When I realized there was a hitman after me, my instinctive response had been to turn the tables. To become the hunter. I may be misremembering, but I seem to recall some theorem about matter always wanting to return to its original state. That goes for people as well. We were chasing a predator. If Little Joe told him we were on his trail, he’d come after us.

And now, if I was lucky, he had.

My plan was to wait for him to drive out, then follow. I managed to stick to it for fifteen minutes before persuading myself I needed to make sure he was still around. So I got out of the car and scoped out the area first. I stood behind a van and waited for a car to leave the lot, listened to the bump-bump of its tires on the speed bumps and committed that sound to memory. If I heard it again, I’d know to look and make sure my target wasn’t leaving.

It took some effort to find the right path—the one that would allow me to travel without being seen. After scouting the lot, I gave thanks for the North American preoccupation with vehicles big enough to carry a whole hockey team. I darted from minivan to SUV to oversized pickup, working my way closer to the doors while checking over my shoulder to ensure I could still see the exit.

At last, as I peered through the windows of a minivan, I could see the visitor doors. But there was no sign of my target. The bump-bump of an exiting car sent me scrambling back to the lane, straining to see the exiting vehicle. A carload of people, driven by a heavyset woman.

As my heart rate returned to normal, I caught the eye of a passing couple. The woman’s gaze flitted past me, but the man’s lingered, checking me out, the response seeming more reflex than interest. I flashed my usual friendly grin—the sort that encourages strangers to ask me for directions but is only mistaken for a come-on by the most deluded. The man nodded and continued.

I breathed deeply, cursing. Not seeing my pursuer, then hearing a car leaving, I’d panicked. I should be above that. Better I should lose my target than risk exposing myself.

I returned to my spot, only to resume a fresh round of mental cursing. There was my target, back in place, smoking, having probably only been moving around when I’d first looked.

As I thought of the passing couple again, I was reminded that I wasn’t hidden, even here between the vehicles, so I pulled out my cell phone and put it to my ear. To anyone walking by, I’d look as if I was just making a call before I headed out.