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“Fine,” he relents. “Two o’clock.Sociology.”
I can hear his wince. Sociology might as well be synonymous with torture.
I smirk, and get home to change.
* * *
Baseball cap. Sunglasses. For the next hour, I could be just about anyone. Certainly not Marius Goltz, as he happens to be in class.
I watch the cars coming into campus, pretending to pore over a textbook as the time grows nearer.
I watch a white van, decorated with a bright logo on the sides, drives slowly past, and parks in the lot reserved for staff in front of the Rose Hall.
It’s hard to make myself focus on the book as the man I saw the day I smashed his son’s car with a baseball bat gets into the back, grabs a heavy plastic toolbox, and makes his way into the building. No one else comes out.
So it was the father alone, then.
It takes up a lot of my willpower to stay on my seat rather than cross the road and swing my fist at him. But I have a plan, so I stick to it. I wait. I watch him stroll back to his van, and open the back. He’s arguing with someone, but I still keep my eyes on the damn book like it’s the most interesting thing in the universe.
When voices are raised, I do lift my head—because anyone would.
“—you do what you want to do! I’m not here for the stupid rooms, I’m here to take her back!” a high-pitched voice shrills.
“Shut your fucking mouth!” Richard roars, throwing his fist at the door. “Just shut it. I’ve done enough for you, you hear me? One more time, and that’s it. I’m dropping you.”
Jenny comes out of the van, red in the face, pointing her index finger at his chest. “You? Dropping me? I’ve been doingall of thisfor you, and you know it!”
They have the sense to look around, and lower their voices again.
Interesting. There’s some trouble in their twisted paradise, apparently.
The scholar in me wonders exactly what Richard feels he’s protecting Jenny from, what Jenny feels she’s supporting Richard on, but neither of them matter.
I let them pull out their heavy toolboxes onto two dollies, and push them in direction of the dorm. I stay seated until they’re well out of sight, and wait another three minutes. They’re likely in the building.
Then I cross the road to their van. Given their IT knowledge, I don’t doubt there’s surveillance in and around it, so I’m both quick and unobtrusive, leaning in as I toss the thing in my pocket in the back.
I walk a little farther, toward the front of the van, and pause, like I’ve just noticed my loose shoelace. I kneel to tie it, and secure my second package on the undercarriage.
I keep walking, head low, my visor hiding my face from any of the campus cameras.
Then I make my way to the Dome, down to the lockers. I get in with a bunch of basketball guys, never scanning my own ID pass, and get into the toilets.
It’s done. I only need to wait till four, my time for swimming practice.
In the meantime, I keep my phone in hand, staring at the screen. As soon as the Clarks are in their car, driving away from town, they go boom, and my hands stay squeaky clean.
87
THE BLACKMAILER
“Ihave had enough of this,” I hiss. “You should forget about the girl already. She’s too well protected.” I shake my head. “There are plenty of other interesting ones we can play with!”
The stalker hisses. “No. She’s ours. She’smine. You don’t get it. You never did.”
The stalker is right; I’ve never had the drive to follow one specific woman. Why would I? A cunt is a cunt.
“Why not Fayn?” I insist, licking my lip.
