Free Who in Hell Is Wanda Fuca? by G. M. Ford Page A

down.
    "You have a living will?"
    "I'm just helping him with a problem."
    "Most of Tim's problems wind up wearing the concrete kimono."
    "He's retired. This is personal."
    "Your ass."
    "I'll check in when I'm finished."
    "No, my man, you'll probably check out before you're finished. Ta
ta." He was gone. Before I could dial again, the phone rang. I answered
it.
    "Waterman Investigations."
    "Hello." I waited. "Can I help you?"
    "Is this Leo?"
    "Yes, it is."
    "Leo Waterman?"
    "Is this Ralph?" Just a wild guess.
    "Leo, it's Ralph." I was trying to stay calm, but this
conversation needed a boost. Five more minutes and we'd be at Ralph's last
name.
    "Are they meeting again?"
    "Yep. They're sittin' in her car We're all here like you said."
    "Stay where you are. I'll be right down."
    "Should I tell Buddy you're comin'?"
    "Just stay where you are. I'm on the way." I hung up.
    I'd already packed a cooler full of food and Pepsi and a day pack full of
clothes. Preparation is the essence of stake-outs. I'd spent some of the most
miserable days of my life staked out unprepared. I'm a slow learner, but
eventually it gets through. I hustled over to the hall closet, threw a
flashlight in the side pocket of the pack, grabbed my sleeping bag just in
case, and put on my coat. With my nine-millimeter in one pocket and the little
thirty-two auto in the other, the coat was as heavy as chain mail and every bit
as comforting.
    I slung the strap of the little cooler over my shoulder, reached through,
and picked u the pack. The sleeping bag went under my free arm. It was clumsy,
but I  managed to get out the door and down to the car.
Chapter 7
    It wasn't hard to find the boys. Harold's shopping cart leaned heavily
against the front bumper of the Buick, blocking half of one of the already
narrow lanes of traffic beneath the overhead highway. I pulled up behind the
cart and left the Fiat running. I moved the cart over to the side. There was a
party going on in the Buick. I rapped hard on the window. The window slid down.
    "You guys paying attention, or what?"
    Buddy cleaned the windshield with his sleeve and peered up the street in
terror. "Still there, Leo. You see that primered red Ford?"
    "The one with the big tires?" I asked.
    "They're still in there," he said smugly. He smelled of cheap
whiskey.
    "I thought we'd agreed to stay sober on the job," I said loud
enough for all of them to hear. They went silent. Buddy took the lead.
    "We've only got a pint, Leo. That's mouthwash for the four of us. Just
a bracer," he said with a watery wink.
    I appreciated that Buddy hadn't tried to bullshit me, but the bracer part
made me nervous. These guys had names for every conceivable drinking situation.
They liked to have a midmorning bracer before attempting anything serious, a
few modest cocktails at lunch, followed by the obligatory afternoon pick-me-up,
which segued neatly right into happy hour and ended with a little one just to
help them sleep. For purely medicinal purposes, of course. What the hell had I
expected, anyway?
    "Okay," I said reasonably. "I'm going to ignore this little
breach of manners this time. "They visibly relaxed. I checked the street.
The Ford four-by-four was still nosed in, sixty yards up the street. I leaned
down to the window.
    "So, you guys follow her, right?"
    "To the ends of the earth," said Buddy.
    "All the way to Bellingham, if we have to," added Ralph.
    Buddy, bless his heart, tried to run interference.
    "From the mighty Columbia to the Straits of Juan de Fuca, Leo."
    "Who in hell is Wanda Fuca?" asked Ralph.
    We never did get it settled. Caroline Nobel, wearing a yellow down vest over
a camouflage jacket, strode briskly across the street toward her car. The pick
up backed out in a rush. I sprinted back to the Fiat.
        The big Ford made the first available
right and started up toward the square. I had to run the light to keep up. The
boys were right. As a driver, this guy took no prisoners. Passenger cars, their
roofs