I saw her at 1:05PM, but not where I expected. She appeared on the opposite side of the street; walking fast in the direction of the car lot, then made a quick right turn and came toward the store. I watched her head swivel left and right as she crossed the street and stepped between the gas pumps, then around the back of a car. The last I saw was the top of her head as she crossed underneath the camera’s field of view.
I looked on the shelves near me for the videos from the store’s inside camera and found them. I located the one I wanted and put it in the player, fast-forwarding until she came into view as she entered the store. She went to the sunglasses, picked out a pair, and then put them on as she edged to the back of the store.
I knew what she was doing, because it was the same thing I did. She was watching the street. The camera showed Loomis waiting on several people as she remained near the back of the store to observe.
Three times she lowered down until only the top of her head was visible above the shelves, then she would rise and look some more. I rewound and noted the times she ducked down. After about five minutes, she went to the counter and paid Loomis for the sunglasses and left.
I changed tapes back to the outside camera and watched the str
eet. I didn’t have long to wait. At two of the times she ducked down, the black cowboy drove by, going slow and looking around.
The third time there was a gunmetal gray Hummer driving at a slow pace, with someone huge behind the wheel. The driver was an enormous white man with eyes like bullet holes and arms as large as my thigh. He had the windows down, looking left and right, front and back, checking everything and everybody within sight.
The guy filled half the front seat with his bulk. I took down the license plate. Five minutes later I watched the girl re-cross the street and trot toward the car lot. She reached the wash rack area as a bus passed between us and I lost sight of her. When the bus cleared, she was gone.
I put the tapes back and went out to chat some more with Loomis. “Thanks,” I said. I looked around the store and said, “Is working here better than at the hotel?”
“Oh sure. Good benefits, and if I play my cards right, I could get all the way up to assistant store manager, be somebody people notice. That’s my dream.”
“Good luck.” I gave him twenty dollars for letting me look at the tapes, then left the store and returned to the car lot.
Atticus saw me and came over with the keys. I looked at Shamu, so shiny and clean she sparkled in the sunlight. “Thanks, guys. It’s never looked so good.”
“Professionals, that’s us,” Atticus said.
“What do I owe you?”
“We did it for fun, amigo. No charge.”
On a hunch I asked, “Say, any of you know a black guy, wears a cowboy hat?”
They looked at each other. Tomas said, “That’s a bad dude. Kills people for hire, is the word.”
Atticus said, “His name’s John Wesley.”
“Like the Old West gunfighter?”
“Maybe so. They say he’s from the Arizona border country, did real cowboy work before he came here.”
How about a big white guy, I mean really big, drives a gray Hummer?
Their eyes got large, and they looked at each other again. Atticus said, “Magilla. Got to be Magilla.”
I raised my eyebrows. Atticus said, “Like Magilla Gorilla, that old cartoon show. Man, you need to know your competition if you’re going to start asking questions like that. Get you killed, ese.”
Tomas said, “In your Will, put the truck to us!” They hoo-hawed at that one, slapping low fives and bumping shoulders.
“Tell me about Magilla.”
Atticus said, “You ever watch National Geographic, any of those shows about the big mountain gorillas?” I nodded. “Shave all the hair off one of them and you’ve got Magilla, except he’s white. He has the big forehead and brows, a big, big barrel chest, and huge arms. He’s crowding seven feet and must weigh four hundred pounds.” Atticus scratched his head, “Man, how could you not know about him? Guy’s legendary. He bends railroad spikes with his hands like I bend licorice sticks.”
“What’s he into?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I know about him, not what he does. Some things you don’t ask.”
“Are Magilla and John Wesley working together?”
“Don’t know, don’t want to know. Finding out that kind of information might lead to a shortened life span, you dig?