The Driver by Alexander Roy

possible—spy on arriving Gumballers.
    For no reason other than force of will, I retained a distant hope that The Driver, if he was here, would, despite his best efforts to remain anonymous, inadvertently and telepathically reveal himself to me.
    If he’s here—even if he’s only watching—there’s only one way to find him.
    I had to get his attention.
    I had to determine whether Gumball actually was—despite official statements to the contrary—a race, and if not, whether there was a tacit race within Gumball, and if so, who was participating; then, if possible, identify the organizer (if one existed), join, or get invited to join.
    I parked my as-yet-unmarked M5 in the back of the hotel garage’s lowest floor as far as possible from Gumball’s reserved spots—its lone rear-facing New York State license plate almost flush with the wall. I scoured the interior, leaving no sign of the car’s owner, origin, or purpose.
    After lunch I strolled around the hotel’s perimeter, introduced myself to the entire hotel staff, tipped as many as I could afford to, then asked those I’d tipped if they would be kind enough to subtly notify me if any Gumballers arrived. I then studied maps of San Francisco and its environs, and asked the concierge about traffic congestion the night of Gumball’s departure.
    That night at ten, my cell phone rang.
    â€œWhat the f—” The Weis demanded. “ What are you doing?”
    This meant he missed me. “Why are we talking?” I fired back.
    â€œWhy are you answering the phone?”
    â€œI’m resting.”
    â€œShouldn’t you be busy getting ready or something?”
    â€œI am busy,” I said. “Busy resting.”
    â€œWhy don’t you do something constructive, like study San Fran’s exit points?”
    â€œYou’re an idiot. I already bought the maps.”
    â€œThen why don’t you get in your car and check the exit points in person?”
    â€œIf you’re so smart”—I pondered a comeback that wouldn’t require me to do as he suggested—“then I will !”
    â€œYou’re too lazy.”
    â€œI hate you.”
    â€œEnjoy!”
    It was a great idea. I hung up, called the concierge, and demanded the cheapest rental car deliverable within the hour. I didn’t want to drive the M5 unless absolutely necessary.
    SUNDAY, APRIL 13, 2003
GUMBALL -4
    â€œNow why are we talking?” The Weis actually sounded angry.
    â€œTo talk strategy,” I said.
    â€œI mean why are we talking now ? Did you forget the time difference? It’s six o’clock in the morning!!” he yelled.
    â€œYou need to be up for work soon anyway.”
    â€œIt’s Sunday!”
    â€œOh yeah.”
    â€œ You better pray you didn’t wake my fiancée!!!”
    â€œI know her. She’s a heavy sleeper.”
    â€œI hate you.”
    â€œReady for strategy?”
    â€œFine.”
    â€œThe Golden Gate Bridge is out.”
    â€œYou actually went there last night?”
    â€œYou inspired me, so now you get a wake-up call every morning until I’ve checked all the exit points, and I wanna talk about them.”
    â€œI really do hate you.”
    â€œI’ll be quick. Let’s talk about why the Golden Gate Bridge is out.”
    â€œTell me what you saw. Cops, cameras, everything.”
    TUESDAY, APRIL 15, 2003
GUMBALL -2
    I stopped by the garage again to check on the M5. She was safe.
    In the lobby I approached the concierge, a well-coiffed gray-haired gentleman.
    â€œAh, Mr. Roy, your Federal Express boxes are here. Would you like them brought to your room?”
    Thank God. “Have them brought to the garage, but not the Gumball area. Lower level, in the back.”
    â€œRight away.”
    It was time to unpack and install my secret equipment, then sticker the car, but I had one more question only The Weis could answer