Ro drove a beat-up old Sedan with faded black paint and a dented back bumper. I recognized it on sight since his girlfriend had parked it right next to me that day I'd gone to the gym. Manny and I had taken a risk in waiting for him on the east side of the Arena. There was a four-way intersection there that led back to both I95 and the Hart bridge. The west side of the stadium would've taken him back toward 295 so if he was getting on an expressway, two out of three on-ramps were our way.

       "We must have missed him." I said after a few minutes.

       "Let's give it another minute."

       It took so long to get back to the parking garage we really did almost miss him, but by some luck we managed to run to Manny's truck, crank up, and pull out of that garage in record time. We'd pulled over to idle for about four minutes when Ro drove by looking like a full-grown adult riding in a toy car.

       "That's him!" I declared. "Follow that car!"

       Manny put the truck in drive. "You've always wanted to say that."

       "I have."

       As the taillights of Ro's little Sedan puttered toward the expressway, pedestrians started trickling from the stadium. The sound of dulled metal music floated through the air. The show was over, and we'd just missed the crowd. Manny pulled into the still clear road and gave chase after Ro. The taillights floated further and further...and further away.

       I looked over at the dash. Morgan Freeman over here was driving thirty-five miles an hour for some reason. "Hey, Ms. Daisy. You want to pick up the pace?"

       He snorted out a laugh. "Ms. Daisy wasn't the one driving. That was Morgan Freeman."

       "Never saw the movie."

       "You've never seen Driving Ms. Daisy?"

       "Nope. Looked mad boring."

       He nodded but kept his eyes glued to the road. "Yeah, I didn't see it either."

       I sighed and pointed toward Ro's car. "Okay, well, you're losing him, Morgan Freeman."

       "I'm not going to lose him. I know how to tail people."

       "Yeah, I know. You've tailed me before."

       "And you drive like a bat out of hell. I can keep up with this gorilla in a clown car."

       I snickered. "That's so mean."

       "It's really time for him to size up."

       Ro swerved onto the on-ramp for the Hart Bridge, no blinker. Manny hit the gas, then followed. The traffic on the bridge was nonexistent at this late hour so Ro's headlights shined like a beacon in the dark. Above us, the sky was dark, muddy, and on the verge of a rainstorm. Below us, the San Juan River loomed black and ominous. The streetlights on the Hart were spotty on the best of days, so Manny mostly relied on his headlights for visibility.

       From the Hart Bridge Ro merge onto Atlantic Boulevard. Atlantic had a wave of traffic so thick I thought for sure we'd lose him, but Manny pulled up behind Ro at a red light so casually I wondered if he remembered we were chasing the guy at all.

       "It's better with traffic," he said. "One car follows him for ten miles, he gets suspicious. Ten cars, and he doesn't notice."

       I filed that little tidbit from a Master detective/stalker away for later.

       We followed him for about eight more miles past churches, real estate offices, clinics, hole-in-the-wall Chinese takeout spots, and other places I couldn't make out as we zoomed by until I recognized a few landmarks and realized we were only a few miles from Baptist Hospital.

       "This is San Marco," I said. "Is there a Publix in San Marco?"

       "Uhhhh, yeah. It's across the street from a bank, I think."

       We didn't need to theorize because as soon as he answered, the San Marco Publix and the shopping center it was attached to came into view. Ro and the little Sedan that could zoomed into the mostly empty parking lot and disappeared around the side of the building and toward the loading area.

       Manny pulled the truck into an empty space then put it in park. "I guess he really does work at Publix."

       I wasn't completely convinced. People take off or don't show up at all. "But was he here last Friday night?" I grabbed my phone and started typing away.

       "What are you doing?" Manny hit the overhead light, so I didn't strain my eyes.

       "Looking for a phone number."

       "For?"

       "Publix." I strolled through the Google results until I found the number for the Publix branch we were currently parked outside of. I hit call and brought the phone to my ear. The line rang for a time before someone finally picked up.

       "Hello," said a man with a drained voice. "San Marco Publix. This is Gary."

