And would they do anything if they did?

If the police went in and made an arrest, then El Gato would lose those girls and their guard.

But he would be free.

And then I would have to find another way to get to him.

He had glanced at the cruiser rolling nearer.

Here they are! Decide, dammit!

El Nariz had avoided any interaction with the police. He quickly but calmly picked up his mop bucket makeshift seat, then started shaking it in the side door of the Dumpster, pretending to be emptying it.

When he’d glanced at the cruiser rolling past, the cops hadn’t even bothered looking back at him.

And he figured that that was logical. Who would waste time to question a dirty Hispanic male who clearly was carrying out his janitorial tasks? They probably could guess at his biggest crime: smelling like shit.

That had been about a half hour ago.

Now El Nariz, back on his bucket between the Dumpsters, heard the sound of another vehicle coming down the alleyway. He looked around the corner of the Dumpsters. He saw a big dirty tan Ford panel van. It had no windows other than the windshield and those on the front driver and passenger doors.

Paco Esteban heard its brakes squeak. It slowed to a stop beside the back door to the Gas amp; Go. He could not see from his angle but could hear a large sliding door on the van opening. Then he heard a Hispanic male’s voice. Looking under the van, he could see black boots on the far side of the van, where the sliding door would be.

El Nariz started to get his camera ready, then decided it wasn’t a good idea with so much daylight still. Whoever was behind the wheel of the van might see him.

He looked at the bumper and saw the Pennsylvania tag there. It read GSY- 696. He thought that he could write down the license plate number-until he realized he’d left his pen in the minivan.

Dammit!

There was more movement on the far side of the van. Visible beside the black boots were two more pairs of shoes. They were very small and low-heeled. Then the back door of the Gas amp; Go opened. The boots moved in its direction first, and the two pairs of shoes followed.

For a split second, El Nariz had a clear view of the three people-two young girls, one in a black dress and one in a schoolgirl skirt and top, and a very thin young Hispanic male in jeans, black boots, and a T-shirt.

I need to get back to my minivan if I am to follow them…

Then El Nariz had an inspiration.

The phone!

He scrolled through its menu. He reached the screen that asked if he wanted to add a new telephone number. He clicked the key for OK, then keyed in GSY696.

Then he picked up the mop bucket. He put it on his right shoulder so that it would block his view of the dirty tan Ford van-and block his head from the view of whoever was driving the van. He started walking across the alleyway until he was out of sight of the van, then trotted back to the minivan.

It was ten minutes before Paco Esteban heard the sound of the Ford panel van accelerating down the alley. He started the engine of his minivan-and just in time, as the Ford van flew out of the alley.

I do not know if the girls are in there.

And I do not know where they go next.

But what else do I do?

He put the minivan in drive, checked for traffic, then followed the tan Ford van down Castor Avenue. He tried to maintain a safe distance back. But not so far as to lose sight of the van.

The Ford van made the turn onto Erie Avenue, headed toward Broad Street. At Broad, it went south.

This is the way I just came, but backward.

About a mile later, he thought, Are they going where I think?

A block later, at Susquehanna, the van made a left, driving past the Temple Gas amp; Go and the adjoining Sudsie’s. At the next corner, which was North Park, it turned right.

Yes!

They are going to that Gas amp; Go!

And using the alley.

El Nariz knew that that alley gave access to both the Gas amp; Go’s back door and the loading dock of the laundromat. He also knew it was a dead end; the way in was the only way out.

He drove straight through the intersection where the van had turned right, then eased up to the curb and stopped. He put the minivan in park and adjusted the mirror on the windshield so that he could see the alley entrance behind him.

Fifteen minutes passed before the dirty tan Ford panel van came roaring out the alley. It made a right turn.

Damn!

Paco Esteban quickly put the minivan in drive and spun the steering wheel counterclockwise. He glanced over his shoulder as he started his U-turn. A blaring horn caused him to slam on the brakes. A pickup truck blew past, the driver angrily pumping his right fist at El Nariz.

El Nariz looked over his left shoulder again and hit the gas.

He made the turn onto Park, and as he passed the alley he saw the dirty tan Ford panel van far ahead. It approached the next intersection, which was Diamond Street, and went left.

El Nariz pressed harder on the accelerator, then braked heavily at the intersection. He blew through the stop sign, turning left onto Diamond. Then he smashed the accelerator, the aged minivan’s engine bucking.

Don’t quit on me.

A dozen blocks later, crossing Germantown Avenue, El Nariz could see he was closing fast on the Ford van. He eased up on the accelerator.

After another dozen or so blocks, the brake lights of the Ford van lit up for a moment. The van turned left in front of a small park.

As El Nariz followed, he saw that the street was marked HANCOCK.

The Ford van crossed over Susquehanna, then three blocks later its brake lights lit up. And stayed lit.

Paco Esteban saw that it had pulled to a stop along the right curb. A block back, he did the same. Then he watched as a Hispanic male jumped from the front passenger door, slammed it shut, and trotted across the street.

The man went to the gate of a wooden-slat fence that surrounded a lot next to an old row house. A heavy chain was looped on the gate, with a lock on it. The man unlocked the gate, then slid it open.

Paco Esteban suddenly got a knot in his stomach.

The fence that Rosario described!

From his angle and distance, Paco Esteban could just make out that the lot was paved with gravel.

Another thing that Rosario described-tires on rocks!

The dirty tan Ford van then rolled through the open gate. The man swung the gate closed after it. Then it looked as if the chain was being locked on the inside of the enclosure.

Paco Esteban took his foot off the brake. The minivan rolled forward. He slowly drove up to the house.

Except for what he’d just witnessed, there were no other visible signs of activity. No motion. And no lights. It took some effort, but he finally saw numbers on the wall beside the front door: 2505.

Hancock Street. 2505.

Keep driving! 2505 Hancock…

A few blocks north, he again pulled to the curb. He was just shy of Lehigh Avenue. His heart was pounding against his chest. He had to force himself to inhale, then to exhale.

He crossed himself.

Dear God!

To be so close to such evil!

El Nariz reached for the ink pen that was wedged into the vent on the dashboard. He found a scrap of paper.

He started to write “2505 Hancock Street” but found that his hands shook so badly he could barely read his own handwriting.

Does not matter.

I will always remember where that house is.

He reached for his cellular telephone and pushed the key that speed-dialed his wife’s phone.

When Se?ora Salma Esteban answered, he said with a shaky voice: “My love, please do not ask me any questions right now. Just listen-”

He paused at the interruption.

“Salma, please! Listen to me! Tell Rosario that I will be there in about twenty minutes. Tell her I will pick her up-”