Ackerman had never truly owned much of anything, let alone an automobile. He had forcefully commandeered several of them over the years. Still, stealing a car was a totally different feeling from purchasing one. At least, he supposed it would be. To actually earn the money to purchase a vehicle sounded oddly appealing. He would have to ask Marcus later what they planned to give him for a salary. Because, if he was going to save up for a car, he would want a classic piece of machinery like the one owned by Detective Natalie Ferrera.
Leaning forward from the back of the convertible and speaking over the wind, Ackerman asked, “I respect your choice in automobile, Detective Ferrera. What is the make, model, and year of your vehicle?”
The beautiful Hispanic detective replied, “Thanks, and it’s a 1964 Ford Falcon Futura.”
From the passenger seat, Marcus added, “This is the same car used in the 1987 movie Summer School starring Mark Harmon.”
Natalie Ferrera said, “Wow. I didn’t know that.”
“Really? I assumed that was why you had bought it.”
As she wheeled the fifty-three year old automobile onto Haight and Ashbury, Natalie replied, “No, it was my dad’s car. We restored it together.”
Ackerman resisted the urge to point out that his brother’s obsession with particular subjects was a common ASD indicator, much like Dylan’s obsession with Lego. Marcus hadn’t said much since hearing the diagnosis bombshell, and so Ackerman decided to let him process the info a bit more before calling out observations of symptoms.
As they rolled down the street, the skunk-like smell of marijuana was prominent in the air. The sidewalks bustled with conspicuous tourists and obvious locals alike. Natalie slowed to a crawl beside one storefront and yelled, “Baxter Kincaid!”
Most of the sidewalk’s occupants glared over at the convertible as if they were escaped mental patients—which Ackerman supposed was accurate in his case. But what he found especially interesting was the three people who pointed up the street, directing Natalie towards Kincaid.
Marcus said, “Popular guy.”
Driving slowly and scanning for Baxter, she said, “I suppose, depending on your perspective.”
Spotting the private investigator hurrying up the street beside a Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream parlor, Ackerman said, “He’s right there. Didn’t we have an appointment with Mr. Kincaid? Why is he running from us?”
Focused in on Baxter and increasing speed, Natalie replied, “We’re not chasing him, and he’s not running from us. Sometimes he loses track of time, and he hasn’t been answering his cell. I think he’s upset about the shooting in his neighborhood. He gets this way sometimes.”
Natalie closed the distance and brought the Falcon to a screeching halt beside the curb. The sudden noise drew Baxter’s attention, and that of everyone else on the street. Ackerman noticed a tall black man about thirty feet ahead of Baxter turn around, notice the car and Kincaid, and take off sprinting in the opposite direction.
Shaking his head, Baxter approached the convertible and said, “You just scared off someone with whom I needed to have a serious discussion.”
“Then why aren’t you chasing him?” Ackerman asked.
Baxter laughed and shrugged. “That dude is a member of the gang that controls the machine-pistol trade in the city. It’s a Kenyan gang. As in, that dude is straight up from Kenya. His spirit animal is the gazelle. Sometimes, you got to know when to fold ‘em. Plus, if I’m supposed to catch up to him, the Universe will give me another shot.”
Natalie said, “You were supposed to meet me at the station. We’re going to see Illustrated Dan, remember?”
“Sorry, Nat, I’ve been a might distracted with this shooting business.”
“I know. But let’s get going. The feds here have an appointment for a special viewing of their Diamond Room.”
Baxter hopped over the trunk and landed in the back seat beside Ackerman. “Then let’s go talk to Dan the Man.”