Robin Cook - Critical

"Up yours," Franco said and flipped his phone closed. He didn't like Angelo razzing him about Maria, his one true love, who'd been shot and killed their senior year in high school by a rival gang.

At last, the line began to move. Franco wasn't as concerned about the ticket discrepancy as he'd been about having no ticket at all, and he was proved to be right. The bored driver making his umpteenth run just took the ticket without checking it, as he did with all the passengers. Franco moved down the center aisle. He saw Amy almost immediately. She'd taken a window seat in the middle of the bus and was back into her newspaper. By coincidence, the seat next to her was vacant. For a second, he thought about sitting next to her and engaging her in conversation, but he quickly nixed the idea. On this kind of job, surprise was critical. Instead, he took an aisle seat several rows behind her.

The bus didn't leave for another fifteen minutes, making Franco wish he'd had an opportunity to grab a paper himself. Instead, he had to just sit there. At least he had the opportunity to plan the rest of the evening. It wasn't easy, because what was to happen depended on what Amy Lucas did at the other end of her bus ride. He knew worst case would be if a companion picked her up. Ultimately, that could mean he and Angelo might have to ice two people, which doubled the opportunity for trouble.

When the bus finally closed its door and pulled away from the loading platform, it had to wend its way within the terminal until exiting onto a multistory-high ramp that dove down directly into the Lincoln Tunnel. The good part was that ramp avoided the clogged city streets; the bad part was that he was going to be significantly ahead of Angelo.

Thanks to the gentle rocking, the soothing drone of the engine, and the overheated bus interior, Franco was practically asleep by the time the bus burst forth into the glory of the New Jersey twilight. Rousing himself, he asked his seatmate where the bus went. The man gave Franco a confused questioning glare before asking, "You mean the end of the line?"

"Yeah, I guess," Franco answered.

"I know it goes to Tenafly because my sister lives there. Ultimately, where it goes from there, I don't know."

"How long does it take to get to Tenafly?"

"I'd guess a little over an hour."

Franco thanked the man. He was hoping Amy wasn't going to Tenafly or beyond. The idea of spending that kind of time on the bus with fifty or so apparently depressed people smelling of wet wool was daunting. To keep himself occupied, he went back to musing about what would happen when Amy got off the bus. Somehow, he'd have to approach her and get her involved in a conversation, probably by talking to her about her boss. Since there had been nothing in the newspapers, his disappearance had gone essentially unnoticed and apparently unreported, except, of course, by the fish. Although he didn't have Angelo's police badge, he could pose as an authority, perhaps even someone from the SEC. He didn't know if the SEC had investigators like the police, but he assumed they'd have to. At least it was a plan. Giving credence to such a plan was that he and Angelo were dressed to the nines. Both appreciated elegant clothing almost to a competitive level. Both leaned toward Brioni and were that evening, as usual, decked out in their Brioni splendor. Franco couldn't help but believe that such attention to their appearance gave them an aura of credibility.

Mulling over confronting Amy made him think about calling Angelo, but he decided to wait. He didn't have anything to report, and Angelo was undoubtedly about to get into or was already inside the tunnel.

Going back to Amy again, he thought that the best thing he could do was talk her into entering a public place so they could talk more easily and wait for Angelo, and a bar fitted that description, with the added benefit of them being able to have a drink. Reflexively Franco slipped his hand into his pocket and reassured himself that the date-rape pills were where he put them. The question then arose if he should try to get one in Amy's drink before Angelo got there or after. There was no doubt in his mind that timing was paramount.

Glancing out the window, Franco noticed they had left the main highway leading from the Lincoln Tunnel and were now heading north on city streets. Franco reached for his cell phone.

"Where are you?"

"At the Twenty-one Club, having a nice dinner," Angelo said sarcastically. "I'm stuck in traffic. I'm not even into the tunnel yet."

"Good work!" Franco said, with equal sarcasm. "Did you find out where the number one sixty-six bus goes?"

"Not exactly. Someplace in Bergen County. That's up around the George Washington Bridge and beyond."

"Call me when you are out of the tunnel!"

Franco replaced the phone in his inner jacket pocket and then tried again to settle back. The second he did, the bus made its first stop. Several people got off, but not Amy.

Franco sat up straighter, worried that if he did happen to fall asleep, he might miss Amy getting off, and all their effort would be for naught. If that were to happen, Franco could just hear Vinnie's reaction.

Twenty minutes later, Franco's phone shocked him into full wakefulness since it was on buzz mode and was against his chest in his jacket's inner pocket. It was Angelo, who'd finally made it into the tunnel and out the other side.

"Should I take the first exit?" Angelo asked frantically, suggesting he was rapidly approaching it.

"Have you looked at the goddamn map?"

"Of course."

"Then take the first exit and come north, for chrissake. And hold on!" Franco leaned over toward his seatmate once again and asked if he knew what town they currently were in. Then Franco put his cell back to his ear. "The gentleman I'm sitting next to believes we've just entered Cliffside Park, so get your ass up in this neck of the woods."

Franco's seatmate smiled cordially when Franco stole a glance in his direction, which made Franco nervous. He always wanted to keep his interaction with people to a minimum when on a job. When the man tried to start a friendly conversation, Franco was vague and ended it gracefully as soon as he could.

Ten minutes later, Franco's seatmate disturbed Franco by tapping him on the shoulder. "My stop is next," he said, and motioned to stand up.

Franco got up to let the man pass. As the man reached the aisle, Franco asked what town it was.

"Ridgefield," the man said indifferently.

Franco sat down and called Angelo to give him a quick update on his progress.

"That means I'm about fifteen to twenty minutes behind."

As if answering a prayer, ten minutes later Amy stood up and the bus began to slow. Quickly, Franco pulled out his cell and leaned across the aisle and asked the woman passenger if she knew what town they were stopping in. She said she didn't know, but the man next to her said it was Palisades Park.

Franco hurriedly gave a call to Angelo. "It's Palisades Park." Bending down as the bus came to a stop, he saw a street sign. "Broad Avenue, Palisades Park."

"Got it," Angelo said.

Franco moved forward. Other people got up as well, blocking Franco from Amy. By the time he got out onto the street, he panicked because he didn't see Amy in either direction. Momentarily confused, he ran to the end of the bus. Thankfully, he saw her on the other side of the street walking south. It was a commercial area with a medley of lighted shops and a number of people bustling in various directions. Franco hustled across the street and rapidly bore down on the unsuspecting Amy. After the sodden warmth of the bus, it seemed excessively cold, causing him to turn up his jacket lapels.

"Ms. Amy Lucas," Franco called out a few steps behind the young woman. In Franco's estimate, there was just the right amount of passersby to keep Amy at relative ease.