A block east of the restaurant he knew he was being followed. One large gray Chevy Suburban kept a discreet three car lengths behind him. Smitty made no move to dislodge it from its pursuit. But he made sure he wasn"t wrong. For the next fifteen minutes, he drove, using signal lights with each turn, giving his pursuers ample time to shift over into the turning lane to follow. In heavy traffic. Down streets with a thin veneer of traffic. Down streets with no traffic. No matter. The Suburban stayed three or four car lengths behind him.
He smiled in the darkness of his Cadillac with only the flash of headlights from cars passing him illuminating his dark eyes momentarily. Smiled like a Great White circling the unsuspecting surfer lying on his board resting on the swell of high waves crashing
