Dead Watch

out. The door opened on a sidewalk along another street, less busy than the front, but still with cars moving along it.
    Jake went back up, got in the car, and they drove back out. Madison asked, “What?”
    “We could do it,” he said.
    “If we get caught, Goodman’ll put us in jail,” she said. “If the cop hasn’t shot you.”
    “I might be able to blackmail my way out of it. If the cop hasn’t shot me.”
    “Tell me . . .”

    He outlined his idea, and she said, “If anyone sees you going in, they’ll tell the police that it was a man with a limp. They’ll know who it is.”
    “If I walk on a left tiptoe, I don’t limp. I can’t do it for long, but I can do it for a few hundred yards.”
    “So what am I supposed to do?” she asked. “Wait at Mom’s house until I find out whether you’re dead?”
    “That would be the pessimistic version of it,” Jake said.
    “Bullshit. I’ll drive.”
    He smiled at her: “I was hoping you’d offer.”

    He got a ball-peen hammer at a Home Depot on Broad Street and a pair of cotton work gloves. They drove back to Westboro’s and parked a block away, where they could see the front of the parking garage.
    “There’ll be a lot of traffic, starting just before noon,” Madison said. “People grabbing the good seats that aren’t reserved.”
    Jake looked at his watch and yawned nervously. She picked it up and yawned back. “We could neck for a while,” he said.
    “I’m too scared.”
    “You don’t have to drive . . .”
    “No-no. I’ve been talking big,” she said. “I’ll do it. But I’m still scared.”
    “Good. Scared is realistic. Just don’t freeze and leave me on the street.”
    Now she nodded: “Maybe you’ll learn to trust me.”

    Tried to make conversation as they watched politicians and hustlers streaming into Westboro’s: “Was Howard Barber the guy who had me beaten up?”
    “I hope not,” she said.
    “I’m not asking what you hope,” Jake said. “I’m asking what you think. At that point, Goodman had no reason to go after me. You guys did.”
    “Kind of narrows the range, doesn’t it.” She pursed her lips, looking out the windows, and then said, “I asked him. He didn’t say ‘yes,’ but he never said ‘no.’ He avoided the question. And he definitely knows people who’d do it. You scared him. He wanted to slow you down.”
    “I’d like to get his people alone. One at a time. With my stick.”

    “I’d like you to stay over tonight,” Jake said. He yawned again, and she yawned back. Both nervous. The hands on the car clock seemed to be plowing through glue. “You know, mostly because . . . I’d like you to stay over.”
    “We could talk about the role of NATO in the new Europe,” she said.
    “Yeah, yeah . . . but tomorrow, I want you to go home. Carry on as usual, don’t do anything cute, don’t play to the bug, if there is one. Just carry on. There’s gonna be a lot to talk about anyway. The shit is already headed for the fan.”
    “Where are you going to be?”
    “Running around,” he said.
    “You’re not going to get hurt?”
    “Certainly hope not.”
    “Maybe I ought to run with you.”
    “That won’t be . . . uh—here’s a Mercury.”

    Cathy Ann Dorn would have made a good spy, Jake thought. The Mercury was right on time, six minutes after twelve. The car disappeared into the parking garage, and four minutes later, Arlo Goodman walked out, trailed by a big man in a dark suit and sunglasses. Both were empty-handed.
    “The bottom of my stomach just dropped out,” Madison said. She started the car.
    “Don’t leave me on the street.”
    “You do it, and get out in a hurry,” she said. “What . . . what if there’s some kind of booby trap?”
    “There’s not even a booby trap in the president’s car,” Jake said.
    “What if there’s a camera or something?”
    “There won’t be a camera . . .” But he reached into the backseat and found the Atlanta Braves hat he’d bought in Atlanta. He put it on and popped the door.
    She said, “Wait. Wait for five minutes, so we know Goodman hasn’t sent the cop back to get something.”
    They sat for three minutes, then Jake popped the door again. “Gotta go. Don’t take any phone calls.”
    “Wait.” She was digging in her purse, pulled out a silk scarf, said, “Put this over your face. Like a bandanna. In case there’s a camera.”
    “Jesus.” But he took the scarf. “My biggest worry is that a