Split Black /#Wattys 2021

Chapter Eighteen

Rising seven stories above the Chesapeake Bay, the Chamberlin Hotel spread its Georgian-style arms before historic Fort Monroe, welcoming visitors like a stately old grandfather. To John, his mother, and generations of Hampton residents since the late 1800s, its sumptuous Chesapeake Room had been the place for special anniversary dinners, weddings, and proms. In the 1920s it had burnt down and been rebuilt, and it went bankrupt after Nine-Eleven. Last year it reopened as senior living for retired military—although it probably wasn't your average veteran who could afford the four thousand dollar a month rent. But the waterfront dining room was once again open to the public, and John was counting on that to help him nail George Clay for Bill Pride's murder.

The Army was supposed to leave the base next year, but for now, John still had to submit his photo ID and proof of insurance in order to reach the old hotel. That would be a problem if the next twenty-four hours didn't go well, but he had no way to avoid it. He'd swapped his 442 for a rented minivan in Richmond and hit his credit card up for a large advance; this trip had to be cash only.

He purchased a gift certificate for dinner for two at the restaurant, stipulating that it be valid only for tonight and tomorrow night. He resisted the urge to linger and enjoy the view from the enormous bayfront windows; it was best that no one in the restaurant remember him, if at all possible.

He headed back out to the minivan, left the base, drove up Mallory, and then hooked left to First Street. A pass by Clay's revealed both the white Ford 250 and the black Shelby Mustang in the drive. He drove a little farther up and slid into a two-hour parking space with a good view of Clay's house. He hoped Clay would need to go somewhere in that time; if he didn't, John could pull out and park at the marina and watch the road rather than the house.

After about forty-five minutes the Mustang backed onto the street with Clay behind the wheel and another guy in the passenger seat. John started the minivan and pulled out, hanging back until he could pick up a cover car. He tailed them to the Taco Bell on East Pembroke, and then to a tiny tanning parlor on Mercury. John pulled into a strip mall across the street, parked where he had a good view of the Mustang, and sat drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He wasn't having good luck so far.

At length Clay and the other man came out and got back in the car, and John followed them into an old residential area off Grimes. They parked in front of a tiny house with dark gray siding.

John drove by on the cross street and hurried around the block. He hovered at the corner wondering just how long he could sit here and peek down the street without someone taking notice. Clay and the other man got out of the Mustang and the two men went into the house.

The door to the gray house closed behind them; all the blinds were down. John tooled down the street to the house and stopped next to the Mustang. The driver's side window was one third of the way down.

He jumped out of the minivan and sprinted around to the driver's side of the Mustang. If Clay thought the gift certificate had fallen out of his passenger's pocket, chances were he'd help himself to it. And if the passenger found it, he'd think it was Clay's and hand it to him. John fished the gift certificate out of his own pocket and folded it down to jeans-pocket size. He crinkled it up a little. Clay had locked the driver's side door, but John was able to flick the envelope into the passenger seat with his first two fingers as if it were a miniature Frisbee.

He dashed back to the minivan and took off.

                                                                                   ***

After a lunch-and-bathroom stop for himself, John settled back down on First Street down from Clay's eyebrow house to see if Clay would take the bait. The Mustang had beaten him back there and sat parked again in the front drive.