       I channeled the spirit of Ro's crazy girlfriend by lowering my voice and digging deep for a bad attitude I didn't feel. "Hey, Gary." I said with a brashness that would send the most seasoned customer service rep on edge. "Could I speak to Ro, please?"

       He was annoyed already. "Who's calling?"

       "His girlfriend."

       He sighed. "Why didn't you call him?"

       "He's not answering his phone."

       "Is this an emergency?"

       "Yes."

       "What's the emergency?"

       I stalled for a bit to seem like I was thinking. "Um...just put Ro on the phone."

       "Listen—Tori, was it?"

       Is that her name? Sure. "Yeah."

       "This is not his personal line. You cannot call this line because you feel like talking—"

       "Just put him on the line!"

       He gave it a good try but being randomly yelled at was Gary's politeness limit. "You can't keep doing this every week!"

       "If you're covering for him, and he's out with some stank bitch I will hold you personally responsible, Gary!" Too far, too far. The phrase 'personally responsible' felt too controlled and upper middle-class when I was going for impulsive and low brow.

       Gary, thankfully, didn't seem to notice. He must not know her like that. All the better for me. "Listen, you! We're tired of you calling every other week to try and catch Ro cheating! I'm not your little spy, okay! That is not my job!"

       "So, he is cheating then! That son of a bitch!"

       "What?"

       "Obviously you can't answer my questions because he isn't there—"

       "You're fucking crazy!"

       I made my voice get more hysterical. "And you're a goddamn liar!" Manny stared at me in a mix of awe and confusion. "I know that lying fuck ain't working on Fridays! He ain't there now just like he wasn't there last Friday night!"

       "Oh my God! You are insane!" Poor Gary. He's just trying to get through his managerial job on the night shift at Publix. "Of course he was here! He's here every fucking Friday! He's my best employee. I wouldn't put up with you if he wasn't!"

       "Please! I'm expected to believe he's there every Friday from ten to six? You think I'm stupid?"

       "Very!" Oh, saucy, Gary. "And yeah, he's always here—"

       I hung up and leaned back in my seat, frustrated beyond measure. "So, he really was working during the murder."

       "Why do you look so disappointed?"

       "I'm just thinking of all the time I spent looking into this guy." I puffed out a sigh and stared out into the dark. "Time that would've been better spent investigating someone else."

       He reached out and pat my hand then let it sit there in my lap. "Hey, take it from an old pro. Using valuable time to cross suspects off your list is just a part of the job."

       "I know. It was just a long night."

       "Yeah, but look on the bright side," he flashed me a wide smile. "You got to spend it with me."

       I chuckled. "And we got to tail someone too. That was pretty fun."

       He squeezed my hand. "You're so cute when you get all devious like this."

       "You're not too bad at this devious thing yourself."

       "I'm government, so..."

       That pulled a hearty laugh deep from my gut. It was relieving. Felt like I hadn't laughed in days. "Why did we spend the first few months of our relationship at odds. We could've taken over the world by now."

       He leaned in. "There's still time." His face grew dark for a moment, but then he leaned back and stared across the street toward a McDonald's just up the street. "But first, let's get something to eat."

       "You're still hungry? After all that?"

       "Well, somebody ate most of my burger."

       I shrugged. "And you pretty much had my whole pizza."

       "Thin sliced. This is why Chicago style pizza is superior."

       "Said the Chicagoan."

       "I'll represent 'til I die."

       "You haven't lived there for twenty years."

       "Who's counting?" He glanced longingly at the McDonald's again. "So, you hungry?"

       "No, but you go ahead."

       He didn't need me to tell him twice. He put the truck in drive, and we were off. As he drove my mind shifted to the case. Felix Rosario was a bust as far as the murder went. The only crime he'd apparently committed was petty assault of an asshole and recreational steroid abuse—which I think is a minor felony, but honestly who cares?

       That meant I was almost back to square one, and tomorrow I'd have to recalibrate my whole strategy. Great.

       But for tonight, I would relax, enjoy my boyfriend's company, and maybe, probably take a teeny tiny bite of his burger—you know, just for taste.

       I mean, what was he going to say? No?