ers at Bonnie’s house across the street. 
Sheila was about to dial Nicky’s number when a young blond teenager stepped out of the car, waving good-bye to her friend. It was only Carla, one of her daughters. The car pulled away from the curb and drove away. Sheila exhaled loudly.
Another car pulled into the bay, stopping on the wrong side of the road in front of the house next to Bonnie’s. On the dash, Sheila noticed a light, like the ones used by the police in unmarked cruisers. It must be the cops checking up on Bonnie, she decided.
A man strolled down the city sidewalk, stopping under their boulevard tree to light a cigarette. The match lit his face for a moment. Sheila didn’t recognize him. She studied him, ducking back from the drapes as his dark eyes scanned the block. After a moment, she was brave enough to poke her head through the sheers again. Sheila no longer saw the smoking man. She broadened her search of the street, straining her neck as she glanced up and down the bay, but there was no sign of him.
Then she noticed a long shadow at the side of the house between their place and Debbie’s, then a faint wisp of smoke snaked its way towards the front sidewalk.
Sheila’s heart pounded. She reached for the phone and dialled. Nick crouched against the fence in the yard behind Bonnie’s house. The cell phone was in his hand, finger poised over the receive button. The instant he heard the trill, he answered.
“I think there’s someone between our house and Deb’s, watching Bonnie’s place,” Sheila whispered.
Nick tried to peer through the fence slats, but saw nothing.
Bonnie pushed aside the drapes and stared into the night. Clouds obscured the moon. The neighbourhood suddenly seemed like a dark, eerie place. She tried to shake the feeling of doom that had settled over her.
His laugh was cut off and a dial tone hummed through the earpiece. Bonnie slammed down the phone. Picking it up again, she dialled Nick’s number.
Nick tossed the walking stick over the fence, then scaled the boards, leaping to the ground on the other side. Skirting the raised deck of the above-ground pool, he hurried to the back wall of Bonnie’s house, tightly gripping his walking stick.
Gravel crunched underfoot as he crossed the street to her driveway. Another gloomy night, but at least there was no rain. He paused, ears cocked. He thought he had heard a thump, then dismissed it as a car door from the apartment’s parking lot on the next street.
Shielding his eyes, he peered through the glass in the door window for a panel box that would control the security system. Finding none within sight, he grinned. It would be just like Harold to pull a trick like that. Put up a sign, just as a bluff. Well, he wasn’t going to fall for that!
He opened a leather pouch. Pulling out a pair of picks, he started to work on the lock.
Nicholas heard the footsteps, waiting until they paused at the back door. He raised the stick like a club and charged. He swung shoulder high, but the culprit turned at the last moment and ducked. The end of Nick’s stick struck the stuccoed wall, sending a jarring pain up Nick’s arm. A sudden blow to his stomach doubled him over. The Caller flung Nick to the patio and turned to run. Nick grabbed his foot, sending the intruder to the ground. Quick as a monkey, Nick climbed over his back and grabbed the man’s hair, wrenching his head back.
The man emitted a strangled grunt. He slowly brought an arm out from under him and jabbed his elbow into Nick’s ribs, flinging him off his back so he could rise. Nick rolled to his feet and lunged at the fleeing form, tackling his legs. They tussled for several minutes, writhing in the dew-covered grass.
Suddenly a blinding light flashed, momentarily blinding both men, but the Caller managed to regain his footing and scurried away before Nick had a chance to follow. Rubbing his eyes, Nick tried to focus again, but spots kept appearing, blurring his vision.
“Come inside and let me assess the damage,” Bonnie said, noticing a gash on Nick’s lip.
He limped up the back steps into her kitchen as she flicked on the light, blinding him once more. She set a camera on the counter and reached into the freezer section of her fridge for some ice. Wrapping it in a cloth she held it against Nick’s swelling mouth.
“Thanks,” he said, taking another ice pack from her and applying it to a bruise on his cheek.
“Let me get the bandages and antiseptic,” she offered.
As she headed down the hall, Nick’s eyes wandered around the room, coming to rest on the camera.
“Did you take a picture of the guy?” he called out to her.
He called in sick at work the next day. It wouldn’t do to have his co-workers inquire about his injuries. He examined his reflection in the bathroom mirror. One eye was puffy and bruised. There was a gash on his chin.
Bonnie met Harold at the airport the next day, with great relief.
Now, she could resume her life without experiencing the fear that the phone evoked. She told her husband about their antics the previous night and how Nicholas had almost caught the culprit. On the way home, they stopped to pick up her pictures. Eagerly flipping through the colour prints, she came to the one of the caller.
Her shoulders sagged with disappointment.
The photo showed a tangle of limbs, but no clear shot of the attacker. At home, she got out a magnifying glass to examine it more closely, hoping there would be some clue to help her identify the man. All she noticed was a leather jacket and jeans. The darkness muted the photo so she could not even be certain of his hair colour, although it appeared curly. The front of the caller’s jacket was open, revealing part of a typical biker’s shirt, black with part of a motorcycle visible and half the word ‘Harley’.
Then, on the clenched fist about to ram into Nick’s face, she saw it. The jacket cuff had ridden up, uncovering a partial tattoo. She brought the photo and magnifying glass to Harold.
A sudden appalling thought occurred to him.
Harold shook his head, sorting out the implications of their discovery.
Harold’s face went purple with rage, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. He rose from the chair and stomped to the front door.
Her words took some of the air from his sails. Harold plopped into a leather armchair, producing a sudden release of air through its stitching that matched his reluctant sigh.
It seemed to take forever for Harold to convince the police that he knew who had been harassing his wife. It was dark when he left the station. Headlights flashed in his rear view mirror. As he reached to adjust the reflection away from the blinding glare, something jarred his car. Harold looked behind him. The car with the bright headlights eased off, then leapt forward again to bash his bumper with its own.
Harold lurched forward, wincing as sharp pain stabbed his neck.
“Damn it!” he swore through clenched teeth.
He strained to recognize the car, but the lights cast an aura around the vehicle, making it impossible to determine the make and model. All he could tell was, judging from the intensity of each blow, the other vehicle was considerably larger. A blaring horn refocused Harold’s attention on the road ahead. He was heading straight for a pick-up truck! Harold swerved out of the way, just in time.
Another bash to his back bumper caused Harold to lose control for a moment. He climbed the curb, but brought the car back into the street before hitting the thick trunk of a boulevard tree.  His car sped ahead.
The two vehicles raced along the sleepy street.
When the other car attempted to sidle up to him, Harold pulled into its path, cutting him off. Their fenders locked for a minute. Turning the wheel sharply, Harold pulled loose, grimacing as he heard the scrunch of metal as the bumper tore away. At the next intersection, he pretended to go straight. At the last possible moment, Harold cranked the steering wheel and screeched around the corner.
He heard the scream of slammed brakes and the squeal of spinning tires as his pursuer swung around to follow. Harold quickly ducked into an alley. Pulling into a driveway beside a garage, he shut off his lights and engine, scrunching down so he would not be seen. A siren in the distance warned cars out of its path, then all was quiet again. Some time passed, but Harold was not discovered.
With a sigh of relief, he started the car and clunked home. Bonnie saw the car limp into the driveway.
Bonnie put her arm around his shoulders and guided him inside.
He opened the trunk of his car, checking its contents. He lifted a section of the carpet, revealing a hidden compartment. From it, he withdrew a sheathed hunting knife and an automatic pistol. He