Nicholas Garin had parked his cherry red Acura in the lot of the gymnasium located on the St. Paul campus of the University of Minnesota. From there he had a clear view of Hoyt Avenue where it intersected with Cleveland. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, when I’m driving somewhere I’ll go through that intersection.
Unfortunately for Garin, I wasn’t driving. I was on foot. Garin wasn’t looking for pedestrians, so he didn’t see me walking east on Hoyt dressed in a Timberwolves players jacket and a Vikings hat pulled low. Nor did he pay attention when I headed north on Cleveland past the tennis courts and then crossed the street at Folwell, although I was in plain sight the entire time. I made my way south on Cleveland and then cut through the parking lot until I was standing directly behind him. Even then, Garin didn’t see me, never glancing around, never checking his mirrors. He slouched against the driver’s door of the SUV, gazing more or less toward the mouth of Hoyt Avenue, oblivious to the world. For all I knew, he was sound asleep. Certainly he jumped as if I had awakened him from a pleasant daydream when I tapped the window with the nose of the Beretta.
Surprise became terror became panic. He grabbed the steering wheel with both hands, and although I couldn’t see it, I knew his foot was stomping on the accelerator in an effort to escape. Only the SUV wasn’t running. He pounded on the steering wheel with both hands until he realized that the SUV wasn’t running and reached for the ignition key.
“C’mon, Nick, don’t do that,” I said.
I tapped the window again, only I was more forceful than I intended. The safety glass shattered into a hundred tiny shards that rained all over him. Panic became anger.
“What are you doing?” Garin shouted.
The guy is burning through emotions like an acetylene torch, my inner voice said.
“Sorry about that, Nick,” I said aloud. “I was just trying to get your attention.”
“You broke my window.”
“I said I was sorry.”
“Have you any idea how expensive it is to fix a window on an SUV these days? On top of what it cost me to replace the tire you shot out?”
“Don’t you have insurance?”
“Yes, I have insurance. I also have a high deductible.”
“Get your boss to pay for it.”
“Like that’s going to happen.”
For God’s sake, McKenzie, my inner voice said. You’re the one with the gun. Take charge.
“Hey.” I rapped the frame of the car door with the barrel of the Beretta, where the window had been, sending more glass shards flying. “I’m the aggrieved party here.”
“What did I ever do to you?”
“Among other things, you frightened my girlfriend. On a bad day I’d shoot you just for that alone.”
To prove it, I pointed the Beretta at Garin’s heart. Anger became anxiety. Garin backed away as far as he could while still remaining in his seat.
“What are you going to do?” he asked.
“Fortunately for you, Nick—do you mind if I call you Nick? Fortunately for you, Nick, this is not a bad day, so I’m willing to negotiate. Here are my terms—you do exactly what I say and I won’t shoot you. Take it or leave it.”
“How do you know my name?”
“I know everything about you, Nick, including who you work for. What did Fiegen expect to accomplish by sending you out here, anyway?”
Garin hesitated for a moment, his eyes narrowed, and he looked off to his left.
“Who?” he said. “Fiegen?”
“Nick, you have an MBA from the University of St. Thomas. Are you telling me you can’t lie any better than that?”
“I’m not lying.”
I raised my gun like I was going to hit him with it. He cringed and turned his head.
“What do you want?” he asked.
“Tell me what your job was.”
“Just watch. Don’t get involved, don’t interfere, just watch and report on what you do.”
“Were you watching Wednesday night when I threw a man in front of a speeding car? Did you report on that?”
Garin’s eyes widened. Anxiety became fear.
“Does Alicia know what you’ve been up to?” I asked.
Fear became something I couldn’t read.
”You’re not trained for this, pal,” I said. “Fiegen sending you instead of someone with experience, that’s amateur night. I expected more from him.”
“He didn’t want…”
“What didn’t he want?”
“He didn’t want to go outside the company.”
“So he sent an MBA to do a punk’s job. Risk a dime to save a nickel. And people wonder why our economy is in a shambles. All right, this is what you’re going to do. You’re going to contact your penny-pinching boss. You’re going to tell him that I know everything. Tell Fiegen to call me or I’m going to call the FBI. Tell him if I get bored waiting for his call, I might blow his deal with the Bosnians just for the fun of it. Are we clear on that?”
Garin didn’t answer, so I rapped the door frame with my gun again.
“Are we clear?” I asked.
“We’re clear.”
“One more thing, Nick. I don’t want to see you or your cherry red Acura ever again. If you think dealing with auto insurance guys is tough, wait until you have to negotiate with health insurance people. They’re sonsabitches. Do we understand each other?”
“This wasn’t my idea,” he said.
“I never thought it was.”