Moonlight Bay Inn and Country Club, of which Roosevelt is half-owner.
Surveillance probably extended to the footpath, and there was no chance
that the watchers assigned to us could be bought off with invitations to
Sunday brunch at the country club.
The plan was to travel backyard to backyard for a few blocks, risking
the attention of neighbors and their dogs, until we were beyond the
purview of any surveillance teams that might have been assigned to us.
Because of Manuel’s confiscation celebration, Sasha possessed the only
weapon, her . 38 Chiefs Special, and two speedloaders in a dump pouch.
She wouldn’t relinquish the piece to Roosevelt or Bobby, or to me not
even to Mungojerrie. She announced, in a tone brooking no argument, that
she would take the risky point position.
“Where do we meet up with Doogie? ” I asked as Bobby stowed the sole
remaining cinnamon bun in the refrigerator and I finished stacking cups
and saucers in the sink.
“Out along Haddenbeck Road, ” Sasha said, “just beyond Crow Hill.”
“Crow Hill, ” Bobby said. “I don’t like the sound of that.” Sasha didn’t
get it for a moment. Then she did, “It’s just a place. How could it have
anything to do with those drawings? ” I was more concerned about the
distance. “Man, that’s seven, eight miles.”
“Almost nine, ” Sasha said.
“With all this new activity, there’s nowhere in town we could meet
Doogie without drawing attention.”
“It’s going to take too long to cover that much ground on foot, ” I
protested.
“Oh, ” she said, “we’ll only go a few blocks on foot, just until we’re
able to steal a car.” Bobby smiled at me and winked. “This here is some
moll you’ve got, bro.”
“Whose car? ” I asked her.
“Any car, ” she said brightly. “I’m not concerned about style, just
mobility.”
“What if we don’t find a car with keys in it? ”
“I’ll hot-wire it, ” she said.
“You know how to hot-wire a car? ”
“I was a Girl Scout.”
“Daughter’s got herself a car-theft merit badge, ” Roosevelt told
Mungojerrie.
We locked the back door on the way out, leaving blinds drawn and some
lights dialed low.
I didn’t wear my Mystery Train cap. It no longer made me feel close to
my mother, and it certainly didn’t seem like a good-luck charm anymore
The night was mild and windless, bearing a faint scent of salt air and
decomposing seaweed.
An overcast as dark as an iron skillet hid the moon. Here and there,
reflections of the town lights, like a rancid yellow grease, were
smeared across the clouds, but the night was deep and nearly ideal for
our purposes.
The silvered-cedar fence surrounding this property is as tall as I am,
with no gaps between the vertical pales, so it’s as solid as a wall. A
gate opens onto the footpath.
We avoided the gate and went to the east side of the backyard, where my
property adjoins that of the Samardian family.
The fence is extremely sturdy, because the vertical pales are fixed to
three horizontal rails. These rails also would serve us well as a
ladder.
Mungojerrie sprang up the fence as if he were lighter than air.
Standing with his hind paws on the uppermost rail, forepaws on the top
of the pales, he surveyed the backyard next door.
When the cat glanced down at us, Roosevelt whispered, “Looks like no
one’s home.” One at a time, and with relative silence, we followed the
cat over the fence. From the Samardians’ property, we crossed another
cedar fence, into the Landsbergs’ backyard. Lights were on in their
house, but we passed unseen and stepped over a low picket fence into the
Perez family’s yard, from there moving steadily eastward, past house
after house, with no problem except Bobo, the Wladskis’ golden
retriever, who isn’t a barker but makes every effort to beat you into
submission with his tail and then lick you to death.
We scaled a high redwood fence into the yard behind the Stanwyk place,
leaving the thankfully barkless Bobo slobbering, wagging his tail with
an air-cutting whoosh-whoosh, and dancing on his hind paws in