6.

I SAT THERE A moment, contemplating how to lose my tail. Then I finished my coffee and donut and exited Tang’s. The rain was quiet at the moment, not too heavy, and I waved at the guys in the car, then broke into a fast jog, exited the lot, and crossed Canyon Drive.

I was headed for the Gelson’s supermarket, which is right at the corner of Canyon and Franklin, and when I got to the other side of the street, I looked back and the guy I’d been having the staring contest with was slamming the Impala’s door and running after me.

I ran into Gelson’s—I had a good lead on the guy—and went to the housewares aisle, which always has just a few items, frying pans, baking implements, and things of that nature, and hanging from a hook, I saw what I had come in there for: a very sharp-looking paring knife.

I grabbed it, then went back to the front of the store and its half dozen registers, and my friend from the Impala was standing near the east-side entrance/exit, scanning for me and looking anxious.

By a register, I ducked behind a magazine stanchion, and he didn’t spot me, but I could see him. He was wearing a rain-streaked blue windbreaker and had lifeless brown hair and lifeless bland features. He was definitely FBI or something adjacent. His partner must have stayed at the car, figuring I’d have to come back for my vehicle.

The person in front of me at the register finished paying, and I stepped forward.

I was visible now, nothing to hide behind, and I quickly paid for the knife. I removed it from its packaging—I wanted to have it ready—and then the guy saw me.

I ran out the west-side exit, and he went out the east-side one.

Knife in my jacket pocket, I dashed across the parking lot, running between parked cars, and I was headed for the exit onto Franklin. My pursuer, an angry look on his face, was hell-bent on cutting me off, moving through an adjacent row of cars, and then we were both in the open.

He was just a few yards behind me, at an angle, but I didn’t think I could outrace him. So I veered toward him ever so slightly and he didn’t have time to slow down—the parking lot had a little bit of a downward slope to it and was slippery from the rain—and at the last second he understood what was going to happen and I saw panic in his eyes. He was probably around five nine, 150, and I’m six two, 190, and I ran right through him, like I was Jim Brown, and I didn’t look back, but I heard his body hit the pavement.

I then left the Gelson’s lot the way I had come in, and as I crossed Canyon, I saw that the other man from the Impala was crouching at the back of my car, wiping mud off the license plate. I took out the paring knife to get it ready, and just then he turned and saw me, and I ran to the Impala and jabbed the knife deep into its front right tire and yanked it out. I could hear the tire exhale, like an animal that’s been gored, and the guy who had been squatting by my car was now running at me in the rain.

I dropped the knife in my pocket, took out the baton, and charged him, the baton held up in the air like a cavalryman’s sword. Scared, he skidded to a stop and so I gave him the same treatment as his partner—he was built about the same—and I just plowed right through him. I heard his body hit the ground, and then I was in the Mercury, pulling out of the lot fast and onto Franklin.

In my rearview mirror, I saw the guy I had just flattened get up, and then I drove past the other one, who was limping out of the Gelson’s lot. I waved goodbye to him and made a left onto Bronson. It was 4:30. It would take me roughly twenty minutes to get to Atwater Village. Which was perfect. I didn’t want to be late for my Hollywood meeting.