Who in Hell Is Wanda Fuca? by G. M. Ford

just want to be able to stay out
of the rain, that's all. Harold and George, you guys are the oldest, you get
the viaduct side. Try to stay dry. Ralph and I will work from the street."
He looked to me.
    "Great," I said. "Take these." I handed each a small
spiral notebook and a couple of pencils. Their grimy hands clutched the booty
like it was the Holy Grail. It wasn't much, but it was brand-new.
    "I wasn't license numbers for every vehicle of any sort that either
enters or leaves." They scribbled away. "I want descriptions, ages,
and anything else you can come up with on any foot traffic." More
scribbling. "If anybody leaves on foot, I want one of you to see where he
goes. But" - I waved a finger in front of their faces - "I want at
least one of you to stay out front and out back at all times. At no time is
either the front or the back to be completely unattended. Got it?" Ralph
raised his hand.
    "Could you go over that again, Leo?"
    "Which part?" I tried to hide my exasperation.
    "All of it," he said sheepishly. I looked over the top of his hand
to see what notes he'd been taking. Stick figures. Either Ralph was taking
notes in Egyptian hieroglyphics, or he was experiencing a serious shortage of
brain cells. I was beginning to worry.
    Buddy jumped in again. "I'll fill him in, Leo." He patted Ralph's
arm.
    "Okay," I said. "Everybody pay attention." They stopped
scribbling.
    "Here's the important part." I brought out four copies of
Caroline's photo that I'd made that morning.
    As Frankie Ortega had promised, she was indeed one slick package. Blond,
blue-eyed, high cheekbones, solid chiseled features. Definite cover girl
potential. The picture only showed her from the neck up, wearing a square-necked
peasant blouse, but, presuming she was still in possession of all of her
appendages, the rest of her held great promise. I gave each guy a copy.
    They made noises like a pack of feeding hyenas, elbowing one another and
trying lamely to look down the front of the blouse.
    "This is who we're looking for." They weren't paying attention.
Ralph was sniffing the picture. "Hey," I shouted. They snapped to.
Contrite.
    "This," I said, shaking the picture, "is what we're here
about. This young lady is the one exception to the
two-guys-have-to-stay-here-at-all-times rule. If any of you see her leaving,
follow her. Use as many guys as it takes but keep track of her. Do whatever it
takes. Understood?"
    "What if she leaves by car?"
    "Follow on foot as far as you can. As bad as traffic is, you can
probably stay ahead of them. Try for a taxi. I'll work on getting you guys a
car for this afternoon. In the meantime, fake it. Okay?"
    It was okay. "You've each got the twenty-five I gave you this morning.
If you spend any of it in the line of duty, I'll replace it. Get receipts. You
hear me? This isn't the honor system. If you want to be reimbursed, get a
receipt." En masse scribbling. "I'm going to dig up a car for you
now. I don't know how long it'll take. I might be back to pick you guys up this
afternoon or I might not. If I miss any of you between now and then, be at my
place again at eight A.M. sharp tomorrow." They nodded in unison. I headed
off in search of a cab.
    The job had seemed like a natural. I had an extra hundred a day coming in
from Tim Flood. Buddy and the boys could blend into the surroundings like so
much refuse. It seemed like a hell of a lot better idea than staking the place
out myself. Three or four days and we ought to have a pretty good picture of
the activities originating at the building.
    In the meantime, I knew a place I could probably come up with a car and some
information on Save the Earth all at the same time.
    I had the cabbie drop me in front of the University Bookstore. The Ave was
humming. An elderly black man played solo sax in the doorway to the bookstore.
A bebop version of "For All We Know" buzz-sawed its way along the
street. Across the street in front of Tower Records, a dobro player had
attracted a small