Tuesday, September 29, 2015

Walt Murphy – Part Two – 22

Our pizza arrived half an hour later. By then we were both sprawled out on the sofa, Ricky's head on my lap, sipping our drinks. I groaned when the doorbell rang. Ricky sat up, saying he thought he could handle answering it.

I noticed after he turned off the security, he left the chain on until he'd checked to be certain it was the delivery boy. Normally he'd have just opened the door. When he came back and set the boxes—because we'd also ordered cinnamon breadsticks as well—on the coffee table, I commented on that.

He shrugged. "Just getting into the right habits." He sat down then bounced up, saying we needed plates and napkins.


Stopping, he sighed. "I had visions of the person who shot at us standing there; ready to try again when I opened the door."

I understood completely. The thought had flicked through my head for a brief second before I dismissed it as implausible. I told him so, adding, "He's not that stupid. Besides which, how would he know we'd ordered out?"

"If he was watching from that car across the street, and saw the main chance."

"What car?" I was on my feet seconds later, going to the front window.

"The green one." Ricky joined me, as I cautiously pulled back the curtain an inch to peer out.

"There's no green car," I told him.

"Well there was. It was there when we got home from returning the truck, and it was still there a minute ago. Honest. I'm not seeing things."

"When were you planning on telling me?" I asked, feeling more than a bit worried.

"I… Okay, I thought it probably belonged to a neighbor, but still… it gave me a creepy feeling. Then I figured I was letting my imagination get the best of me."

"Did you see anyone in it?"

"No. But when you're staking out some place, I bet you don't just sit up where anyone can see you."

"Actually I do. That's why I have tinted windows—so I don't have to spend my time slouched down below window level. That sort of defeats the purpose of watching a place. I sit on the passenger side and usually have something like a magazine or a newspaper—to make it look like I'm killing time while waiting for the driver to come back—just in case some nosy parker approaches to see if the car's vacant or not."

"Well that car had normal windows and I didn't see anyone."

"Then it was probably belonged to someone visiting a neighbor. So don't worry about it. Let's eat before the pizza gets cold."

He looked relieved and I figured I'd managed to dispel his anxiety. I, on the other hand, was going to be on the lookout for any green cars in the neighborhood, or anywhere else. Yeah, what I'd told him was probably the reality of the situation. But I wasn't taking any chances.

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