Afraid of the Dark - James Grippando [99]
“Is that the wheel of death I hear at the end of the gauntlet?” asked Vince.
A bellboy steered them toward a handicapped exit. Outside in the covered motor court was more chaos, and Jack led the way through a logjam of cars and buses to the taxi stand. Even with space heaters glowing overhead, the damp air was chilly enough for Jack to see his breath as they waited. Finally, a couple of tourists in front of them stopped arguing about whether or not they could walk to the Tower, and it was Vince’s turn. Jack held the door open as Vince climbed in the backseat and told the driver the destination.
“Do you need me to meet you here on the way back?” asked Jack.
“No, I should be able to find my way upstairs.”
Jack wished him luck, closed the door, and watched the black taxi pull away. Immediately, a feeling of complete and utter uselessness fell over him. The next cab pulled up, and the porter opened the rear door. Jack stood there. The driver called to him.
“You want a cab or not?”
Jack was about to step aside, but then he caught a glimpse of Vince’s taxi at the stoplight, less than a half block away. He hadn’t flown across an ocean to hang out in the hotel room. The whole exchange upstairs was gnawing at him, particularly the part that Vince had told him not to take personally: “For whatever reason, Chuck doesn’t want you there.”
To hell with Chuck. Jack hopped into the cab and pulled the door shut.
“Where to?” asked the driver.
It suddenly amused Jack that this was his chance to say something Bond-like to a London cabbie—except that it sounded too goofy to actually say it.
“Do you see the taxi that just pulled out ahead of us?” Jack asked. “The one waiting at the red light?”
“Yeah, what about it?”
“Well . . . just do whatever he does.”
The driver glanced over his shoulder and shot him a curious look. “You want me to follow that cab?”
Jack sighed, resigning himself to it. “Fine, if you must: Follow that cab.”
Chapter Fifty
Vince was halfway to the Carpenter’s Arms pub when his phone chimed. Again it was Chuck Mays.
“Swtyeck is following you.”
“How do you know?” asked Vince.
“I’m watching it right here on my computer screen.”
“You have a GPS tracking chip on Jack?”
“It’s a remote installation through his cell phone. I put one on you, too.”
Vince bit his lip to stem the eruption. “Chuck, you need to stop doing things like that without telling people. It’s a violation of privacy.”
“People need to stop telling themselves that there is such a thing as privacy.”
Spoken like a true data miner, but that was another debate. “Do you want me to go back to the hotel?”
“I don’t know,” said Chuck. “Let me think this through. You didn’t tell Swyeck who you’re meeting with, did you?”
“I lied and said it was probably a detective.”
“Good, then just lose him.”
“What do you expect me to do, roll down the window and throw a box of roofing tacks on the road?”
“Just give the driver an extra twenty pounds to ditch him.”
“That won’t work,” said Vince. “I told Jack the meeting was at Carpenter’s Arms at one o’clock.”
“Damn it! Why’d you do that?”
“Probably because I’m not at all comfortable lying to him. The three of us made a deal. This was supposed to be a team approach.”
“Fuck the team! Just call Swyteck and tell him that the meeting was canceled.”
The cab stopped, and Vince heard the meter register. “Seven pounds,” said the driver.”
Vince checked his wallet for a ten—tens were folded in half, twenties in thirds—and he told him to keep the change.
“Would you mind directing me to the pub’s entrance?” he asked the driver.
Chuck overheard. “Vince, don’t get out of the cab.”
“Sorry, I’m going in.”
“It