Change at Jamaica Station

Chapter 16

Chapter Sixteen 

 Caroline is Followed                                          2019 Hewlett, NY- Bushwick, NY

"The girl just left the store. It's called Trends." Leslie speaks into his cell phone to Hamish. "She's leaving. I gotta go. Don't want her to see me." Leslie, leaning against his car, a vintage Alfa Romeo in hunter green parked across the street from Caroline's beat up Audi A4 convertible, hangs up his phone and moves into a shadow near the bank on the corner and watches the petit blond with a large new bag get into her car.

"What an excuse for a man." Leslie says to himself staring at the phone. Hamish and Lou Cassano had insisted that Raoul tell them all about who else was meeting at a certain truck stop in Babylon. Hamish sent Leslie to the Valley Stream autobody shop. Just by watching the place, Leslie decided to follow the navy Audi, the car he saw them do 'special work' to. While the girl was in the store, he took a quick look under the old Audi, and there was a special shelf added, but it was currently empty. He assumed she had access to the shelf from inside the car, and it being a convertible, he knew it had an extra storage unit that held the top, when it was in the down position. What a perfect old car for drug runs; sporty, fit in anywhere, but not worth much in today's market. Now that she had gone, he looks from the empty parking spot to the store and tries to recall how large her purse was when she went into the store. Definitely, a larger bag on the way out, and definitely a fishy place for a ladies' shop. On a side street between autobody shop and the train depot? Sure.

"What a place." He mutters as he enters and shakes his head while looking around. It's in such chaos he's certain it's a cover. The overflow is a lot to take in, which makes it a perfect stash. He has a flash of his teenage sister's closet on a big Saturday date night. Things are thrown everywhere, piles of fabric and plastic in pink and yellow and glitter, a carnival you can wear; but you would never be able to find anything you were looking for, unless you stashed it yourself. Then he notices one of the piles moving and realizes it's the side of the left breast of a large woman in a fuchsia shirt who had bent over to pick up a glitter bikini. She holds it up and it is in the shape of a butterfly. He stares in awe.

"This is something a pop star could wear." The women states before she realizes she has a customer.

"Hello?" The full faced woman asks in a deep gravelly accusing voice, and he wonders what cigarette brand she smokes. Americans never roll their own, but she obviously loves hers.

Two older women stare in disbelief at the six-foot, red haired man wearing grease stained pants. His hands are huge and his cuticles blackish. He looks around the space, covered from floor to ceiling in a mesmerizing disarray of everything from diamond-encrusted cell phone cases to fake Hermes watches, to midnight blue rabbit fur vests

"Hello." Leslie says with a tilt of his head, no smile. He stares back at them not quite sure what to make of their overly done up faces and nasal accents. They stare at him, not sure what to make of his greasy clothes and foreign accent. The tiny butterfly bikini has enough glitter falling off it that it the air has a flutter of sparkle that makes Leslie cough.

"I'm not looking for a bikini." He smiles, hoping he won't choke.

"Let me take that, Sally." The larger lady says, grabbing the bikini and hiding it on a small clothes rack in the hallway.

"Thanks." Sally states, still ignoring her customer.

As Rebecca moves forward all Leslie sees is her chest coming within inches of his body and he shuffles around the crowded shop, wondering how any shopping gets done. He takes a step back, nearly tripping over a fake Louis Vuitton tennis racquet cover, his work boots getting caught up in the strap, as he realizes the sheer volume of items for sale. He also notices, and who couldn't, that one of the sales ladies had obviously had a much better plastic surgeon than the other. One couldn't help but see the wrong clownlike bulges on the upper cheekbones of one, or the excessive bulges in the breast area of the other; as if any man could ever think that breasts were too big, but here, they clearly were grotesque. Not usually one to think about women and plastic surgery, he tries not to look at the wrong 'spot' in the store, but he mentally compares the plastic surgery to Hamish working on a Jaguar and making a few slips, and his work on the same vintage car, that he would take pains to get perfect.