The paper stencil hooked on something and tore. Swearing under his breath, Roman worked quickly to tape it. A wind came up, pulling a portion away. It was a long stencil and took precious minutes to secure. He grabbed a can of spray paint and shook it. When he pressed the button, nothing happened. Cursing, he pulled out another can and started spraying.
A vehicle approached. He glanced down and froze when he spotted a police car decelerating. Was it the same one that had come by an hour ago, when he’d been heading for the bank? He’d walked with purpose, hoping they’d think he was just some guy heading home from a night shift. The car had slowed, checking him out, and then moved on. As soon as it disappeared down the street, he’d done the work on the glass door of the bank building.
Roman went back to work. He only needed a few more minutes. He kept spraying.
Brake lights glowed hot red on the street. The police car had stopped in front of the bank. A white beam of light fixed on the front door.
One more minute. Roman made two more sweeps and started the careful removal of the stencil. He’d had to use more tape than usual, so it took longer. The last section of paper peeled away, and he added three small black interlocking letters that looked like a bird in flight.
One officer was out of the car, flashlight in hand.
Roman crouched low, rolled the stencil, and stuffed it into his backpack with the spray cans. The beam of light rose and moved closer. It flashed right over him as he started moving across the roof. It traveled down and away. Relieved, Roman shouldered the pack and rose slightly.
The light returned, silhouetting him against the wall. He bolted, face averted.
The beam of light tracked his escape across the roof. He heard voices and racing feet. Heart hammering, Roman took a flying leap onto the next building. He hit hard, rolled to his feet, and kept going. The police department probably had a file on the Bird’s work. He wasn’t a teenager anymore, facing community service for doing gang tagging on a wall. If he got caught now, he’d do jail time.
Worse, he’d destroy the budding reputation Roman Velasco was earning as a legitimate artist. Graffiti earned street cred, but didn’t help in a gallery.
One officer had returned to the squad car. Tires squealed. They weren’t giving up.
Roman spotted an open window a couple of buildings over and decided to climb up rather than down.
A car door slammed. A man shouted. Must be a slow night if these two cops wanted to spend this much time hunting a graffiti artist.
Roman swung over the edge of another roof. A half-empty can of spray paint fell out of his jostled pack and exploded on the pavement below.
The startled officer drew his gun and pointed it at Roman as he climbed. “LAPD! Stop where you are!”
Gripping a ledge, Roman pulled himself up and went in through the open apartment window. He held his breath. A man snored in the bedroom. Roman crept forward. He hadn’t gone two steps before bumping into something. His eyes adjusted to the dim light from the kitchen appliances. The occupant must be a hoarder. The cluttered living room could be Roman’s undoing. He left his backpack behind the sofa.
Opening the front door quietly, he peered out and listened. No movement, no voices. The man in the bedroom snorted and stirred. Roman slipped out quickly and closed the door behind him. The emergency exit door was stuck. If he forced it, he’d make noise. He found the elevator, his heart pounding faster as it took its sweet time rising. Bing. The doors opened. Roman stepped inside and punched the button for the underground parking garage.
Just stay cool. He shoved the hood back and raked his hands through his hair. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. The elevator doors opened. The basement parking lot was well lit. Roman held the door open and waited a few seconds to scope the area before he stepped out. All clear. Relieved, he headed for the ramp leading up to the side street.
The police car sat at the curb. Doors opened, and both officers emerged.
For a split second, Roman debated inventing a quick story for why he’d be heading out for a walk at three thirty in the morning, but somehow he knew no story was going to keep him out of cuffs.
He bolted up the street toward a residential neighborhood a block off the main boulevard. The officers followed like hounds after a fox.
Roman went down one street, along a paved driveway, and over a wall. He thought he was home free until he realized he wasn’t alone in the backyard. A German shepherd leaped to its feet and gave chase. Roman raced across the yard and over the back fence. The dog hit the fence and clawed at it, barking fiercely. Roman landed hard on the other side and knocked over a couple of garbage cans in his haste to get away. Now every other canine up and down the street was sounding the alarm. Roman moved fast, keeping low and in the shadows.