The Follower (18 page)

Twenty or so minutes later, the train pulled into the Twenty-third Street station. Peter walked several blocks back uptown to Rocky Sullivan’s, a bar on Lexington. Although it was nearly one o’clock there were a mix of twenty-somethings and older alcoholic types, enjoying themselves, and most of them would still be there drinking at three or four in the morning. Sets of eyes shifted toward him as he walked in, the way people always, instinctively, check out fresh meat entering a bar, but no one seemed to take any great notice of him. It helped that the crowd was mostly guys and couples. Peter continued toward the back area, where some more people were seated, and went straight to the men’s room. He went in, locked the door, and started washing the color out of his hair, eyebrows, and goatee.

It was temporary spray-in color and the dark brown rinsed out easily with soap and water. In a few minutes, he was a blond again. With some paper towels, he dried himself, and then he left the bathroom. As he walked back through the bar, no one even looked at him. He exited and headed downtown on Lexington.

At the corner of Twenty-eighth and Lex, Peter reached into his back pocket, figuring he’d drop the gloves into the garbage can as soon as he passed by, or maybe bury them under the top layer of garbage, but right away he knew something was wrong. The bulge in his pocket seemed smaller than it was the last time he’d felt it, when he was leaving the park. Then he took out one glove from the pocket, not two. He felt his other pocket, but he knew it was pointless. He’d put both of the gloves in his back left pocket and one of them had fallen out.

He started back toward the bar, in case he’d lost it there, but then he turned around and continued downtown again. Going back to the bar would’ve been a mistake. If he started looking around for something, people might’ve noticed. Besides,
he knew the glove wasn’t in the bathroom because he remembered checking before he left to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind. The last time he recalled actually feeling his back pocket to assure himself the gloves were still there was when he was leaving the park. The most likely possibility was that the glove had fallen out while he was walking on the street or—even more likely—while he was sitting on the subway. If he’d lost the glove on the subway it wasn’t a big deal. It was an inconspicuous latex glove that would probably be picked up and thrown away by a sanitation worker. But if he’d dropped the glove on the street, especially anywhere near the park, it would be a major problem.

Peter considered retracing his steps, taking the subway back uptown and walking toward the park along Eighty-sixth Street, then he realized how insane that would be. It was too late to do anything about it now. For all he knew the body had already been discovered. Someone walking their dog late at night might’ve realized that the guy curled up in the tunnel near the wall hadn’t OD’d and wasn’t asleep, and the person might’ve called the police. The entire park could be a crime scene now, with cops searching the nearby streets as well. If he’d dropped the glove anywhere between the park and the Eighty-sixth Street subway station and the police found it, it would be held as possible evidence.

Peter felt like an idiot for not putting the gloves away more securely. Even if he’d put a glove in each back pocket instead of stuffing both of them into one, he probably wouldn’t be in this position. He tried to remember if he’d felt the pocket to make sure the gloves were there at any point between leaving the park and leaving the bar, but he couldn’t remember for sure. He was certain that if he had dropped the glove on the way to the subway, he would’ve noticed because he’d been so hyperaware of everything at that point. But he was sure that he hadn’t looked back when he left the subway so he very well could’ve left the glove on the seat.

Continuing uptown along Lexington, he decided that in all likelihood he had no reason to stress. Even if the police found the glove, what would they do with it? Peter had no connection
to Frat Boy; there would be no reason to even question him. If someone at the Big Easy on Second Avenue came forward, the police would be searching for a dark-haired guy. How would the glove help them one way or another?

Peter became even more convinced that the second glove was insignificant. Everything was going perfectly—he had zero chance of getting caught. At the next corner, he buried the other glove in a garbage can, under some newspapers. Then, casually, he continued toward his hotel.

Hector was working at the desk. There was no way to enter unseen or to avoid a conversation with him, nor was there a reason to. Peter had been staying out late a lot recently so there was nothing unusual about him returning past one
A.M
. Besides, the police wouldn’t be asking.

“Hey, man,” Hector said. “Yo, hold up, I got something for you.” He opened a drawer, took out an envelope, and said, “Knicks tickets.”

