I said, “All right, forget it.”
“Where’s she going, lover?”
“I don’t know.”
“What’s she going to do?”
“I don’t even know that. We’ve kicked ourselves out of a hundred — dollar — a — day job. There’s everything to gain, and nothing to lose. We may as well shoot the works.”
“Donald, you’ve never failed me before. You’ve always worked out some scheme that let us wriggle through.”
“Shut up,” I said. “I’m trying to do it now.”
It was a tough job following her in traffic. All she needed to do was press her foot on the throttle. The motor would whisper a song of smooth power, and the car would whisk through an opening which would close up behind her. I had to keep my foot on the throttle of the agency car and hold it in second gear a good part of the time so I had the pick-up I needed for traffic.
She drove into a parking station. I didn’t dare go into the same station. The only open parking space was in front of a fire plug. I said, “All right, Bertha, we park in front of the fire plug. If you get pinched, you can charge it to Ashbury for taxi expenses. You go down toward Seventh Street. I’ll go up toward Eighth. Wait on the corner. When she leaves that parking lot, she’ll either turn toward you or toward me. If she comes toward me, don’t try to follow her. If she goes toward you, I won’t try to follow. Whichever one isn’t elected will come back and move the car.”
Bertha was meek as a lamb. “Yes, lover,” she said.