Scarcity (Jack Randall #3) by Randall Wood Page A

traffic heading west on Lombard. Jimmy pulled out a street map and consulted it.
    “What do you think, boss?”
    “He’s heading toward the convention center or the ball parks. Both of them are next to the business loop that takes you to I-95. There’s also a bunch of hotels. I like this traffic. Let’s stay with him a little longer.”
    “You got it.”
    They followed the car for another few blocks until it turned left on South Eutaw Street and pulled into the parking garage of the Marriott Hotel. Manuel drove past the hotel and continued on down the street till he hit the red light at the corner.
    “I’m out here. Circle around and meet me right here in six minutes.”
    “Six,” Manuel echoed, checking his watch.
    Jimmy grabbed a small bag from under the seat and opened the door. Stepping out on the curb, he made a show of waving to his partner for appearance’s sake before turning and striding toward the hotel. Bypassing the front entrance, he walked at a normal pace toward the parking garage and entered the dark interior. Scanning the cars behind his sunglasses, he walked the ramp, looking for the plain car with the license tag he had memorized only minutes ago. Level two proved to be the charm and he found the car parked close to the entrance to the stairwell and elevator—a high traffic area. He looked for cameras as he approached and seeing none, made his decision. Lenny was nowhere to be seen, and the car’s engine creaked as it cooled.
    Reaching in the bag as he approached, he pulled the device free, knelt down, and fixed it to the frame of the car under the rear seat. He was back on his feet without seeming to break stride and made for the stair entrance. Two minutes later, he was back on the street and managed to make it to the curb just as the car pulled up to the light. He made a subtle hand gesture that moved Manuel on and continued on across the street and down another block. Finally satisfied that he wasn’t seen and followed, he stopped and bought a newspaper from a box on the next corner. He stood and gazed over the top of it until he saw Manuel approach again. This time he quickly folded the paper and walked to the curb. He was back in the car with the smallest of stops, and they were soon moving down Eutaw once again.
    “What now?”
    “Well. I’m wondering where he’ll go next?”
    “I can find a place to park and we can fire up the laptop?”
    “Somewhere between the hotel and 95.”
    “I don’t think there’s anything except the two stadiums and the Federal Reserve Bank. You don’t want to park there, do you?”
    “No, probably not a good idea.” Jimmy checked the map and saw that the kid was right. His protégé had done his homework.
    “How about this bar right here?”
    “The Pratt Street Alehouse?”
    “Why not?”
    “Think they got beer?”
    “Aren’t you funny today?”
    The kid just smiled as he pulled the car in.
    The three-story building had one Baltimore Oriole blue wall that stuck out from a distance. The inside boasted brick walls with arches dividing the room, and a long bar down one side. More Baltimore team colors were predominant in the decor, and multiple flat-screen TVs occupied most of the wall space.
    It was slow and early for lunch, but they managed to find a corner table where they could view the laptop without anyone looking over their shoulder. It only took Jimmy a couple of minutes to pull up the software and find the signal. Despite the car being in the garage and surrounded by concrete, the signal was strong. It held agreeably still as they gazed at it.
    “So what do you think?”
    “He could leave in ten minutes or ten hours. Who knows?”
    “So what do we do?”
    Jimmy looked up and eyeballed the many taps behind the bar. He was somewhat of an expert. He consulted the beer list before he signaled the waitress.
    “I think I’ll try the Ironman Pale Ale. What are you gonna have?”
    Manuel just shook his head and smiled as he watched the