G Is for Gumshoe

Equis, Bohemia, Corona…"
    "Beck's light," Dietz said.
    "Are you ready to order?"
    "No."
    The waiter stared at Dietz, then nodded and withdrew.
    Dietz said, "We probably won't see him for half an hour, but I hate being bullied into ordering."
    He picked up his story again about Bertie the crow, who liked to take long walks on foot and lived on a diet of M M's, hard-boiled eggs, and dry cat food. While Dietz talked, his gaze shifted restlessly around the room. He seldom looked at faces, always at hands, checking for concealed weapons, sudden movements, signals perhaps. Some underling arrived, bearing our drinks, but the waiter didn't return. Dietz scanned the dining room, but there was no sign of Mm. Twenty minutes passed. I could see Dietz take note and in a surge of uneasiness, he finally tossed a bill on the table and got up. "Let's get out of here. I don't like this."
    "Do you see everything as part of some plot?" I asked, trotting after him.
    "That may be all that keeps the two of us alive." I shrugged to myself and let it go at that. When we reached the front entrance, the Porsche was parked right up against the shrubs. He snagged the keys off the board himself and helped me into the car. He got in on his side and fired up the engine.
    We drove home along the beach. I was exhausted and my head was starting to pound. When we got to my apartment, Dietz hauled out his portable alarm system, which he showed me how to arm and disarm. He affixed it to the door.
    "I'll tell Henry to keep an ear turned while I'm out…"
    "You're going off somewhere?" I felt a little bubble of panic arise, testimony to how quickly I'd come to depend on him for my sense of personal safety.
    "I want to have another chat with Lieutenant Dolan. He said he'd talk to the Carson City DA and try to get an ID on this guy with the kid. Somebody must have heard of him. Maybe we can pick up a mug shot and at least figure out what he looks like. I'll be back in half an hour. You'll be fine here. Get some rest. You look beat."
    He took off while I downed a pain pill and headed up to the loft. I had promised to call Irene and I could feel the tiny voice of my conscience whining deep within. The phone rang just as I was pulling off my shoes. Dietz had told me not to answer it if he wasn't there, but I couldn't help myself. I leaned across the bed and picked up the receiver.
    It was Irene Gersh. "Oh good, it's you. I'm calling from the nursing home. I'm so glad you're there. I was afraid you were still out."
    "We just got in. I was thinking I should call you, but I hadn't worked up the energy."
    "Is this a bad time?"
    "It's fine. Don't worry about it. What's happening?"
    "Nothing. That's the point. I'm sorry to be such a pest, but I'm just beside myself. Mother's been gone now for eight hours and there's simply no sign of her. Clyde feels maybe we should get out and check the neighborhood ourselves."
    "Sounds smart," I said. "You need any help knocking on doors?" In that split second my concern for Agnes's safety overrode my worries about myself.
    "Thank you. We'd appreciate it. The longer Mother's on the loose, the more frightened I get. Somebody must have seen her."
    "You'd think so," I said. "When do you need me there?"
    "Soon if you could. Clyde called from work and he's on his way over now. If it's not too much trouble…" She gave me an address in the eleven hundred block of Concorde.
    "I'm on my way," I said and hung up. I put a quick call through to Lieutenant Dolan's office and left word for Dietz to meet me at the nursing home, reiterating the address. That done, I picked my way carefully down the stairs. I craved action. My whole body was seizing up in the wake of the accident and my joints felt stiff with rust. Certain postures caused excruciating pains to shoot through my neck, causing me to murmur, "Ow, ow, ow." I was hoping the painkiller would do its work before long.
    I found a jacket and my handbag, checked to make sure my little.32 was accounted for, and headed for the door, searching for my car keys in the outside leather pouch. Where the hell were they? I stopped dead, perplexed, and then it dawned on me. I didn't have transportation. My VW was still down in Brawley at the auto body shop. Well, hell, I thought.
    I turned on my heel, picked up the phone again, and called a cab. By that point, I had already begun to internalize some of Dietz's precautions. I knew better than to loiter outside on the curb in plain sight. I waited,