Mapp, a world-class couponeer, had sent with Starling a thick sheaf of her discount coupons pinned to the grocery list. She and Starling were doing a ham, a pot roast and two casseroles. Others were bringing the turkey.
A holiday dinner on her birthday was the last thing Starling cared about. She had to go along with it because Mapp and a surprising number of female agents, some of whom she only knew slightly and didn’t particularly like, were turning out to support her in her misery.
Jack Crawford weighed on her mind. She couldn’t visit him in intensive care, nor could she call him. She left notes for him at the nursing station, funny dog pictures with the lightest messages she could compose.
Starling distracted herself in her misery by playing with the Mustang, double-clutching and downshifting, using engine compression to slow for the turn into the Safeway supermarket parking lot, touching her brakes only to flash the brake lights for the drivers behind her.
She had to make four laps of the parking lot before she found a parking place, empty because it was blocked by an abandoned grocery cart. She got out and moved the cart. By the time she parked, another shopper had taken the basket.
She found a grocery cart near the door and rolled it toward the grocery store.
Mogli could see her turn in and stop on the screen of his monitor and in the distance he could see the big Safeway coming up on his right.
“She’s going in the grocery store.” He turned in to the parking lot. It took a few seconds to spot her car. He could see a young woman pushing a cart toward the entrance.
Carlo put the glasses on her. “That’s Starling. She looks like her pictures.” He handed the glasses to Piero.
“I’d like to take her picture,” Piero said. “I got my zoom right here.”
There was a handicap parking space across the parking lane from her car. Mogli pulled into it, ahead of a big Lincoln with handicap plates. The driver honked angrily.
Now they were looking out the back window of the van at the tail of Starling’s car.
Perha
ps because he was used to looking at American cars, Mogli spotted the old truck first, parked at a distant parking place near the edge of the lot. He could only see the gray tailgate of the pickup.
He pointed the truck out to Carlo. “Has he got a vise on the tailgate? That what the liquor store guy said? Put the glasses on it, I can’t see for the fucking tree. Carlo, c’è una morsa sul camione?”
“Sì. Yes, it’s there, the vise. Nobody inside.”
“Should we cover her in the store?” Tommaso did not often question Carlo.
“No, if he does it, he’ll do it here,” Carlo said.
The dairy items were first. Starling, consulting her coupons, selected cheese for a casserole and some heat ’em and eat ’em rolls. Damn making scratch rolls for this crowd. She had reached the meat counter when she realized she had forgotten butter. She left her cart and went back for it.
When she returned to the meat department, her cart was gone. Someone had removed her few purchases and put them on a shelf nearby. They had kept the coupons, and the list.
“Goddamn it,” Starling said, loudly enough for nearby shoppers to hear. She looked around her. Nobody had a thick sheaf of coupons in sight. She took a couple of deep breaths. She could lurk near the cash registers and try to recognize her list, if they still had it clipped to the coupons. What the hell, couple of bucks. Don’t let it ruin your day.
There were no free grocery carts near the registers. Starling went outside to find another one in the parking lot.
_______
“Ecco!” Carlo saw him coming between the vehicles with his quick, light stride, Dr. Hannibal Lecter in a camel’s hair overcoat and a fedora, carrying a gift in an act of utter whimsy. “Madonna! He’s coming to her car.” Then the hunter in Carlo took over and he began to control his breathing, getting ready for the shot. The stag’s tooth he was chewing appeared briefly through his lips.
The back window of the van did not roll down.
“Metti in mòto! Back around with your side to him,” Carlo said.
Dr. Lecter stopped by the passenger side of the Mustang, then changed his mind and went to the driver’s side, possibly intending to give the steering wheel a sniff.
He looked around him and slid the slim-jim out of his sleeve.
The van was broadside now. Carlo ready with the rifle. He touched the electric window button. Nothing happened.
Carlo’s voice, unnaturally calm now in action. “Mogli, il finestrino!”