You turn. The Incredible Hulk’s paler brother exits the mall, points your way. Never one for confrontation, you hurry toward the parking structure. A hand slams on your trunk as you leave your parking space.
You wait for the car to be pulled backward, lifted, thrown upside-down, but miraculously that doesn’t happen.
Who is this guy, you think to yourself. Did you jostle him in the food court? Cut him off at Sunglass Hut? Smirk at his ridiculous muscles in his tiny T-shirt? No, you can’t place him, other than—glancing in the rear-view—he’s chasing your car.
You scan the lot for Security. Nope. There’s a line at the exit, so you head up to the next level. The Little-Freight-Train-That-Could chugs along behind you.
Ahead, a minivan’s back-up lights flash on. You speed up so maybe it’ll back out between you and your pursuer. It does. You head up to the next level.
He doesn’t follow. You keep checking the rear-view, but he’s not there.
And then it hits you. He’s waiting for you to come down.
You run through your options. Call a friend. A cab. A cop. You rummage through your pockets for your cell phone. Through your bags. Between the seats.
You had it last, where? The check-out line. Did Albino Hulk have something clutched in his hand? You think, Maybe so.
You think you know what it might have been.
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