that someone was outside, looking at him intently. His training so many decades ago had taught him what it felt like to be preyed upon. He knew the gaze of another person, of a predator, when he felt it. Just because there was nothing to be seen outside didn't mean no one was staring at him. All it meant was that they had a well-hidden vantage point.
Chewing on his straw, Reggie tried in vain to shove the notion from his head. No , he thought, You're damn crazy, you know that? Ain't no vantage point... no one's staring at you out there. You're just bothered because of that ridiculous tape. Getting old, Reggie. Letting bullshit like this rile you up. You oughta know better.
The waitress came by once again, clearing his empty coffee mug. “You doing all right, hon?” she asked, eyeing him with evident concern. Her name was Karen, and she worked at the place almost daily. She and Reggie were on a first-name basis and she could tell when something was eating away at him. Usually Reggie was talkative, enthusiastic, relaxed. When she returned to the table to find him hunched, nervous, she knew something was wrong.
“Oh, I'm fine, Karen, thanks,” he lied, forcing a smile.
The waitress walked off. “Let me know if you need anything, all right?” Karen stopped at the next table, speaking to one of the young professionals and motioning to her coffee cup. She was probably asking whether the customer was in need of another refill, but the trouble was that Reggie couldn't hear her. Karen's voice was reduced to a murmur; the music, the sounds the other customers made, the gurgling of the fountain outside all came together in a single swell, masking the sound of Karen's voice until it was impossible to make out.
Reggie bit down harder on the straw.
No matter what he did he couldn't stop thinking about that goddamned tape. He checked the time on his phone. It was past noon.
Unable to stay put any longer he hurriedly settled the bill, left a tip beneath his half-finished mimosa and bid the staff farewell. Hopefully Steven would be finished editing the tape. The wait was slowly killing him and he found himself possessed of such an immense nervous energy that he felt he might burst if he didn't get out of the restaurant then.
As he made his way out the door, Karen stopped him. “You sure you're all right, Reg?”
Reggie grinned sheepishly but stopped short of saying yes.
If he was being honest, he wasn't really sure.
***
By the time Reggie walked in, Steven was through with the tape. He met Reggie in the main room and handed over both the original and the edited copy. “All done,” he said, hands in his pockets.
“What do I owe ya?” asked Reggie.
“Not a thing,” replied Steven. “It was simple. Only took me about a half hour. Trouble is, though, that I couldn't make heads or tails of what that woman was saying.” Steven frowned. “I must've watched it a dozen times after I cleaned up the audio, but it sounds like straight gibberish to me. Anyway, I hope it's helpful. Won't be able to clear it up much more than that.”
Reggie placed the tapes in his bag, both the unmarked original and the edited version, which bore a red sticker on the edge, and shook Steven's hand. “Appreciate it a great deal, Steve. I'll tell you what I'm gonna do-- this weekend, what say you and I meet for lunch? My treat.”
Steve laughed. “Sounds good, but I'm not a cheap date, Reg.”
The two bantered back and forth for a time, but for Reggie the usual joy he found in such an interaction was missing. He was simply going through the motions, his mind given over wholly to burning curiosity. He wanted nothing more than to race home and watch the tape. Perhaps it would yield some answers. Steven had gleaned nothing of note from it, but perhaps it would be different for him. Maybe there was, just as he'd fancied the night before when first watching the thing, some message intended for him and him alone.
Firing up the LeSabre, Reggie sped
Chewing on his straw, Reggie tried in vain to shove the notion from his head. No , he thought, You're damn crazy, you know that? Ain't no vantage point... no one's staring at you out there. You're just bothered because of that ridiculous tape. Getting old, Reggie. Letting bullshit like this rile you up. You oughta know better.
The waitress came by once again, clearing his empty coffee mug. “You doing all right, hon?” she asked, eyeing him with evident concern. Her name was Karen, and she worked at the place almost daily. She and Reggie were on a first-name basis and she could tell when something was eating away at him. Usually Reggie was talkative, enthusiastic, relaxed. When she returned to the table to find him hunched, nervous, she knew something was wrong.
“Oh, I'm fine, Karen, thanks,” he lied, forcing a smile.
The waitress walked off. “Let me know if you need anything, all right?” Karen stopped at the next table, speaking to one of the young professionals and motioning to her coffee cup. She was probably asking whether the customer was in need of another refill, but the trouble was that Reggie couldn't hear her. Karen's voice was reduced to a murmur; the music, the sounds the other customers made, the gurgling of the fountain outside all came together in a single swell, masking the sound of Karen's voice until it was impossible to make out.
Reggie bit down harder on the straw.
No matter what he did he couldn't stop thinking about that goddamned tape. He checked the time on his phone. It was past noon.
Unable to stay put any longer he hurriedly settled the bill, left a tip beneath his half-finished mimosa and bid the staff farewell. Hopefully Steven would be finished editing the tape. The wait was slowly killing him and he found himself possessed of such an immense nervous energy that he felt he might burst if he didn't get out of the restaurant then.
As he made his way out the door, Karen stopped him. “You sure you're all right, Reg?”
Reggie grinned sheepishly but stopped short of saying yes.
If he was being honest, he wasn't really sure.
***
By the time Reggie walked in, Steven was through with the tape. He met Reggie in the main room and handed over both the original and the edited copy. “All done,” he said, hands in his pockets.
“What do I owe ya?” asked Reggie.
“Not a thing,” replied Steven. “It was simple. Only took me about a half hour. Trouble is, though, that I couldn't make heads or tails of what that woman was saying.” Steven frowned. “I must've watched it a dozen times after I cleaned up the audio, but it sounds like straight gibberish to me. Anyway, I hope it's helpful. Won't be able to clear it up much more than that.”
Reggie placed the tapes in his bag, both the unmarked original and the edited version, which bore a red sticker on the edge, and shook Steven's hand. “Appreciate it a great deal, Steve. I'll tell you what I'm gonna do-- this weekend, what say you and I meet for lunch? My treat.”
Steve laughed. “Sounds good, but I'm not a cheap date, Reg.”
The two bantered back and forth for a time, but for Reggie the usual joy he found in such an interaction was missing. He was simply going through the motions, his mind given over wholly to burning curiosity. He wanted nothing more than to race home and watch the tape. Perhaps it would yield some answers. Steven had gleaned nothing of note from it, but perhaps it would be different for him. Maybe there was, just as he'd fancied the night before when first watching the thing, some message intended for him and him alone.
Firing up the LeSabre, Reggie sped
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