An Apple for the Creature

“Thanks.”

He reached back onto the floor of the backseat, and produced a nylon binocular case, which he handed to her.

“Use these.”

—

After almost a minute’s silence, while Louise removed the binoculars, removed the lens caps, focused for the distance, and observed for a few moments, she said, “I’m gonna buy in to this. The more I think about it, the more sense this makes. Claire Bennington,” she said softly. “She really was an art major. That’s the key for me.”

“Good.”

“What do you want me to do?” she asked, still peering through the binoculars.

“Gather intelligence,” he said. She could hear the smile in his voice.

She put the binoculars in her lap. “I know that. How about something more here? A line of inquiry would be nice. Just a suggested one. To get me started.”

“We’d kind of like you to get to know him. Can you draw?”

“Not for shit,” she said. She drummed her fingers on the binoculars. “I suppose I could pose, or something. They always need a model.”

“We were thinking more along the lines of shopping in his store,” said George. Although, thinking about it, he realized Louise would make a fine model. “Getting naked for somebody is always . . . chancy.” He chuckled.

“Hey, I was ready to give my all,” she said. “Make a note of that.”

“Consider it done.” He looked directly at her. “Do not, and I mean never, try to get somebody undercover. Not with this . . . whatever he is. You or anybody else. They seem to be pretty cop aware, most of the time. You get somebody to go under for you, you write ’em off. They get that venom crap in ’em, and they’re probably just plain done.”

“Somebody inside the store, though?”

“We’ve given up on that. These things are pretty slick. Pick up on it right away, probably. Keep him at arm’s length.”

“Okay.”

“You’ll be talking pretty regularly to one of us, probably Ben. If you think you want to do something like a snitch inside, don’t do it without permission from him.”

“Sure. Okay. Yes, sir. Got it.”

He shook his head ruefully.

—

Two figures came around the corner at the far end of the block. Even at that distance, and with his naked eye, George could discern that one was pushing a bicycle and the other was carrying a load of some sort.

Louise put the binoculars to her eyes, and said, “It’s him. It’s Ernesto.” She paused, and then said, “And some girl. She’s a treat. Black hair with a purple streak. Tacky blue jeans with fake wear holes. Stupid black tennis shoes. Emo look, if I ever saw it. Art student, I’ll bet.”

“Let me see,” said George.

She handed him the binoculars. He looked closely. The “man” looked to be somewhere between thirty and forty, moustache, about six feet tall, with close-cropped dark hair. He, too, was wearing faded blue jeans but without the holes, tennis shoes, and a light blue, sleeveless hooded sweatshirt. “Yeah, it’s our target.” He shifted his gaze. The girl was slender, long-legged, with black and purple hair, just as Louise had described. A good five eight, she had rather dark eyes, and for a moment he thought she was wearing sunglasses. It must have been makeup, he thought. She was carrying quite a bit of stuff over her shoulder and under her left arm. A big, flat, thin, white object, which he thought might be a canvas; a backpack with one strap over her shoulder; and a contraption made of tubular steel. “Walking his bike, the girl’s carrying the load. A tripod?”

“The chrome legs, right?”

“Yep,” he said, passing the binoculars back.

“Easel, I’d think.” Louise peered through the binoculars again. As the couple got closer, she said, “Oh, no way . . . she’s carrying groceries, too. Oh, cute. Two piercings in her lower lip. Snakebites. What a slut.”

“Don’t judge,” said George, startled at the intensity of her remark.

“Don’t mind me,” said Louise, as she continued to watch. “I just get tired of bailing those idiots out when they get in trouble.”

The couple stopped in front of Ernesto’s house. “Oh no, shit,” said Louise, as the pair started up the front steps. “She’s going in with him. Easel, sketch pad and shoulder bag and all. Yep. See him let her go up the steps first? What a freaking gentleman; he’s just checking out her butt. And she knows it, I can tell you that. Shit.”

“How old you think she is?” asked George.

“Under twenty. There they go, right on in, honey. Just put your stuff down, and take off your clothes. I’ll be right with you. . . .” She looked at George as the door closed behind Ernesto and his girl. “He’s gonna do her. I can tell just by the way she went up the steps, she’s good to go.”

“You can?” That, he couldn’t help thinking, would be a very useful talent. “Maybe just, you know, she’s there for supper or something?”

“Yeah, right.”

“Tell ya what,” he said. “Let’s stick for a little while, okay? See if she comes out anytime soon.”

“Hell, let’s just kick the door in and bust his ass,” said Louise ruefully. “Just kidding. Hey, I’m sorry I got so worked up. Won’t happen again.”

“No problem,” said George, and he meant it.