James Swain - The King Tides

He reached the median and turned around. The Pearls were taking their time crossing. Traffic was light, and they paid scant attention to passing cars. It wouldn’t have been hard for a car to stop, and a bad guy to jump out and grab their daughter.

They joined him on the median.

“Here’s the deal,” he said. “First, you need to start paying better attention to your surroundings. The driver of one of the cars that just passed was leering at your daughter. It could have been nothing, or he could have had bad intentions.”

“I didn’t even see him,” Pearl said.

“I know you didn’t. You need to keep your heads up when you’re in public with Nicki. If someone’s following you, your peripheral vision will catch him. Understood?”

Nicki’s parents looked ashamed, and they both nodded. Nicki was a good kid, and she grabbed both their hands and gave them a squeeze. It brought a smile to their faces.

“Now, here’s the plan,” he said. “We’re going to cross to the other side so you can do some window shopping. Take your time and keep Nicki sandwiched between you. That way, no one can jump out and make a move for her. I’ll stay twenty feet back and tail you. If I see the guy from earlier, I’ll pull him down an alleyway and make him talk to me. If that happens, I want you to go inside the nearest store, and stay there until I come and get you. We all clear?”

The Pearls said yes. Nicki bit her lower lip and said, “What if someone tries to kidnap me like those horrible men yesterday? Will you shoot them?”

“If I have to,” he said.

They put the plan in motion. The Pearls crossed to the south side of Las Olas and started window gazing. Lancaster remained behind and studied the street for any suspicious characters. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary, he crossed as well.

The block between Eighth and Ninth Avenues was filled with art galleries that sold expensive paintings and blown glass, the storefronts painted in bright pastels with each having its own colorful canopy. The Pearls strolled down the sidewalk, stopping to point and admire. They were acting like nothing was wrong, and he gave them credit for pulling it off. Most people were not so brave, especially when their kid’s welfare was at stake.

Reaching the block’s end, they crossed the street. From out of nowhere, a black BMW pulled up to the curb, and a man jumped out holding a garment box. The guy wore alligator cowboy boots and designer threads and seemed intent on making a fashion statement. Either he was going into a store to return an item, or he was a threat to Nicki.

Training for his first deployment to become a SEAL had given him lightning reflexes that were now hardwired into his DNA. He barreled into the man and sent him sprawling to the sidewalk. The garment box hit the ground, and the lid flew off. A purple Lacoste shirt lay inside. Acting embarrassed, he helped the man to his feet.

“I’m sorry, I never saw you. Are you okay?”

The man scowled. “You should be more careful. I could have been hurt.”

“Do you need to go to a hospital?”

“No, I’ll live. Just watch where you’re going.”

“I will. Sorry again. Have a nice day.”

Lancaster caught up with the Pearls. They had stopped in front of New River Fine Art, one of the street’s more prestigious galleries. “I need for you to wait inside the gallery for a few minutes,” he said. “I want to make sure that guy doesn’t call the police.”

Pearl frowned. “But he wasn’t hurt. I heard him tell you that.”

“He might change his mind and press charges. Have you seen all the billboards on I-95 for personal injury attorneys? People like to sue.”

“As a doctor, I’m well aware of how much people like to sue.” Pearl looked at his wife and daughter. “Are you okay with going inside for a few minutes?”

Nicki and Melanie both said they’d be fine inside the gallery.

“Don’t worry, I’ll be right across the street,” Lancaster said.

The Pearls entered New River and were greeted by the owner. Nicki turned around and waved to him through the glass front door.

He crossed to the north side of Las Olas and stood in front of a coffee shop while looking for any sign of the police. As a cop he’d been sued several times, the cases all bull. Yet each one had been settled out of court because the department didn’t want to waste money going to trial. The attorneys who’d sued him were bottom-feeders who’d never tried a case. It was a lousy system, yet no one was in a hurry to fix it.

If the man he’d knocked down decided to sue, he’d first have to press charges, and get the cops to believe his version of things. Every store on Las Olas had surveillance cameras fixed on the street, and the odds were good there was a high-resolution video of the altercation that the police would want to see.

Ten minutes slipped away without any sign of the law. He sent Pearl a text, asking him if things were good inside the gallery.

All is well, Pearl replied. Need to go soon. Melanie wants to buy a painting!

Pearl was managing to keep his sense of humor. That was a good sign, since there was a chance the situation with Nicki would get worse before it got better. Across the street, the man in the alligator boots came out of a clothing store talking into his cell phone. The BMW appeared at the curb, and he hopped in and departed.

Lancaster was happy to have that behind him. He didn’t like hurting innocent people, but sometimes he had no choice. His cell phone vibrated. Pearl calling.

“What’s up?” he answered.

“A guy is staring at Nicki through the front window,” Pearl said.

He gazed across the street at New River’s storefront. A small group of people was clustered in front of the store, and he couldn’t tell which was the offending party.

“Describe him.”

“He’s wearing chinos and a porkpie hat,” Pearl said. “Slender build, milky white skin. There’s an airline ticket sticking out of his shirt pocket with an Air Canada logo. He’s got a cell phone in his hand that he stares at when he’s not looking at my daughter.”

Lancaster picked the guy out of the crowd. The Canadian was several inches taller than the group he was standing with and skinny to the point of being unhealthy. “I see him. Stay inside the gallery. I’ll be right there.”

“Melanie is starting to get scared. Where are they coming from?”

“I don’t know,” he replied.

He got his shoes soaking wet crossing the street. It was starting to feel like a game of Whac-A-Mole. Every time he got rid of a creep, another one popped up and started stalking Nicki. He hopped a bush in the median and got splashed by a passing car. The navy had conditioned him to being wet, and he pushed it out of his mind. The crowd in front of New River had thinned, and the Canadian stood alone by the front window.

The traffic gone, he started to cross. The Canadian was fixated on Nicki and kept staring at the images playing on his cell phone. The Hispanic in the pickup had also been staring at images on his cell phone. This was the link that tied Nicki’s stalkers together. If he could get his hand on the Canadian’s cell phone, he’d be one step closer to figuring out what was going on. As his foot touched the curb, the Canadian spied him in the window’s reflection and started to walk away.

“Excuse me,” Lancaster said. “Don’t I know you?”

It was a line that he’d often used as a cop. The Canadian wasn’t buying it and beat a hasty retreat down the sidewalk.

“Stop,” he said, trotting after him.

“Leave me alone,” the Canadian said.

“I don’t mean any harm. I just want to talk to you.”

“I’ll be the judge of that. Go away.”