It gave me time to type my question: “THE HOMELESS GUY?”

“AFFIRMATIVE”, came the response.

This time, Hector chimed in: “DON’T LOSE HIM”

That’s when I got nervous because I didn’t know if the man was part of the plan to pick up the money or if he was just that, a homeless guy who found a bag full of money left in a park and decided to add it to his collection of street detritus. The thought of Valenti hearing about the latter scenario sent shivers down my spine for what he would do to Hector who in turn would do to me.

I caught sight of the man and his cart in one of the pools of light. He was following the path towards its north-side exit. I calculated how far the park entrance was from me and what I was going to do when he walked through it. Three more times he passed under the light and now he was no more than two hundred feet from leaving the park. I watched the final pool of light for the man, but he never appeared. I waited and still nothing.

“LOST THE TARGET”, Badger texted.

And I fell into full panic mode. My instinct was to run down there but I didn’t want to alarm the man or whoever might be watching him that wasn’t on our three-way text. I instead walked purposefully in his direction, trying not to call too much attention to myself.

My phone buzzed with the incessant texts from Hector wanting to know what was happening. Each one grew shorter than the last. I envisioned him hammering away with each text and getting angrier with each send. I resisted the inevitable as long as possible, which was to reply with the truth that I lost the man.

I pulled up the phone to answer his question and typed three dreadful words: “I DON’T KNOW.”

The phone then fell out of my hand. I looked around, disoriented, and realized I had run headlong into the homeless man’s shopping cart. We looked into each other’s eyes. My gaze was rooted in fear. His look was rooted in schizophrenia.

“Motherfucker,” he muttered and pushed the cart like I was not standing there. I jumped out of the way but the front wheel caught my foot and left a track on my polished loafers. The man continued on down the street in the direction where I had just come. Rather than tail him directly, I grabbed my phone and crossed the street to the sidewalk on the opposite side, giving him a little distance.

I wanted to text the boys that I was on his tail but couldn’t risk being distracted or being spotted doing suspicious activities. I crossed in front of a small Catholic church with a well-lit Virgin Mary and then the Italian social club next door. The homeless man was maybe forty feet in front of me. I kept him in my peripheral vision. We continued on for a few more buildings and then he stopped in front of one of the cars parked on the side of the road. I stopped also, thought better of it, and continued on at my original pace.

I came up even with the man and casually glanced across the road just in time to see him hand the duffel bag over to someone inside the car. In return, he was handed something which looked like money.

I kept moving but I heard the car roar to life. It swung out from the curb and into the middle of the road to head in the opposite direction. I made myself as small as possible but kept my eyes on the driver of the silver compact, the same shitty car that Nelson used to try to run me over.

The Filipina nurse — both her pudgy hands gripping the steering wheel and her eyes trained straight ahead — roared past me.

I took off down the road towards my car. Fumbling with the key, I got the engine started and sped after her. But the road was just an empty stretch of asphalt with no red taillights to follow. The twinkling lights of Chinatown ahead were a false siren.

As I passed Bishop Street, I caught a pair of taillights out of the corner of my eye. They turned right and out of sight. I put both feet onto the brake and came to an angled stop. I reversed without checking and luckily found open road. I pulled onto Bishop and hoped I hadn’t made a mistake.

Zooming up the road, I ran one stop sign and then another and finally caught up to the taillights. As I followed it onto the onramp to the 110 freeway, relief and excitement washed over me like a cold shower — the silver compact was idling at the entrance and waiting for an opening to pull onto the freeway. I slowed so as not to get too close but managed to pull out my phone and send a very simple, reassuring text: “I’M ON IT”

A WOMAN’S LAUGH

It was easy to tail her in the moderate traffic heading back to Pasadena. Tala didn’t change lanes, which allowed me to stay in the same one without fear of getting too close or slipping too far back. For three steady miles there was a consistent two car distance between us.

I took that time to fill in Hector and Badger with the details. Hector texted back that he was in his car and coming my way. Badger was too far from his own car but he would do the same without delay.

We drove all the way to the end where the freeway funneled us onto the surface streets leading into Pasadena proper. We turned right at California and moved our way through the leafy neighborhood before moving south towards Hermon. I began to wonder if Tala knew I was following her because she could have gotten off at an earlier exit on the 110 to get where we were now. I slipped back to be extra cautious.

Tala took me on a journey of endless turns and loop-backs to the point where it felt like we were going in circles. Without any visual guides in the dark night, namely the looming San Gabriel foothills, I had no way to tell if we were heading north or south. Each new street looked like the one we just got off.

But then I began to pick out landmarks — a familiar billboard here, a recognizable street name there — and I started to feel less like a raft adrift at sea and more like a canoe with one oar. I finally spied the unmistakable glow of Dodger Stadium at night and I realized that we were headed back into the city, back to the very area in Chinatown we had just left.

I followed the small compact back over the concrete bridge into the backdoor — once the front door — entrance into the city. I eased up on the accelerator to put even more distance between me and Tala’s compact. We were the only two cars on the road for a good half-mile. As we glided over the crest of the bridge, I straightened the car for the wide open stretch downhill and called Hector with my free hand.

“Where are you?” he asked in place of any sort of greeting.

“I’m still following her. We are heading back into Chinatown, just crossing the bridge now.”

“What street?” he asked.

“Spring.”

I heard the squelch of tires over the phone as he turned his sedan around in the opposite direction. Over the roar of his engine, “I’m coming now.”

I trailed the compact down a wide, empty street fringed with industrial buildings. They were windowless structures with iron-faced front doors. Even with a great distance between us, I still felt exposed. My headlights must have been like beacons in her rear view mirror. I slipped back even further despite the fear that I would lose her.

That was a mistake.

Suddenly, the two red orbs were no longer. The road that lay ahead was dark and empty and the numerous cross streets had little to no activity on them. I couldn’t tell which street the compact pulled off on, if at all. Panic set in and I was convinced that I had gone too far and quickly turned around. I zoomed back from where I came but soon, much too soon, came upon the bridge and realized I’d backtracked too far. I spun around again, arcing too wide and careening into the curb. I floored it and rumbled down the street in the original direction.