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The 400 approached from the opposite direction. It rolled into the Manleys’ driveway and came to a stop. The driver didn’t remove his helmet. It had a full-face mirrored visor, but I knew it was Nutsy. He was lanky and a little too tall for the 400. He let himself in through the front door, being careful not to let any cats escape.
“That’s Nutsy,” I said to my mom and grandma.
“Maybe you should go in and say hello,” my mom said. “He might be happy to see you. You were school friends. You could get to talk to him.”
“We weren’t friends,” I said. “We knew each other. I’m afraid he would be polite in front of his parents and then leave and lead us on a wild goose chase. I want to see where he’s staying. There’s a chance that he’s with Duncan Dugan, and I need to bring him in.”
Grandma was awake and sitting up. “Dugan’s the man who robbed Plover’s,” she said. “He’s the one with all the broken bones.”
“Do you think Nutsy was in cahoots with Duncan on the robbery?” my mom asked.
“It’s possible,” I said. “They knew each other. There’s a connection.”
“You could get an almost-new car if you could grab Dugan and Nutsy,” Grandma said to me. “It would be a twofer. Dugan is a high-money bond and Plover would give you a big bag of money for Nutsy.”
“Dugan is a given,” I said. “I haven’t decided about handing Nutsy over to Plover.”
The Manleys’ front door opened and Nutsy, helmet already in place, walked out with a small insulated cooler. He strapped it onto his passenger seat, straddled the bike, and kick-started it.
“That was fast,” Grandma said. “He wasn’t even in there for ten minutes. He must have called ahead.”
He turned in the driveway, and we all ducked down out of sight. There was the sound of the bike moving away from us, and my mom popped up with her hands on the wheel and her foot on the gas pedal.
“I got him in my sights,” Grandma said. “Don’t get too close. We don’t want to spook him.”
I was leaning forward in the back seat to get a better view. Bob was sitting up next to me, feeling the excitement, not knowing where to put it.
“He’s heading across town,” Grandma said.
“Where’s Dugan live?”
“By the button factory,” I told her.
“He could be heading there.”
It was dark enough that my mom had to use her lights, making it easier for Nutsy to pick up a tail. He turned down a side street, turned again at the first corner, and picked up speed.
My mom dropped back, still keeping him in sight. He turned again, moving into a more urban area with office buildings and restaurants.
“He just cut down that alley,” Grandma said. “He’s going behind the big brick building.”
My mom killed her lights and turned into the alley at fullspeed. She was hunched over the wheel. Her grip was white knuckled.
“I’m on it,” she said, eyes narrowed.
“Maybe you should slow down,” I said. “This alley is single lane and there’s not good visibility.”
“No problem,” she said. “I can see him ahead of me.”
“Yes, but he’s on a skinny little bike and you’re in a Camry.”
I could see the end of the alley just ahead. There was a U-Haul box truck parked on one side of the alley and a brick wall on the other.
“You can’t fit,” I said to my mom. “It’s too narrow.”
“He’s turning right,” she said. “I can make it.”
“You can’t make it!” I yelled.
