Something Missing_ A Novel - Matthew Dicks [97]
Martin’s patience was rewarded less than a minute later when he saw movement at the back door. A moment later a man emerged from the home, pulling the door shut behind him. Looking left and right, the man then began walking across the backyard and into the park, the same escape route that Martin would have taken had he entered the house. The man was moving with the speed of someone who wanted to move quickly but remain inconspicuous.
Martin knew that pace well.
For years, Martin had wondered if he would ever run into someone else in his line of work. He knew that they were out there, smash-and-grabbers for the most part, but he couldn’t help but wonder if he was the only one who specialized in the business the way that he did. Being alone in his career choice, the only person on the planet operating as he did, was both an exhilarating and a lonely feeling. It allowed Martin to think of himself as an innovator, a unique, one-of-a-kind guy, but at the same time, the nature of his business forced him to remain silent on the matter.
Without colleagues of any kind.
Alone.
Perhaps.
Considering this man’s quiet and careful exit from the house and seeming empty-handedness (no flat screen television or laptops in his arms), it appeared as if Martin might have found someone in his line of work after all.
Intrigued, Martin decided to follow the stranger. He rationalized that knowing as much as possible about the intruder would be crucial to his continued success with the Pearls, but underneath the logic, the decision to follow the man was born primarily from a desire to know if this intruder operated his business in a way similar to Martin.
Curiosity had its sticky grip on him like never before.
Of course, following the man would only be possible if he had parked his vehicle in the same lot as Martin had. If the man was parked on the other side of the baseball field, or in the shaded lot below the footbridge, there wouldn’t be much of a chance of following him. He’d be in his car and driving off before Martin could even find him.
But fortune was on Martin’s side. As the man crossed the field, less than a hundred feet from Martin’s position on the bench, he veered left toward the nearest parking lot, the same lot in which Martin had brought the Subaru to a halt less than ten minutes ago. As the man passed, Martin looked up from his crouch and stole a quick glance. He was a tall, bulky man in his late thirties or early forties, built with more muscle than fat, though a generous portion of both seemed evident. He was wearing a pair of black jeans, a long-sleeve, nondescript black T-shirt, and a baseball cap. His face was angular and featureless except for the nose, which appeared off-kilter, as if it had been broken one too many times.
Most notably, the man looked mean to Martin, the kind of guy you would want to avoid in an alley late at night. He was big and tough and had the type of face that projected anger at all times. He moved with a confidence that made Martin wonder if he himself had ever moved with as much self-assurance.
He doubted it very much.
Martin waited until the intruder was twenty paces from the parking lot before standing up and limping toward his car, ensuring that he was limping on the same leg as he had been moments ago. As he crossed the field, following the intruder’s footsteps through the morning dew, he noticed that the man was wearing gloves, not the latex kind that Martin wore while working, but brown leather gloves. They seemed terribly out of place on this warm day but Martin knew that they would be just as effective as the latex variety that he wore. Daring a more careful examination of the man, he realized that the intruder’s shoes were covered with a white rubberlike material, similar