Just Right (Part 25)
Wolfe: The Wolf’s Den
I let the rain wash across my face, unwilling to move, to give myself away. I’d done enough stake-outs. Knew the tricks. Knew the trade. The drizzle tip-tapped against the newspapers I’d wrapped myself in, my coat wadded up underneath me. Just a homeless man on a bus stop bench. No one looks at the homeless. Too much fear there. Too many who see themselves reflected in those eyes.
I hunkered down when the black SUV pulled up in front of the building, and a hint of familiarity washed over me. I’d seen that vehicle before. I watched them go in, a dazzling dame in a sparkling gold dress, and behind her a husk of a man, decided limp in his left leg. He wore a dark suit, a dark fedora too big for his head, silver hair peeking out from under the brim. I didn’t know him, but I recognized her immediately. Goldi.
How was she here? How was she mixed up in this? There’d never been a word from her about an old man. A patron? A relative? A benefactor? I’d also never seen that dress, those shoes. She was a work of art in that moment, a golden trophy headed into a dark…
