SITTING ON THE PASSENGER’S side of the rental car, Kane shifted on the seat, moved his legs to a more comfortable position, switched on the radio, found a light-rock station. It had been two hours since Diane had returned to the apartment after a trip to the corner grocery store. In that time, four others had entered the building. One of them, a dark-haired, attractive woman in her thirties, had arrived about an hour ago, and had left a half hour later. Her clothing and her manner had suggested that she’d come on business. Of the three others, one had been a young blonde woman, one had been a dark-haired, casually dressed young man in his twenties. The fourth visitor had been a refrigerator repair man, just departed. Minutes after entering the building, the dark-haired young man had briefly appeared in the window of the second-floor front apartment. Then the blonde had appeared in the same window, standing close to the man. Meaning that, certainly, the blonde was Carley Hanks. Meaning that the dark-haired man must be visiting Diane and Carley. Meaning that—
Across the street, the door to the apartment building was opening. The three of them—Diane, Carley, and the dark-haired man—were coming out. Carley and the man were touching each other, laughing into each other’s eyes. Diane, unsmiling, was looking straight ahead.
As Kane slid to his left, under the steering wheel, the two women and the man turned left, walking toward Clipper Street. Kane started the Buick’s engine, backed up, moved forward. Once more back, once more forward, until the car cleared the bumper of a pickup truck ahead. At the corner of Noe and Clipper, the trio turned left, disappeared behind a small apartment building.
It was around that corner, Kane knew, that Diane’s BMW was parked, faced east on Clipper. Slowly, cautiously, he was driving north on Noe, toward the four-way stop at the intersection. Glancing in the mirror, he saw two cars behind him. He was too close to the intersection to double-park, gesture for them to go around. But if he stopped too long at the intersection, waiting for Diane to start the BMW, the drivers behind him would surely begin sounding their horns. Meaning, certainly, that Diane would look toward the sound, see him, recognize him.
Two choices, then: turn right, on Clipper, or drive straight ahead. Fifty-fifty.
Inching the car forward as, yes, a horn blared behind him, he saw the three getting into the BMW, closing the door. Behind the wheel, Diane was settling herself, ready to drive off. Through the intersection now, out of her sight, he pulled to the right, stopped, gestured for the irate drivers behind to go around.
As, in the mirror, he saw the green BMW turning left, coming toward him. Giving him time enough to turn his head away, put his hand up beside his face. The BMW passed him with only a few feet of clearance. He waited for the BMW to get a half block ahead, then put the Buick in gear and drove slowly forward.