Wonderful: I would spend some quality time with Alex Doncevic.
I began by checking online to see his status, and rechecking every fifteen minutes when it became clear that he was about to be released. At 4:32 his paperwork was in its final stages, and I moseyed down to the parking lot and drove over to the front door of the detention center.
I got there just in time, and there were plenty of people there ahead of me. Simeon really knew how to throw a party, especially if the press were involved, and they were all there waiting in a huge, unruly mob, the vans and satellite dishes and beautiful haircuts all competing for space. When Doncevic came out on Simeon’s arm, there was a clatter of cameras and the multiple thud of many elbows trying to clear a way, and the crowd surged forward like a pack of dogs pouncing on raw meat.
I watched from my car as Simeon made a long and heartwarming statement, answered a few questions, and then pushed through the crowd, towing Doncevic with him. They got into a black Lexus SUV and drove away, and after a moment, I followed.
Following another car is relatively simple, particularly in Miami, where there is always traffic, and it always acts irrationally. Since it was rush hour, all these things were even more so. I just had to stay back a bit, leaving a couple of cars between me and the Lexus. Simeon did nothing to show that he thought he was being followed. Of course, even if he spotted me he would assume I was a reporter hoping for a candid shot of Doncevic weeping with gratitude, and Simeon would do nothing more than make sure his good side was to the camera.
I followed them across town to North Miami Avenue, and dropped back a little as they turned onto Northeast Fortieth Street. I was fairly confident I knew where they were going now, and sure enough, Simeon pulled over in front of the building where Deborah had first met my new friend Doncevic. I drove past, circled the block once, and came back in time to see Doncevic get out of the Lexus and head into the building.
Happily for me, there was a parking spot where I could see the door. I pulled into it, turned off the engine, and waited for darkness, which would come as it always did, to find Dexter ready for it. And tonight, at last, after such a long and dreary stay in the daytime world, ready to join with it, revel in its sweet and savage music, and play a few chords of Dexter’s own minuet. I found myself impatient with the ponderous, slowly sinking sun, and eager for the night. I could feel it stretching out for me, leaning in to spread through me, flexing its wings, easing the knots out of the too-long-unused muscles and preparing to spring—
My phone rang.
“It’s me,” said Rita.
“I’m sure it is,” I said.
“I think I have a really good—what did you say?”
“Nothing,” I said. “What’s your really good?”
“What?” she said. “Oh—I’ve been thinking about what we said. About Cody?”
I pulled my mind back from the pulsing darkness I had been feeding and tried to remember what we had said about Cody. It had been something about helping him come out of his shell, but I did not remember that we had actually decided anything beyond a few vague platitudes designed to make Rita feel better while I carefully placed Cody’s feet on the Harry Path. So I just said, “Oh, right. Yes?” in the hope of drawing her out just a bit.
“I was talking to Susan? You know, over on One hundred thirty-seventh? With the big dog,” she said.
“Yes,” I said. “I remember the dog.” As indeed I did—it hated me, like all domestic animals do. They all recognize me for what I am, even if their masters do not.
“And her son, Albert? He’s been having a really positive experience with the Cub Scouts. And I thought, that might be just right for Cody.”
At first the idea didn’t make any sense at all. Cody? A Cub Scout? It seemed like serving cucumber sandwiches and tea to Godzilla. But as I stammered for a reply, trying to think of something that was neither outraged denial nor hysterical laughter, I actually caught myself realizing that it was not a bad idea. It was, in fact, a very good idea that would mesh perfectly with the plan to make Cody fit in with human children. And so, caught halfway between irritated denial and enthusiastic acceptance, I quite distinctly said, “Hi didda yuh-kay.”
“Dexter, are you all right?” Rita said.
“I, uh, you caught me by surprise,” I said. “I’m in the middle of something. But I think it’s a great idea.”
“Really? You really do?” she said.
“Absolutely,” I said. “It’s the perfect thing for him.”
“I was hoping you’d say so,” she said. “But then I thought, I don’t know. What if—I mean, you really do think so?”
I really did, and eventually I made her believe me. But it took several minutes, since Rita is able to speak without breathing and, quite often, without finishing a sentence, so that she got out fifteen or twenty disconnected words for every one of mine.
By the time I finally persuaded her and hung up, it was slightly darker outside, but unfortunately much lighter inside me. The opening notes of Dexter’s Dance Suite were muted now, some of the rising urgency blurred by the sound track of Rita’s call. Still, it would come back, I was quite sure.
In the meantime, just to look busy, I called Chutsky.
“Hey, buddy,” he said. “She opened her eyes again a few minutes ago. The doctors think she’s starting to come around a little bit.”
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “I’m coming by a little later. I just have some loose ends to take care of.”
“Some of your people have been coming by to say hi,” he said. “Do you know a guy named Israel Salguero?”
A bicycle went by me in the street. The rider thumped my side mirror and went on past. “I know him,” I said. “Was he there?”