Andy Thomasia is attempting to learn the ways of the street people, trying to blend in, to be cautious of blind alleys-and suspicious of everyone he meets. He has turned his hours of wakefulness around, sleeping through the day in one of Nacho’s safe places, roaming the streets at night. He only has to do this for two days, he repeatedly tells himself.
Time’s almost up.
After Gretchen left him sitting in her car in the parking lot, running away as though she had something to hide, he’d searched the car. He took her cell phone, turning it off to save on power. He scooped up quarters from the ashtray and put them in his pocket to use for bus tickets. He couldn’t follow the women once they drove away in the cab, but he would use the Phoenix transportation system to search some of the places they may have gone.
He wants information from them, whatever they might have. Why would Gretchen run unless someone has turned them against him, convinced the Birches that he is guilty? Were they judging him on old evidence or on new?
He takes a bus toward the coffee shop where he first met Caroline, thinking about the woman from his past. The only thing different about Caroline since he saw her years ago is the color of her hair. And the distrustful daughter. The bus continues past the museum, where he observes a police officer getting into a squad car. What’s going on there?
A few blocks later, Andy steps down from the bus. He strolls along the crosswalk toward the banquet hall. Good thing Caroline had mentioned it or he wouldn’t have known where to look next.
The museum is off-limits if the cops are hanging around, that’s obvious. He wonders what might have occurred there, but he doesn’t dwell on it for long.
Andy leans against the entrance and peers inside through a door pane. A tiny bit of light shines down the hall, which could be anybody or nobody. But Caroline and Gretchen might be inside.
If they aren’t, he’ll pass the morning off the street, waiting for them. Sunday, Gretchen had said. She would turn him in on Sunday. He’ll stay inside and call Caroline’s cell from the one he took from Gretchen’s car. When the time is right.
If they are inside, he’ll deal with them.
Locks. Andy shakes his head. Not good for squat. A lock is guaranteed to give you a false sense of security. All he needs for this one is a paper clip and a screwdriver, but he has the whole lock-picking shebang. He might as well use them, get in the fastest way. He removes a tool from his pocket and does a visual sweep up and down the sidewalk and street. No one notices the bum by the door.
Andy rakes the lock by inserting a pick into the keyhole. Then he pulls it out quickly, hearing the click of the pins. Next he turns the plug with a tension wrench and grins with satisfaction.
That’s all it takes. He’s inside.