“I’m never finished shopping.” I left some money in the tray and followed him out onto the street. When he walked beside me, and even offered to carry my bags, I gave him a quizzical expression. “Wait, you’re really coming with me?”
He shrugged. “Why not? I am here, and I was told specifically to keep watch over you. I can do that so easily from here as back there.” He waved behind us.
“So let me get this straight. You really just…follow me?”
“Yes. It is not so hard.”
“But I looked behind me all the time. I knew you were back there, and I still never spotted you.”
He gave me that smirk of his, a tipping up of one corner of his mouth, a sly, small grin. “That is because I am exceptionally good at it,Frau.”
I turned to look behind us, scanning the crowd, not sure what I was looking for. “So, if I was to try and spot someone who was following me, what would I look for?”
He thought for a moment. “Well, it depends on their skill. I can follow a professional like myself and he probably won’t spot me. It is what I do, what I’m best at. But a civilian? They would have no chance of spotting me. But to have any kind of hope of spotting someone, you always have to be watching your surroundings. Watch for patterns. Look for someone who seems to be near you all the time. Doing different things. Paying for gas, maybe, or tying a shoe, or checking a cell phone. The little things. The details.” He turned around, ever so briefly, and glanced behind us, then looked at me. “There is a woman behind us. The blonde. Take one quick look, like I just did, and tell me everything you can see about her.”
I looked back: a dozen feet behind us there was a blonde woman. On the shorter side of medium height, hair cut in a cute bob, streaked with reddish highlights. Business clothes, tailored slacks, blouse, and blazer. She was talking on a cell phone, carrying a paper cup of coffee with which she gestured while talking. She was upset about something, which was obvious, berating the person on the other end.
I only looked for maybe two or three seconds, and then turned back to Anselm and relayed my observations.
He nodded. “Very good. More than some would see. Where does she work, can you tell me?” When I shook my head, he shot me that smirk again. “She works for Gaines Technology Systems. Her name is Theresa Crane. She is married, and on a lunch break. She is talking to who I suspect is a man she’s having an affair with. She is planning to meet him later. He’s pushing her to leave her husband and she is not ready to do so yet.”
I stared at Anselm. “Okay, what the actual fuck?”
He shrugged. “I have excellent hearing, and she is being loud, which is how I can relay to you the content of her conversation. She is wearing a security badge with her name on it, and she is wearing an engagement ring as well as a wedding band. She does not have her purse with her, and she is still wearing her badge, so I know she is on a break from work.”
“How do you know she’s planning on meeting him later?”
“She has a hotel key card with her security badge.”
I frowned at him. “How do you know?”
“Her ID badge is the kind you show to a guard. It is in a clear plastic envelope with a clip, you know this kind,ja? Fastened to her coat lapel. Some badges you must scan. They have a stripe on the back, for magnetic readers, and those are usually on a string which retracts,ja? To easily pull and scan and return. But hers, being in an envelope and fastened to her coat, it would not be practical to take it out and scan it all the time. But the back of the security badge has a magnetic strip. It is an assumption, one that I could be wrong about, but I don’t think I am. Why would she need some kind of extra card? It is a great hiding place for a hotel key. No one would think twice about it.”
“So the affair, what makes you think that’s going on?”
“She said ‘no, Tom, I’m not going to tell him yet. I’m not ready. I’m just not.’ And then he said something, and she replied with ‘you’re not the one leaving your husband. I am, and I’ll do it when I’m ready.’ And the whole time, she was using her ring finger to tap against the side of her coffee. A nervous habit, which makes me think she feels guilty.”
“Damn, Anselm. That’s a lot of detail to notice in one glance.”
“I deal in information. It is what I do.”
While shopping during the rest of the afternoon, Anselm and I played a game wherein he tried to teach me the art of noticing details. Walk by a car, and without stopping to look, memorize the contents of the interior. What clothing was the mannequin wearing in the window display we just passed? What brand of shoes is the man, about to turn the corner, wearing? The woman sending a text, passing us right now, what is she typing? Look as we pass by.
It was a fun diversion. I didn’t notice as many things as he did, of course, but it was a fun game all the same.
And it served another purpose: it put Anselm at ease. It made him think I’m an easy mark. I’m not, though. I learn fast. Case in point? I asked him how to vanish when someone is watching you, and the silly man told me.
My plan was probably not going to work, but it was worth a shot. I knew the address of Nick’s office here in LA. I asked Anselm to run into that bakery there real quick and get me a muffin. In a stroke of perfect timing, a cab stopped a few feet away and a woman got out. I hopped in, slammed the door and told the cabbie to step on it. Which was fun, because I’d always wanted to do that: slide into a cab and tell the driver, in an impatient voice, to step on it. Once we were moving, I gave him the address of the A1S LA office.
Thirty minutes later I was paying the cab driver and heading into the cool, marble-covered lobby.I took the elevator up to the tenth floor, suite C.
Michelle was at her desk, typing a million words a minute, a headset on, talking at the same time. After a minute, she ended the call and removed the headset. “Layla, what a surprise. I didn’t know you were going to be joining us. Can I offer you a cup of coffee? Mr. Harris is out at the moment, but he should be returning any minute.”
“No thanks. I’ll just wait in his office.” I moved past her desk to the double doors of Nick’s office.
Michelle shot to her feet and followed me. “Oh, I, um, don’t think I can let you go in there alone.”
I stopped, my hand on the knob. “Why not? I’m his girlfriend. I live with him. I work for him. What am I going to do?”
