Shattered [antikvár]

OneOnly four blocks from the furnished apartment in Philadelphia, with more than three thousand miles to drive before they joined Courtney in San Francisco, Colin began one of his games. Colin thrived on his games, not those which required a board and movable pieces but those which were played inside the headword games, idea games, elaborate fantasies. He was a very garrulous and precocious eleven-year-old with more energy than he was able to use. Slender, shy in the company of strangers, bothered by a moderately severe astigmatism in both eyes that required him to wear heavy eyeglasses at all times, he was not much for sports. He could not exhaust himself in a fast game of foot-Dean R. Koontzball, because none of the athletic boys his own age wanted to play with someone who tripped over his own feet, dropped the ball, and was devastated by even the most delicate tackle. Besides, sports bored him. He was an intelligent kid, an avid reader, and he found his own games more fun than football. Kneeling on the front seat of the big car and looking out the rear window at the home he was leaving forever, he said, "We're being followed, Alex.""Are we now?""Yeah. He was parked down the block when we put the suitcases in the trunk. I saw him. Now he's following us."Alex Doyle smiled as he wheeled the Thunderbird onto Lansdowne Avenue. "Big black limousine, is it?"Colin shook his head, his thick shoulder-length mop of brown hair flopping vigorously. "No. It's some kind of van. Like a panel truck."Alex looked in the rear-view mirror. "I don't see him.""You lost him when you turned the corner," Colin said. He pressed his stomach against the backrest, head thrust over the back seat. "There he is! See him now?"Nearly a block behind them, a new Chevrolet van turned the comer onto Lansdowne Avenue. At five minutes past six o'clock on a