"You see him?"

It only takes two quick breaths for Elena to compose herself. Her eyes move smoothly to the rearview mirror. She even pouts her lips and touches a finger against them, as if she's just smudging her lipstick into place. I doubt the guy can see her reflection so easy through our vehicle's mirror, but all the same, it's a nice touch.

"Yes, I see him," Elena says. Her face is pale.

"You recognize him?"

"No. I don't think so."

"Take a better look. Are you sure you don't know that mug from anywhere?"

She glances at me, pupils dilated, nervous. "I don't know him, I'm certain -- but what does that matter? Shit, I knew this would happen. I should never have come here. In fact, I should have just been a fucking lawyer like Mom wanted. Fight bad guys that way, instead of becoming... Instead of this."

Instead of what? Becoming a bad guy herself, was she going to say? "You don't seem that bad to me," I tell her, but I'm only half paying attention, my eyes firmly back on the stubbled face behind us. "Take a right here," I say to the cab driver, who I think must be ignoring our conversation and hoping we'll just melt away out of his car along with all our troubles.

"Main Street'll be jammed right now, chief," he says. "Take twenty minutes longer if we're stuck in traffic. Maybe more."

"I'll pay you for your time and your petrol," I growl back, "but not for your advice. Right, here."

We swing onto Main Street and are swallowed into the traffic that's crawling along like some disjointed worm. The Ford isn't let in directly behind us, but is three cars after.

A minute or two later, the cab lurches to a halt, stuck fast in the afternoon traffic, and all we're left with is the drumming of the driver's fingers on the wheel.

"I did say..." he mumbles, cocking his head.

"We're not going to lose him if we're not moving," says Elena to me, clearly and fairly agitated. "I've watched enough car chases at the movies to know how it's done correctly, and that's not like this. Usually more high speed, more sudden turns down side streets more-- Hey! Hey, where're you going?!"

I'm half way out the door already, but I lean back in and tell her, "Never said I was trying to lose him. Just didn't want him to lose us, neither. Wait here." And to the cab guy, "Don't move until I get back. I'll only be two minutes."

"I can't park up here, buddy. If we need to move, then I'll have to--"

"I'll pay double our fare."

"Ahhh, jeez, I wish I could, but I just can't. I'd be blocking traffic and I don't want to risk losing my--"

"Triple."

He considers. "Okay. Two mins, max."

It takes the driver that's been shadowing us until I'm a car away from him, to notice me walking towards him. Guess he decided, stuck in traffic as we are, that he didn't need to be a hawk.

More fool him.

I see him mouth something along the lines of "Oh shit." He looks around frantic but sees there's no way out -- at least not in his Ford. And I'm already in case he fancies a run.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Tap tap on his window.

He ignores me, so I'm looking at the window and remembering that it's the corners you go for if you want to break it without breaking yourself -- not the middle.

But the fella saves my boot the trouble and winds his window down.

"Can I help you?" he asks, smiling. But there's sweat beading above his top lip.

I return his smile with something equally genuine. Then, I lean my head through and grab his striped shirt by the collar. "Who the fuck are you?"

His neck bobs as he swallows. "Do... Do I know you?"

Figure I best help jog his memory. "You think my face is bad, right? I remember you sayin' your wife could do better. Well"--I grab his chin firm in one hand--"do you wanna see how good I am in the kitchen?"

"Please, this situation isn't as bad as it look--" He breaks off, wincing, as he feels the poison daggering its way through me and into his skin. I might not be like how I was in the woods, but I can still do enough damage up close to disfigure him.

"Your skin's already welting. Take a quick look in your mirror. That's right, it's bubbling up real nice."

"Jesus. Fuck. Please stop."

"Who are you and why the fuck you following me?"

A huge cream bubble grows beneath his bottom lip, then pops, releasing a stream of yellow liquid that dribbles down his chin. He screams, "Let go and I'll fucking tell you! Jesus, just let go!"

I do let go. Then, I reach around and open the door, so that he's not going to be locking up on me.

There's a car honking already, and I'm guessing my cab is holding traffic up. Good.

"Your own momma's not going to recognize you if you don't tell me everything I want to know. Or if I think you're lying. So come on, get those lips flapping like a turkey."

He takes a deep breath, hand near his chin, considering whether to touch it or not. He decides not. "I'm... I'm a reporter, or least, I was a reporter."

I eye him carefully. That all this is? Some newspaper planning on running a story about how I'm spending my millions? Makes some sense, at least. This guy was way too amateur to have been an agent for the Storms. "Keep talking, I say. "What do you mean by 'was a reporter'?"

"I was... uh..." He starts again. "I had a disagreement with the owner about ethical practices in journalism, a few weeks back. He thought we shouldn't be breaking inta places to get a scoop, and I thought... different. Long and short of it was, we parted ways."

"You broke into my place? For a fucking story?"

"No!" He holds up his hands. "No, I didn't do that."

More horns blaring.

"So I was unemployed and looking for a new job when I get an envelope through my door. Had a wad of cash and your address and some instructions. It was a lot of money, and the promise of more each week, as long as I did what it asked. Seemed like basic journalism to me, not even real PI work, you know? So I thought, what the hell." He pauses. "There was no name given though. I mean, besides yours. Cause I know you're going to ask for it, but God's honest truth I don't have a name to give you. Whoever sent it was careful. Even the instructions were printed out to save me seeing the handwriting."

"What did the instructions say?"

"I was to keep an eye on you -- that's all. Was to follow you around, see where you went, who you spoke to, give a daily report on your activity to an answering machine at the end of a number I got given. I've only been doing it a few days -- first night was that one in the bar. You didn't know who I was, so"--he shrugs--"figured it would be a good chance to get a proper look at you. Not to mention find out what you were doing down in that place for eight hours every night. Snooker? Who even plays snooker these days?"

A line, maybe from a movie, wriggles into my head: It's not paranoia if they really are out to get you.

"I want that number for the answering machine, and I want your driver's I.D. Now."

He nods and reaches for his wallet. "Sure. Sure."

"Alexander Rotanda," I read outoud. Then I slip it into my pocket, exchanging it for a pad of paper and a Biro. "Write the number."

"No need." He opens the glove compartment and takes out a thin slip of paper, handing it over to me.

"Okay. Good. That all you can tell me?"

"I swear it."

"Alex, I've got your name. I've got your address. If you try anything that I don't like, I will come for you. Understand?

He nods.

Then, I give him my number, slipping it inside his jacket pocket. "You get another letter, or a call, or anything to do with me whatsoever -- you ring me ASAP."

"Yeah. Okay, I can do that."

That'll have to do. I pat his cheek with my palm. "Good boy."

There's a lady shoutin' and calling me an ass as I walk back to the cab. I flip her the bird, much to her chagrin, and get back inside.

"About time, chief," says the driver. That lady was 'bout to blow a gasket."

I give him a different address to go to: the hotel where I'd called Elena from. I don't fancy O'Reilly's, knowing that I was being watched there. Hotel might not be safe either, but it's more open. And there are more exits.

"Well?" says Elena.

"It's okay," I say. "Or at least, I think so. I'll fill you in on the way. Once we get there though, I'm gonna need some answers from you."