It was cold enough to keep him from dozing off from boredom in his parked car, and Dennis was glad when his two targets finally emerged from the classroom and headed for their car.
Porter slid in behind the wheel; Wills opened the passenger side door to get in.
The first stop was at the restaurant, where Porter dropped Wills off at the back door.
Another stop was made several blocks later. Porter pulled up by a phone booth, dropped a quarter into the slot, and dialed seven digits from memory.
Booker watched from a distance as his target held a brief but intense-looking conversation with whoever was on the other end.
A pair of binoculars helped him get a better look at the angry expression on Frank Porter's face, but they did nothing for the lack of audio.
He really needed to learn how to read lips.
Porter snapped one final sentence at his listener before roughly throwing the phone's handset back onto its hook and getting back into his car.
Frank was on the move again, and so was Dennis.
They turned coastward, the brown sedan taking a back road leading to the docks along the near end of the shoreline.
Dennis hung back a ways, rolling his car to a stop inconspicuously behind some thin and scraggly bushes.
Porter appeared to be meeting someone…probably whoever he'd called on the payphone.
Booker subconsciously tapped the tip of his middle finger lightly against his bottom lip as he sat there observing.
Not long later, another car pulled up to the docks and a large bald black man emerged.
Porter also exited his car, and Dennis grabbed his binoculars once again.
The two men exchanged some words, then Porter held up a folded wad of cash between two fingers.
The dark-skinned guy hesitated a moment, but took the cash and unfolded it. After counting the bills, he refolded them and poked the wad into his pocket.
A payoff?
A pistol was tucked into the guy's waistband, its handle just visible. From appearance, he could certainly pass for a hitman.
They shook hands business-like; obviously it was a deal of some sort going down. The two guys then parted ways, each returning to their respective cars.
Booker resumed his stalking of Frank Porter as he drove back toward the center of town. He had a feeling Porter wasn't done with the errands to run, and he wanted to keep spying for a while longer.
But rush hour was causing the traffic to tighten up, and Dennis' car was quickly becoming pinned in on all sides.
He was closer to Porter's car than he was comfortable with, and thanks to the vehicles around him, he couldn't really back off very well.
If he could get just one car between his and Porter's, he'd feel better. But apparently nobody needed to merge into his lane right now.
He could see Frank's reflection in the other guy's own rearview mirror.
Way too close.
And then Porter glanced up, his gaze locking with Booker's in the mirror. Porter's reflection glared at him.
Damn it, he'd been spotted.
The light up ahead was turning red, but Frank gunned the engine and darted through the intersection anyway, making a sharp left turn and disappearing from sight.
Booker slammed on the brakes, striking his palm against the steering wheel in frustration. He'd have to sit there until the light turned green again.
He could have ran the red light. He'd done it before. But unless it was a matter of absolute life or death, he'd rather not do it and risk his and other people's lives too.
The toes of his shoes rested impatiently on the clutch and the brake pedal, and the very second the traffic light turned green he was gone.
He took the same turn Porter had made, and slowed down as he glanced down some alleys and other side streets.
That was a bust. Frank Porter was long gone by now, and Booker had no clue where he'd gone.
Giving up, he stopped at another red light. A car pulled up behind him and Dennis automatically glanced up at the movement in the rearview mirror.
He did a double-take, scoffing lightly. "You gotta be kidding me…"
The ugly brown sedan was right behind him.
Dennis made a right turn. The other driver followed, maintaining a modest distance but still keeping steady pace.
He sped up. So did his shadow.
Booker reached inside his jacket, his fingers confirming the reassuring presence of his pistol tucked out of sight.
Another left turn, and he was still being tailed.
But he was no stranger to being followed, and he kept his cool.
Evening was coming on quickly——a normal hour of nightfall for that cold time of year——so he turned on his headlights to be better seen by other motorists. His car was dark like the night, and he didn't need to get run into while someone was already following him.
Booker hooked a left at a green light, heading someplace specific this time. He pulled up outside a bar he sometimes visited when he was in the neighborhood.
He parked and turned off the headlights, but didn't cut the engine just yet. He took out his handgun and cocked it, ready for whatever trouble was sure to come.
But the other car only passed him by.
Dennis let out a breath, relaxing his grip on the pistol. Once the sedan was far away down the road, he uncocked the gun and put it back away.
He turned the headlights back on, put the car in gear and drove away. Once he was sure he wasn't being followed by anyone else, he headed for home.