Inherit the Dead

baby, and keep it that way. Let’s change subjects. I’m minding this”—he searched for an adjective—“ditsy twenty-year-old who claims her mother wants to kill her.”
    Instantly distracted, Nicky laughed. “Does she know Mom? Maybe there’s a club they both belong to.” Then as they turned onto the block heading to the apartment, a car went around them. “Dad, see that car?” Nicky asked, “the one that looks as though it got rear-ended? It was behind you when you parked. I saw it drive by when I was looking for you from the window.”
    Perry felt the hairs on the back of his neck begin to bristle. “Are you sure it’s the same one?”
    “Oh, I mean, I think it is. How many cars look as if they’re banged in the same spot?”
    Like father, like daughter, he said to himself.
    “Who knows? There was a fender bender when I was on my way over. Can you believe it? There’s a spot in front of the building. But pull your hood on anyhow. Let’s make it look good for Mom.”
    He stopped the car, and Nicky leaned over to kiss him. “I love you, Daddy. Try to be on time next time.”
    “I’m going to the door with you.”
    “That’s silly.”
    “No, it isn’t.”
    Harry the doorman was opening the door for Nicky. “Good night, Sherlock Holmes,” he said to Perry.
    “I’m taking her up to the apartment,” Perry said. “I’ll just be a minute. Keep your eye open for flying objects.”
    This time they waited for the elevator to descend from the twelfth floor. “Daddy, you’re worried because I told you about that car,” Nicky said.
    “Nicky, I’m on a funny kind of case. If you see it again in thisneighborhood or around the school, you’ve got to promise you’ll tell the nearest adult that I’m worried about it and then call me. And if possible get a license number but don’t get close to it. This isn’t fooling around. Okay?”
    The elevator came, and they got into it. “If anyone is tailing your car, they’re after you, not me, Dad. You be careful. Promise.”
    “Promise.”
    They got off the elevator and Perry waited as Nicky unlocked the door. “I won’t make any final farewells inside. Let Mom and Corny split the wishbone in peace.” He hugged her. “Talk to you tomorrow, Nick. Who loves you?”
    “You do. And I love you.”
    Perry checked his phone. There were no messages. Time to see Julia.
    He went back downstairs, through the lobby, and out to his car. He had left it running and the windshield wipers were screeching. Forestalling any comment from Harry, who was holding open the door for an elderly couple, he jumped into the car and drove away. The rain was pouring down, and try as he might he had no way of knowing if he was being followed as he approached the Brooklyn Bridge.
    And then he saw it, a dark car inching up on him, then trying to pass, way too close for comfort. He sped up. The black car did, too. He weaved in and out of the traffic, and the black car followed. No doubt it was a tail. Then as he was halfway across the bridge the car sideswiped him. The sound of scraping metal was loud in Perry’s ears, and his Datsun skidded on the wet road.
    Clutching the wheel, he tried to keep his car from flipping over. It lifted into the air, teetering for a breathtaking moment before slamming down on the road instead of going directly into the railing.
    Even with the hopeless flapping of the windshield wipers, Perrycould see that the car that had sideswiped him had a battered trunk. Jamming his foot on the accelerator, he pursued his aggressor, darting in and out of traffic to the tune of frantic honking and slamming brakes, until he was over the bridge and in the maze of city traffic, where he lost his would-be assailant.

Damn—Damn—Damn—
    You punch your fist against the steering wheel as you try to navigate the traffic of the Manhattan streets. You try to breathe normally, your mind spinning.
    So you didn’t stop him, didn’t send his piece of shit car over the side of the bridge.
    So what?
    Forget him.
    A car horn beeps and you jump. You check the rearview mirror for the tenth time. But it’s not him, you’ve lost him. You’re okay. Better than okay.
    You drive through the streets, your blood pumping, your head throbbing. It’s time. You’ve got to do it already—what you planned to do from the beginning, why you followed the PI in the first place.
    You’ve got to take care of it. Now. You can’t wait anymore.
    Do it.
    You repeat the words, your