We tucked ourselves into an alley. Twenty minutes later, the last of the dessert shop staff locked the door, the click echoing. Through the reflection in a store window, I watched the homeless man stand, stretch... then retreat farther into the alcove and curl up in its shadows.
"Fuck," I said.
Jack grunted his agreement.
We waited, hoping he was just resting or that a passing cop would roust him. But the man stayed in his corner, the sidewalk stayed empty, and the street saw a car only every few minutes.
"If he's asleep, maybe we can..." I shook my head. We couldn't risk it.
We waited until a distant church bell rang twice, and my nose and toes had gone numb. Then Jack shook his head and motioned me toward the car. We weren't getting into the Byrony Agency tonight.
"Three hours to Evelyn's," Jack said as we climbed in. "This time of night? Probably less."
"You don't need to come up with distractions for me, Jack. Yes, I'm disappointed, but we knew this wouldn't be an easy break-in. We'll try again tomorrow night, with backup plans for dealing with the guy, if that's his regular spot. If we're lucky, we'll have Quinn. I'm sure he can p
lay cop and send him on his way."
"Wasn't a distraction. Just saving time. Getting it over with. Unless you're tired..."
"Even if I was, I don't think I'd sleep."
"Good." He opened the door and got out. "Take first shift. Head to 94 west."
There was no rush so we stopped for washroom breaks, leg stretches, and coffee runs, taking turns at the wheel. I'll admit I'd hoped one of those stops would be a cigarette break, so I could hear Jack's story. I wasn't as interested in knowing how he'd broken his foot as in the simple fact of his telling me, trusting me enough to share a story that was, as he said, embarrassing. But he didn't suggest it, and I started to feel a little silly about our deal, maybe even rude, asking for a personal story before I gave him the cigarettes. So at the last driver switch, thirty minutes from Fort Wayne, I opened the hatch and slid the pack from my bag to his.
We arrived at Evelyn's just before six. Jack parked at the usual strip mall around the corner. If it seemed like we'd stay longer than a couple of hours, he'd move the car to her garage.
As we climbed her steps, I asked what time she expected us.
"Doesn't."
"She doesn't know we're coming? We're showing up, unannounced, on her doorstep at six in the morning? That's not very nice."
"Yeah."
I laughed. He knocked, then waited ten seconds and knocked again.
After another minute came the faint sound of footsteps on the stairs. Now she needed to check who it was. There wasn't a peephole. In this neighborhood, populated with upper-middle-class retirees, I'm sure there were lots of peepholes. But Evelyn would never get one installed for fear she'd be mistaken for something a lot worse than a cautious retired criminal: a nervous little old lady. And, besides, peepholes? This was the twenty-first century. For Evelyn, nothing short of a wireless, motion-detecting, autotracking closed-circuit camera would do.
Locks sounded. I counted off all three, then waited for a sharp command to the dogs. It came, followed by the scrabble of their claws on the stairs as they headed back up to bed.
The door opened. Evelyn stood there, wearing a pale yellow linen shirt and gray slacks, the shirt slightly cockeyed, the only sign the outfit had been hastily pulled on. She raked her hand through her white bob and fixed Jack with a killer glare.
"What the hell are you doing here?"
"Visit," he said. "Owed you one, right?"
"Not at five o'clock in the goddamned morning."
"Six."
"Get the hell in here, before I catch pneumonia."
Her sharp eyes followed Jack as he entered, sliding down to his feet. "I thought you had another two weeks in that cast."
"Changed my mind."
"And yes, I tried to stop him," I said. "But it was help or let him do it himself and risk hacking off more than the cast. Apparently, it was hampering his ability to help me with the case. My case, may I point out, which I was perfectly happy to investigate alone while he rested."