a pale-blue dress shirt. He looked normal, only he wasn’t. He was stalking Nicki.”

“What tipped you off?”

“I heard him muttering under his breath like a pervert.”

“Did you catch what he was saying?”

“Not all of it. But I did hear him say, ‘There she is.’ He sounded very excited, and was staring at Nicki with a horrible look in his eyes and then glancing at his cell phone. It was all I could do not to take out my can of Mace and spray him. Then Nolan got in his face, and he took off.”

“I got a photograph of him.” Nicki handed over her cell phone. “Maybe you can send it to the FBI and they can use their facial recognition software to make a match.”

“Did you learn about that in your CSI class?” he asked.

“Yes. My teacher said the FBI was the best at catching criminals.”

The FBI was run by arrogant assholes who took credit when cases got solved and pointed the finger when they broke bad. Lancaster hoped he never had to work another case with them again, only he wasn’t going to tell Nicki that and burst her bubble. Her cell phone’s pink case was an inappropriate frame for the photo of the creep that had been following her. The creep wore a diamond stud earring and had a pampered look.

He handed the phone back. “Have you ever seen this man before today?”

“Never,” Nicki said.

“How about you?” he asked her parents.

“I’ve never seen him before,” Melanie said.

“He was a stranger,” Pearl said.

Their answers sounded honest. Which made the creep a question mark, just like the rest of the men who were stalking Nicki.

“Do you want me to send the photo to you?” Nicki asked.

“Do it later,” he said. “Right now, I want to take a walk with you and your parents down Las Olas and do some shopping. Then we can grab some lunch.”

“Do you think that’s wise?” Pearl asked. “He might still be hanging around.”

“That’s what I’m hoping,” he said.

It was not unusual to see water running down Las Olas after a late-afternoon downpour, the streets being prone to overflowing after heavy rains. But today’s flooding was different, the water ankle-deep and rushing past with a biblical force. Standing on the curb, Nicki and her parents looked at him as if to say, what now?

Lancaster kicked off his Topsiders, pulled up the legs of his jeans, and waded in. A school of minnows raced past, tickling his calves. The photograph captured on Nicki’s cell phone might help him identify the creep, but that wasn’t going to tell him what the man’s motivation was. To do that, he needed to get the creep cornered, and put the fear of God into him. Las Olas was filled with alleys, and he planned to drag the guy down one, and make him start talking. As a cop, he was prohibited from doing that; as a civilian, he did it all the time, often with spectacular results.