I shiver at the memory, and she gives me a little smile. “Yeah, they're pretty effective.”
“I think it's the person giving them as much as the technique themselves,” I say, and then grin. “Sorry... I guess that's a little too personal.”
“No, I appreciate it. In fact, I appreciate everything you've done the past few weeks,” Katrina says quietly. “Maybe Darcy was right.”
“About what?”
She shakes her head, and finishes her juice. “Later. Come on, let's grab some drinks, make sure we're protected. You've got your sunblock?”
We take the Metro to the mall, where we get a pair of palm-sized binoculars and get back on the Metro, going two stops past The U and getting off. It's not far, less than a mile, and to be honest, it's not a great neighborhood. “I wonder why a man who stole so much from the city lives in such a fucking bad neighborhood,” I ponder as we leave. “Seriously, you'd think he'd have kept enough to live a bit better than this.”
“That's probably why,” Katrina says, pointing out two coeds who go walking by in short shorts and bikini tops. “Let's face it, if he had an affair with your mom, he's probably not above cheating on my mother with other people, too. And this is... a neighborhood with a lot of scenery.”
“I've seen better,” I reply, giving Katrina a meaningful look. “Besides, you could probably kick both of their asses, and their boyfriends', too.”
“Well, yeah, like... duh,” Katrina replies with a fake bimbo accent that has me in stitches. “Point taken, compliment accepted, and thank you. But we're being pros right now, okay?”
“Okay,” I agree, following her. Katrina's dressed in her work clothes too, the same pants she wore yesterday along with her long sleeve crop top, baseball hat and sunglasses, although the light training shoes have been replaced with lightweight mid top boots. She's ready to kick some ass if need be, and I wonder if somewhere in those baggy pants is her Glock. I mean, we flew, but still, who knows what tricks she’s learned.
We get to the apartment complex, the Palm Garden Apartments, which is a five-story stucco building with what looks like maybe some sort of green area and a pool in the middle. “Well?”
“According to the address, the apartment's most likely on the third floor,” Katrina says, taking out our new binoculars and giving the building a quick scan. “Let's walk around, see if we can spot anything.”
We can't get to one side since there's another apartment in the way, but we do find a way to circle around, and I see a problem. While the building has only one main entrance/exit, a security gate that connects to the parking lot and the walkway to the sidewalk, the apartments wrap all the way around. “There's no way to watch all four sides at once.”
“Then we focus on the entrance-exit,” Katrina says. She looks around, and points. “There, that looks decent enough.”
The 'decent enough' spot Katrina points out is a little bookstore with a coffee bar in front, sort of a Barnes and Noble clone, and we settle in. I'm glad for the shade and air conditioning, and the shop owner seems happy enough when I go over and slip her fifty bucks, as well as ordering some tea and scones. I'm not really hungry, but we are using the shop's seats, after all, and I don't plan on buying any books.
We keep watch together for about an hour before Katrina taps my arm. “Hey, instead of both of us, let's take thirty-minute shifts.”
“I'm not confident enough to identify your parents if they walk by, especially your mom,” I admit sheepishly. I don't like admitting I'm not Superman. “I mean, I'll help when I can, but I might be calling for your help.”
Katrina considers it, then grabs the binoculars. “Wait... there he is!”
I look across the street and see a man, roughly fifty or so with a rather large, angry pink bald patch on his head, just about Katrina's height, with a bit of a potbelly and a slouch coming down the street, wearing jeans and what looks like a bowling league shirt heading toward the security gate. “You sure?”
“He's got the same birthmark on the left side of his neck that my Dad had. He's gained weight, gone to seed a lot, but it's him.”
“Great, so how do we get in?” I ask, stopping when the shop owner brings us more tea and scones. I guess she thought that my fifty was asking for repeat service, not that I mind too much. “I doubt he'll just answer if we buzz that we're UPS or something.”
“Actually, that's pretty close to what I was thinking,” Katrina says, sipping her tea. “What do you think?”
I take a sip of my tea and grimace. “I think I've picked up Nathan's tea snobbery. This stuff is terrible.”