Detective

and—
    I was back in my car in nothing flat, surprised to get that far and happy to be alive. I gunned the motor and pulled out from the curb.
    I don’t know what impelled me to look at the vector as I went by the house. Perhaps I just wanted to see it point to where my would-be killers were.;
    But it didn’t. It didn’t swing and point to the house at all. It kept pointing slightly ahead and to the right. But as I passed the next house, the vector swung all the way around and pointed back the other way.
    I slammed on my brakes and pulled into the curb. I couldn’t believe it. Wrong car, wrong house! How could I? I hadn’t checked the vector by driving by the house first. I hadn’t checked the license plate on the car. I hadn’t even checked the number on the house. Morons. I got morons on my team.
    I got out of the car. I was so angry I slammed the door, screw the noise. I strode back to the house I’d just passed. This one was entirely dark. I walked up to Red’s car, bent down, and snapped on the flashlight.
    There they were, the transmitter and the bag of coke. Two of the suction cups had come loose and were dragging on the. ground, and how Red missed them was beyond me, but the bag was still there. There was a big hole worn in one corner where it had dragged on the ground, but the dope was still in it.
    I snapped off the other two suction cups. I was going to take the transmitter too, but thought better of it. Maybe I was just trying to make up for the bonehead plays I’d made so far, but it occurred to me Red might make another run, and it might help to know where he went. Besides, I could always find the transmitter if I wanted to take it off later. At any rate, I left it on the car.
    I got back in my car and drove home. I held it well under the speed limit, what with a kilo of coke on board, and it was 7:15 when I double-parked in front of my building.
    I went upstairs, where my wife was just waking up, and gave her the impression that I had just now gotten out of bed and gone to double-park the car for the alternate-side parking regulations. I shaved, brushed my teeth, went out, had a cup of coffee and a doughnut, and drove downtown. I left my car in the Municipal lot on 54th and Eighth Avenue, which at eighty-five cents per half-hour is great for short stops and prohibitive for all day, ran down to my office, dropped off the kilo of coke, ran back, got in the car and made it down to Donaldson’s by 9:00—tired, exhausted, angry, feeling like a fool, and knowing damn well he’d never show before noon.
    The first sign of life was about 2:30. The blind in an upstairs window went up. By about three a knockout of a teenage girl came out. Another left at 3:15. What was I doing wrong?
    About 3:30 a hired car pulled up in front It wasn’t a limousine, but it wasn’t a taxi either. It was car #278 from one of those fleets of hired cars you can call up and order if you move enough coke to be able to afford it.
    The driver got out and rang the doorbell, and Donaldson came out. This was the first time I’d gotten a good look at him. He was youngish, say thirty, and of medium height and build. He wasn’t ugly, but he wasn’t handsome enough to rate two teenage girls. Ah, the wonders of coke. He seemed to look none the worse for his evening of wear.
    He got in the car and drove off, with me following. We went through the Midtown Tunnel. This driver obviously was paid just to drive.
    I knew where we were going, but I had to be sure. With each turn I got surer and surer. L.I.E., Grand Central, Van Wyck, Southern Boulevard, Sunrise Highway.
    The car headed south, twisted and turned, and finally pulled into the driveway of Millsap’s house. Bingo. Jackpot. I drove on by and headed home.
    I felt pretty good. I had it all now. I’d run down all my leads, tested all my theories, and they’d all checked out. I’d followed the trail, Dumbo to Bambi to Pluto (great double play combination). I had a line on Floridian #1 and #2, via Red. I knew why Gutierrez and Albrect had been killed, and while I didn’t know exactly who had pulled the trigger, I knew what men had ordered it done. Starting from scratch, with only Albrect’s story, so lacking in critical information, to go on, I had figured all this out.
    I knew the whole setup now. I had only one more problem. What the hell was I going to do about it?

21.
    I R ENTED THE C OSTUME AT a theatrical supply house near my office. I rented a car from one of the