A Flicker of Doubt - Tim Myers [55]
I slumped down in the driver’s seat as the man approached and found myself praying he wouldn’t look my way. He didn’t pay the Ford the slightest attention as he walked past. The man was intent on something, unaware of the world around him.
I waited until he was a block past me, then I slipped out of my truck and started following him on foot. I’ locked the deposit up in the glove box, so at least wouldn’t be a repeat of what had happened to me before. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing another deposit because of my own carelessness. There were several groups of strollers out walking the streets of Micah’s Ridge, though all the stores but Hannalee’s Icy Treats were closed. Hannalee made the ice creams she sold herself, using the highest butterfat she could from a dairy herd just out of town. It was good enough so that folks came from Hickory, Lenoir, Elkton Falls, Harper’s Landing, Bethlehem and Boone for a taste of one of her special blends.
I thought the stranger was going to duck into Hannalee’s for a second, but he passed it by. I followed him, being careful not to be spotted, though it didn’t appear the man would notice me if I were on fire. He turned down a side street, and I hurried after him so I wouldn’t lose him.
As I turned the corner, I felt myself being flung back against the side of the brick building. The man I’d been following had me pinned against the wall with a broken piece of wood he must have found nearby. The board was jammed into my chest, making it hard to breathe and nearly impossible to move. It appeared that I hadn’t been nearly as slick as I thought I had following him.
He said in a low voice, “Okay, what do you want?”
“What are you talking about?” I sputtered;
“You’ve been tailing me for three blocks. What do you think, I’m blind? I asked you a question.”
He pressed harder on my chest, and I felt my lungs constrict from the pressure of the wood.
“You know what I want,” I said. “What happened to Becka Lane?”
That got his attention, but not in a good way. He was really applying the pressure now. “What about her? Who are you?”
“What did you do to her?”
He looked at me a second, then said, “Buddy, you’ve got the wrong guy. I never laid a hand on her.”
“You’re lying. I saw you coming out of her apartment I wasn’t alone, either.”
He shook his head. “I was doing a favor for a friend. I don’t guess it’s going to do any good telling you I didn’t touch her.”
“No good at all,” I said. “Who’s the friend you’re doing a favor for?”
“That, you’ll never know. Listen, this is going to hurt a little, but it shouldn’t kill you.”
He eased the pressure on my chest when he removed the board, but I didn’t like the way he was shifting it in his grip. It looked like he had every intention of clobbering me.
I was painfully aware that I was on my own, but there was no reason to let him know that I looked back toward the main road and shouted, “Come on out He’s not going to tell me.”
He looked around to see who I was talking to. I did the only thing I could think of to save myself. I stomped on his foot the second he shifted his attention from me. To my surprise, it actually worked. He dropped his weapon and crouched down in pain. I started to run, then I realized I still hadn’t gotten the information I was after. I picked up the wood, took the jagged edge and shoved it into his neck. The way he knelt down, he had no choice but to take it. A few dots of blood welled up, and he said, ‘‘Cut that out.”
“Tell me who you were doing a favor for;” I said.
“Get that wood off my neck or I’m not telling you a thing.”
I pushed it harder against him, and he grunted in pain. The only thing sustaining me was remembering how it had felt hitting Becka’s body with my kayak. “If you don’t talk, I’ll use more than the end of this board on you.”
Maybe there was something in my voice, or maybe he didn’t owe that many favors, because he said,