Chapter 2

 

I take a moment to catch my breath before I hyperventilate. Long enough for the morning nine to five, working-stiff rush to dissipate, leaving the coffee shop parking lot empty.

From a distance, I watch her slip behind the wheel of a newer model, black Lexus. Watch her take a quick sip of her coffee, then set it into the center console cup holder before she starts the car, backs out. Watch her slowly make the short drive to the exit where she carefully looks both ways prior to hooking a slow left onto Broadway, in the direction of North Albany.

Maybe I should follow her. Maybe I should get my shit together and tail her for a while. But then, what if I’m wrong? What if the woman I just saw going in and out of the coffee joint only looked like Lola? If that does indeed turn out to be the truth, then I am destined to be even more lonely and broken hearted than I already am.

It’s only been a matter of months since I left her there, dead, on the road. What if I were to chase the woman in the aviator sunglasses down and she only turns out to be a Lola lookalike? I’ll lose the love of my life a second time. But that’s fucking whack. Is it possible I’d rather not confirm the fact that Lola lives more than I would want to reconfirm her death? Where’s the sense in that? But then, it’s Dick Moonlight here. I haven’t got the sense to come in out of the rain. That is, if it were raining in the first place.

I start the hearse, back out of the spot. Throwing the big tranny in drive, I make it across the lot to the exit. Which leaves me with a choice. I can go left on Broadway, try and find the black Lexus, or I can turn right, head on back to my riverside loft in time for my meeting with a prospective client. A paying client.

Peeling my right hand from off the steering wheel, I place it over my heart, like I hope to die. I’ll let my heart decide. I can feel it pounding, bleeding, through my leather coat, through my flesh and ribs. My heart is crying for Lola with every beat.

Chase heart ache or a paycheck? Which way?

What if the woman in the Lexus is not her?

I punch the gas, go right.