I got into the Bentley and drove up to Eno’s
diner. Reached around to the seat pocket and found the map. Walked over through the bright afternoon sun and pushed in through Eno’s door. Slid into an empty booth. Ordered coffee and eggs.
I was screaming at myself to listen to what I’d learned through thirteen hard years. The shorter the time, the cooler you’ve got to be. If you’ve only got one shot, you’ve got to make it count. You can’t afford to miss because you screwed up the planning. Or because you ran out of blood sugar and got sick and dizzy in the small hours of the morning. So I forced the eggs down and drank the coffee. Then I pushed the empty mug and the plate aside and spread the map on the table. Started looking for Hubble. He could be anywhere. But I had to find him. I had one shot at it. I couldn’t rush around from place to place. I had to find him inside my head. It had to be a thought process. I had to find him inside my head first and then go straight to him. So I bent over Eno’s table. Stared at the map. Stared at it for a long time.
I spent the best part of an hour with the map. Then I folded it up and squared it on the table. Picked up the knife and the fork from the egg plate. Palmed them into my trouser pocket. Looked around me. The waitress walked over. The one with glasses.
`Planning a trip, honey?’ she asked me.
I looked up at her. I could see myself reflected in her glasses. I could see Picard’s huge bulk glowering in the booth behind me. I could just about feel his hand wrapping tight around the butt of his .38. I nodded at the woman.
`That’s the idea,’ I said. `A hell of a trip. The trip of a lifetime.’
She didn’t know what to say to that.
,Well, you take care, OK?’ she said.
I got up and left one of Charlie’s hundreds on the table for her. Maybe it was real, maybe it wasn’t. It would spend just the same. And I wanted to leave her a big tip. Eno was getting a dirty grand a week, but I didn’t know if he was passing much of it on. Probably not, looking at the guy.
`See you again, mister,’ the one with glasses said.
`Maybe,’ I said.
Picard pushed me out through the door. It was four o’clock. I hustled over the gravel to the Bentley. Picard followed me with his hand in his pocket. I slid in and fired it up. Eased out of the lot and scooted north up the old county road. Blasted the fourteen miles away in about twelve minutes.
Picard had made me use the Bentley. Not his own car. Had to be a reason for that. Not just because he wanted the extra leg-room. Because it was a very distinctive car. Which meant there was going to be extra insurance. I looked in the mirror and picked up a plain sedan. About a hundred yards behind. Two guys in it. I shrugged to myself. Slowed and glanced left at the warehouses at the top of the county road. Swooped up the ramp and round the cloverleaf. Hit the highway going as fast as I dared. Time was crucial.
The road skirted us around the southeast corner of the Atlanta sprawl. I threaded through the interchanges. Headed due east on 1-20. Cruised on, with the two guys in their plain sedan a hundred yards back, mile after mile.
`So where is he?’ Picard asked me.
It was the first time he’d spoken since leaving the station house. I glanced across at him and shrugged.
`No idea,’ I said. `Best I can do is go find a friend of his in Augusta.’
`Who’s this friend?’ he said.
`Guy called Lennon,’ I said.
`In Augusta?’ he said.
`Augusta,’ I said. `That’s where we’re going.’ Picard grunted. We cruised on. The two guys stayed behind us.
`So who is this guy in Augusta?’ Picard said. `Lennon?’
`Friend of Hubble’s,’ I said. `Like I told you.’ `He doesn’t have a friend in Augusta,’ he said.