The Man of Maybe Half-a-Dozen Faces by Ray Vukcevich

and Snow both looked up at Lulu.
    We moved away from the window.
    Frank had reached the corner. That was lead enough. We hurried to follow.
    Ordinarily he would just walk back to his office after lunch, but we could tell he would break his pattern today. For one thing, he already had. He’d taken that early lunch alone.
    Following anyone is an art, but following a cop takes special care. Lulu turned on Olive, leaving Frank to continue down Broadway on his own. She was pretty sure she could pick him up anywhere along the mall before he reached the police station.
    As long as he didn’t get into a car along the way, we probably wouldn’t lose him. If he used his own car, we’d be okay. The lot where we had permanent parking places was only a block from the police department’s underground parking garage. Sky kept his Cherokee in that lot, and Lulu’s old Ford Escort was pretty much permanently parked there. The car was registered in my mother’s name. I wondered what Frank would think if he suddenly suspected Lulu was following him and had the plate checked. Would he think my mother had lost twenty years and gained fifty pounds?
    Lulu passed the police station and walked around to our parking lot. She was playing a hunch. If he just went back to his office, she’d know soon enough, but if he walked through to the parking garage, she would be ready to follow him in the Escort.
    Lulu unlocked the Escort, but before she climbed inside she saw a small group of mushrooms on the floor under the steering wheel. We didn’t remember buying mushrooms, much less dropping them as we unloaded groceries. Lulu leaned down to pick one up. It was growing in the Escort’s carpet! How long had it been since she’d used the car? She didn’t remember. We hoped the battery wasn’t dead. Lulu plucked the mushrooms from the carpet and tossed them to the pavement and climbed in behind the wheel.
    Sometimes you win. Not only did the Escort roar to life when Lulu turned the key, but she had no more done that when Frank pulled into view on the one-way street in his own beat-up green Dodge.
    Lulu gave him a moment, and then followed. Frank took Seventh Street to Franklin and for a moment we thought he would drive right out of town. Maybe he had a rendezvous in Springfield.
    Fast food and motels on the left, the University of Oregon on the right. He pulled into the left turn lane at a light.
    It was decision time. We could pull in behind him and risk him spotting us, or we could take a chance that he would make a legal U-turn here in order to get to the businesses on the other side of the street. That was the main purpose of a left turn here. If he really went on down the cross street we’d probably lose him. We stayed in the lane that didn’t turn.
    Frank made a U-turn. The light turned green and the traffic in front of us moved on. We just needed a moment more to see what Frank was up to. The traffic behind us waited patiently, but they wouldn’t wait much longer. A bunch of horn honking might attract Frank’s attention. We thought he might be doubling back to downtown, but before he got out of sight he turned into the parking lot of the Quack Inn. Lulu dropped the Escort into gear and zipped into the left turn lane. Got some dirty looks, but no one honked. That reticence on the part of locals to use the horn aggressively is one of the things that amazes visitors.
    By the time we could make our own U-turn and get down to the Quack Inn, Frank had parked and disappeared into one of the rooms. That meant someone else had already rented the room. Or at least that Frank had done it himself some time in the past. He hadn’t had time to check in while we waited at the light.
    The bar at the Quack Inn was called the Tail Feathers Lounge. Both of the names had to do with the U. of O. Ducks. A lot of stuff in Eugene has a duck theme, the school’s mascot being a duck and all, especially in