Page 79 of How To Plot a Payback

I look back. The teens have pocketed their phones, but they have hoodies up now and keep staring intently our way as they slog along. There’s no question about it; they are definitely tracking us.

Which is tricky, because the problem with celebrities is that they are expected to be tracked.

They are incessantly followed and photographed and mooned over. But these boys have a different look, and unfortunately it is impossible to know without question what that look means.

“How much farther?” I ask.

“I’m above that bakery,” she says, nodding ahead.

I follow her eyes to the little building in the distance. Aaand of course it’s this little graffitied building just three stories high. The sign hanging on the shop has a handful of missing letters that says: SHAT LA’ BAK R . A window box holds more cigarette butts than flowers. The whole building is a peeling pale pink, reminding me of the color of a rather terrifying Easter bunny my brother sent a video of, along with my three-year-old niece standing beside him in a shopping center screaming bloody murder.

“Lovely,” I say flatly.

“Just wait. You’ll smell it in a moment. I wake up to the scent of baklava coming through the window every morning.”

“Just baklava? You’ve been lucky.”

I take her all the way up to the front door (also peeling, no surprise). It does smell faintly of pastries. The boys have stopped at a distance now, looking so seedy and suspicious as they stand beside one of the parked cars that the owner, who I presume is watching nearby, has taken to clicking the lock button every few seconds. Every time one of them moves, a little beep announces a flash of red lights.

I am just about to leave, mentally debating whether to assert myself, when I see a third male meet the duo. This one is at least early forties. Newsboy cap over shaved head. Hands in jacket pockets. Also watching us intently.

Not even pretending to look elsewhere.

“I’m sorry,” I say, shifting on my heel towards her.

I want payback.

I want justice served.

But I don’t want her dead.

“I cannot sit idly by about this. Lavender, I applaud you for attempting to be”—I wave a hand at the offensive building—“relatable to the rest of mankind, or whatever this is, but you have to see how incredibly unsafe this is. People are not virtuous—”

To my incredible irritation, she shrugs with a smile. Makes a little noise that says, Eh. We can agree to disagree. Turns. Puts her key in the door.

Meanwhile, the trio has decided to walk this way. And the older gentleman, well, he carries his weight in a way that makes people cross the street to the other side.

I have to admit, my heart is beginning to pound now, and I find I’m trying to gauge if they look crazy enough to attack in broad daylight. “I mean,” I say more hurriedly, “not everybody is going to be your knight in shining armor here, should you come to a situation. It’s willfully ignorant to think so.”

Maddeningly, she turns the bolt.

She really is going to ignore me.

“You can’t just go in there and expect people to be good.” I realize I’m raising my voice now, which is in line with the pacing of my heartbeat. The door opens, and she takes a step inside. “Everyone in the world can Google your name and find your address. And they aren’t good!”

I look up to see an old security camera in the corner of the entry, the wires spliced.

Lavender, at the bottom of a tiny stairwell, turns to face me. Bernie, leash dropped but still attached, takes off up the stairs, banging loudly on each step.

There’s a pause as she gazes into my eyes. And then, with a lift of her lips, she exhales.

“Funny that you are so sure there are no knights in shining armor left, when you’re right here standing at my doorstep. Your breastplate looks awfully shiny to me, Finn. And by the way, this is Gabriel. My . . . bodyguard.”

I halt. Turn and come eye-to-neck with his larger-than-life frame.

“My discreet bodyguard,” Lavender adds. Then she nods at the two boys. “And Rajiv and Kavish. Sonya’s nephews and detail-in-training.” She pauses. “Who, I see today, could use a little work.”

I freeze for the longest period of time in my life. I’m like an electric robot that’s had a hiccup before getting a rebooting.