“Wow,” Peter said. “Why’re you—”

“’Cause you been so cool to me, man, giving me such good advice and shit, I wanted to give you something. It’s Knicks-Golden State, a week from Saturday. They’re green seats, behind the basket. You won’t be sittin’ next to Spike Lee, but at least you can see the whole game from there.”

“This is really cool, but you didn’t have to buy me tickets.”

“I didn’t buy ’em, man. My cousin got season tickets and he couldn’t use them and he was like, You wanna go? So I took ’em, figured I give ’em to you instead.”

“You sure? Why don’t you take Lucy?”

“She don’t like basketball and I been to two games already this year and they lost both times. I’m a bad luck charm and shit. I want you to have ’em, man. You can go, right? You can take your woman, what’s her name again?”

“Katie.”

“Katie, that’s right. She like basketball?”

Peter had no idea, which irritated him. He felt like he should know everything about her, that he should know her as well as he knew himself.

“Yeah, she loves it,” he said.

“Cool. So you guys go, have a good time, on me. And maybe the Knicks’ll win too, ’cause my ass ain’t there.”

Peter laughed, then said, “Well, thanks.”

“I should be thankin’ you, man. If it wasn’t for you, me and Lucy wouldn’t be talkin’ about gettin’ married and shit.”

“Wow, you guys are seriously talking about marriage?”

“Yeah, soon as we get the money, we’re gonna do it. I figure, Why not? Everybody else gettin’ married, right?”

“That’s wonderful,” Peter said, proud of himself for helping to bring two people in love together. “I’m glad to be of service.”

“So when’re you gonna bring Katie around here so I can meet her?” Hector asked.

Peter realized it would probably seem weird to admit that Katie had never been to the hotel, so he said, “She was here yesterday afternoon. You weren’t working.”

“Oh, man, can’t believe I missed that shit,” Hector said. “Definitely bring her around when I’m working so I can say hey. Or, yo, I got an idea. How ’bout you, me, Lucy, Katie, go out to dinner sometime? You know, a double date.”

Peter remembered the double date that Katie, Katie’s friend Amanda, Frat Boy, and Frat Boy’s friend had been on the other night. Peter had watched them from across the street while the two couples ate outside at Mustang. They all looked like they were having such a great time, but Peter knew that Katie was just faking it, that she was really miserable as hell and desperately needed to be rescued.

“A double date sounds like a great idea,” Peter said. “Let’s definitely do that.”

After thanking Hector again for the tickets, Peter said good night and took the elevator up to his room. He wanted to call Katie right away. He wanted to tell her that Frat Boy was gone forever, that there were no obstacles in their way anymore, that they could spend the rest of their lives together. But as badly as he wanted to hear her voice and jump-start their future, he knew he had to let things take their own course and unfold naturally.

He went into the bathroom and shaved his goatee. He realized he hadn’t been clean-shaven in a long time, in about five years, and he felt like the change in his appearance was appropriate, symbolic. He was looking in the mirror at the new Peter Wells. Tonight marked a fresh start for him; he had taken his first big step toward happily-ever-after.

In the shower, he luxuriated, letting the hot stream relax his neck and shoulders. Aside from the lost glove, he was pleased with how well everything had gone. If the body wasn’t discovered tonight, it would definitely be by sometime in the morning. The police would canvass the Upper East Side, interviewing everyone, and maybe a few suspicious dark-haired guys with goatees and criminal records would be taken in for questioning. But eventually, maybe in a month or two, the police would stop looking and the incident would become just another unsolved New York City homicide.

Peter was proud of himself for handling the situation so well. If he hadn’t gotten rid of Frat Boy, Katie could’ve stayed with him, deluding herself into believing he was a nice guy; or worse, she might’ve discovered that Peter was following her and misunderstood why he was doing it. She might have freaked, panicked, and then everything would’ve been shot to hell.

