Читать книгу The Dark Tide - Andrew Gross, Andrew Gross - Страница 17

Down the street a man hunched in a darkened car, rain streaming on the windshield. He smoked as he watched the house and cracked the window a shade to flick the ashes onto the street.

The UPS truck had just left. He knew that what it brought would send things spinning. A short while later, Karen Friedman rushed out, a rain jacket over her head, and climbed into her Lexus.

Things promised to get interesting.

She backed out of the driveway and onto the street, reversed, and headed back toward him. The man hunched lower in the car, the Lexus’s headlights hitting his windshield, glistening sharply in the rain as it went by.

Hybrid, he noted, impressed, watching in the rearview mirror as it went down the block.

He picked up his phone, which was sitting on the passenger seat across from him, next to his Walther P38, punching in a private number. His gaze fell to his hands. They were thick, coarse, workman’s hands.

Time to get them dirty again, he sighed.

“Plan A doesn’t seem to be moving,” he said into the phone when the voice he was expecting finally answered.

“We don’t have forever,” the person on the other end replied.

“Exactamente.” He exhaled. He started his ignition, flicked an ash out the window, and took off at a slow pace, following the Lexus. “I’m already on Plan B.”