Hold Tight
“Like when they do that triangulation on TV with cell towers?”
“No. That’s TV. That’s also old technology. It started a few years ago with something called a SIDSA Personal Locator. It was mostly used for Alzheimer’s patients. You put it in the guy’s pocket and it was maybe the size of a pack of playing cards and if he wandered off, you could find him. Then uFindKid started doing the same thing with kids’ cell phones. Now it’s built into almost every phone by every phone company.”
“There’s a GPS in Adam’s phone?”
“Yours too, yes. I can give you the Web address. You go on, you pay the fee with a credit card. You click on and you’ll see a map like on any GPS locator—like on MapQuest—with street names and everything. It will tell you exactly where the phone is.”
Mike said nothing.
“Did you hear what I said?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“And I’m on it.”
Mike hung up. He hopped online and pulled up the Web address for his cell carrier. He put in the phone number, provided a password. He found the GPS program, clicked the hyperlink and a bunch of options popped up. You could get a month of GPS service for $49.99, six months for $129.99, or a full year for $199.99. Mike was actually dumb enough to start considering the alternatives, automatically calculating what would be the best deal, and then he shook his head and clicked monthly. He didn’t want to think about still doing this a year from now, even if it was a much better value.
It took a few more minutes for the approval to go through and then there was another list of options. Mike clicked on the map. The entire USA appeared with a dot in his home state of New Jersey. Gee, that was helpful. He clicked the ZOOM icon, a magnifying glass, and slowly and almost dramatically, the map started to move in, first to the region, then the state, then the city and finally, right down to the street.
The GPS locator placed a big red dot right on a street not far from where Mike now sat. There was a box that read CLOSEST ADDRESS. Mike clicked it, but he really didn’t need to. He knew the address already.
Adam was at the Huffs’ house.
13
NINE P.M. Darkness had fallen over the Huff house.
Mike pulled up to the curb across the street. There were lights on inside. Two cars were in the driveway. He thought about how to play this. He stayed in the car and once again tried Adam’s phone. No answer. The Huffs’ phone number was unlisted, probably because Daniel Huff was a cop. Mike didn’t have the son, DJ’s, cell phone.
There was really no choice.
He tried to think about how he could explain his being here without tipping his hand. He couldn’t really think of one.
So now what?
He considered heading home. The boy was underage. Drinking was dangerous, yes, but hadn’t Mike done likewise when he was a kid? There had been beers in the woods. There had been shot parties at Pepe Feldman’s house. He and his friends weren’t heavily into the dope scene, but he had hung out at his buddy Weed’s house—clue for parents: If your kid is nicknamed “Weed,” it probably has little to do with legitimate gardening—when his folks were out of town.
Mike had found his way back. Would he have grown up better adjusted if his parents just barged in like this?
Mike looked at the door. Maybe he should just wait. Maybe he should let him drink, party, whatever, and stay out here and then when he came out, Mike could watch him, make sure he was okay. That way he wouldn’t embarrass him or lose his son’s trust.
What trust?
Adam had left his sister alone. Adam refused to return his calls. And worse—on Mike’s end—he was already spying like mad. He and Tia watched his computer. They eavesdropped in the most invasive way possible.
He remembered the Ben Folds song. “If you can’t trust, you can’t be trusted.”
He was still debating how to play it when the Huffs’ front door opened. Mike started to slide down in his seat, which truly felt foolish. But it wasn’t any of the kids he saw leaving the house. It was Captain Daniel Huff of the Livingston police force.
The father who was supposed to be away.
Mike was not sure how to handle this. But it really didn’t matter much. Daniel Huff paced with purpose. He paced on a straight line toward Mike. There was no hesitation. Huff had a destination in mind.
Mike’s car.
Mike sat up. Daniel Huff met his eye. He did not wave or smile; he didn’t frown or look apprehensive either. It might have been Mike’s knowledge of Huff’s occupation, but he looked to Mike very much like a cop who’d pulled him over and was keeping his face neutral so that maybe you’d just admit you’d been speeding or had a stash of drugs in the trunk.
When Huff got close enough, Mike rolled down his window and managed a smile.
“Hey, Dan,” Mike said.
“Mike.”
“Was I speeding, Officer?”
Huff smiled tightly at the poor joke. He came right up to the car. “License and registration, please.”
They both chuckled, neither finding the joke particularly humorous. Huff put his hands on his hips. Mike tried to say something. He knew that Huff was waiting for an explanation. Mike just wasn’t sure that he wanted to give him one.
After the forced chuckles died out and a few uncomfortable seconds had passed, Daniel Huff got to it. “I saw you parked out here, Mike.”
He stopped. Mike said, “Uh-huh.”
“Everything okay?”
“Sure.”
Mike tried not to be annoyed. You’re a cop, big deal. Who approaches friends on the street like this except some superior know-it-all? Then again, maybe it did seem weird to see a guy you know doing what looked like surveillance in front of your domicile.
“Would you like to come in?”
“I’m looking for Adam.”
“That’s why you’re parked out here?”
“Yes.”
“So why didn’t you just knock on the door?”
Like he was Columbo.
“I wanted to make a call first.”
“I didn’t see you talking on your cell phone.”
“How long were you watching me, Dan?”
“A few minutes.”
“The car has a speaker phone. You know. Hands-free. That’s the law, isn’t it?”
“Not when you’re parked. You can just put the phone to your ear when you’re parked.”
Mike was getting tired of this dance. “Is Adam here with DJ?”