Four days ago, on Monday morning, Peter had decided to resolve the Frat Boy situation. The night before had been total misery. Peter couldn’t sleep at all, thinking about Katie, wanting to go over to her place and be with her so badly. In the morning, he couldn’t resist. He put on his Yankees cap and sunglasses and went to her block, standing about fifty yards away across the street. When she left for work he felt like he was in a movie, like when the guy looks at the girl everyone knows he’s going to get in the end, and you can tell how pained the guy is that he doesn’t have the girl yet because there are still obstacles in the way. Keeping a safe distance of about a half block between them, he followed her to the subway. She took her usual route. As she waited to cross Third Avenue, he approached on the other side of the street and he saw her face, how distraught she looked, and it was hard to
tell, but was she talking to herself? It sickened him to see her so unhappy, and it was also frustrating as hell. If she only knew that her ticket to happiness was right across the street!

She went down to the subway at Eighty-sixth Street and he followed. He stood on the platform a safe distance away, but it hardly mattered. She looked so pissed off and preoccupied that Tom Cruise could’ve been standing on the platform and she wouldn’t have noticed. When a train arrived, he got onto the same car as her, but went in through a different door. The train was jam-packed and Katie was causing a delay, trying to squeeze in. A few nasty-looking people were complaining and Peter felt protective. He wanted to strangle all of those assholes who were being cruel to his woman, and he might’ve done it if the train wasn’t so crowded.

During the ride to Fifty-first Street, he couldn’t stop staring at her. When she got off the train and went up the narrow stairs, he was several people behind her. It was agonizingly hard to be so close yet so far away. He almost went over to her and confessed his undying love. He knew if he did, they would’ve kissed, and then it would’ve been roll credits, the end. But he managed to rein it in, reminding himself that they were actors in a great romance, and that there was always pain in love stories before pleasure.

As she went to the cart to buy her bagel and coffee, he stood on the corner of Fifty-first and Lexington, watching her. Then, while she was paying, she suddenly turned and looked right at him. He reacted quickly, immediately walking away, and he wasn’t sure if she recognized him or not. He was disappointed with himself for not sticking to the plan, for being so impulsive, so careless. He never should’ve gotten so close to her.

He walked the streets for most of the morning, deciding that it might not be as bad as it seemed. If she’d noticed him, he could simply say she’d made a mistake, that he wasn’t there. But the entire morning had been a major wake-up call. He knew if he needed to follow her again, he’d have to get a better disguise.

Meanwhile, his desire to be with her, to talk to her, didn’t
let up. Although it was his day off, after a nap he went into work to lift weights. Katie usually worked out in the early evening on weekdays and he hoped she’d show up. If she didn’t, he had no idea how he’d make it through the night.

When he saw her arrive at the gym for the advanced step class, it was a huge relief. He coolly offered to help her with a hamstring stretch. Touching her skin for the first time was incredible. He’d been imagining what it would feel like and it was even warmer and softer than he’d expected. He couldn’t wait until she was
his
and he could touch all of her whenever he wanted to.

Then he told her that he broke up with his girlfriend and he could tell that this pleased her. Everything was going great until she started talking about Frat Boy again.

Peter couldn’t believe she still liked that loser. When she said she was going on a double date on Wednesday night with him and another couple, Peter felt like somebody had ripped a hole through his gut. He fought through it, figuring,
Okay, I’ll go out with her the night after and then she’ll forget all about fucking Frat Boy
. The crushing blow came when she agreed to go out to dinner with him on Thursday but said that it had to be “casual.” He was surprised he was even able to speak afterward, but he managed to control himself, telling her that he had no problem with that at all. Meanwhile, he was already thinking about ways to get rid of the little scumbag.

He didn’t want to deviate from the script so drastically, but he knew he had no choice. Frat Boy had become more than an obstacle; suddenly he was a major problem. She was spending way too much time with him. He realized he might have misjudged the Frat Boy thing from the beginning. For all he knew
they
would fall in love and there was no way Peter was going to let that happen.

That night, after he left the gym, he wandered around the Upper East Side. Like a soldier on a reconnaissance mission, he knew he had to familiarize himself with the area and find the perfect method and location for an attack. After all, he couldn’t go up to Frat Boy on a crowded street and stick a knife in his back. He had to find a place where they’d be
alone, and then he had to figure out a way to get him there. He also had to find a better disguise because the Yankees cap and sunglasses weren’t hacking it.