Rick Mofina - Every Second

“Any chance you got a license plate?” Tilden asked.

Dolores shook her head.

“What about the kind of car it was-anything about it you can remember?”

“No.”

“Was the man white, black?”

“White. In his twenties, maybe? I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right, Dolores,” Varner said. “Thank you. This is still helpful. You can go home now, though. We’ll talk to you again later if we have any more questions.”

After she left, Tilden turned to Varner and said, “They had to be casing the place.”

“Yup. We’ll need the plaza to volunteer its security video.” Varner nodded to the loan officer pacing out front. “And we need to talk to him.”

New York City/New Jersey

As Dan drove through Washington Heights, the lattice towers of the George Washington Bridge soared above the building tops.

He’d cleared the stretch of gridlock caused by a tractor trailor breakdown earlier. Now he guided his car along an on-ramp to the bridge.

He prayed Port Authority security cameras would record him traveling into New Jersey as he merged into one of the four lanes of westbound traffic on the upper deck.

Will I ever see my family again?

Looking out at the Hudson River some two hundred feet below, he remembered the first time he’d set eyes on Lori.

It was at Cal State.

He’d been in a food court, and when he’d looked up from his book… She was at a table nearby, alone, on her phone crying and he’d thought, Who would be stupid enough to make a girl like that cry?

He’d stolen glimpses of her composing herself. When she’d gotten up to leave, he’d noticed that she’d forgotten a book at her table. Dan had grabbed it and run after her. He’d made a little joke when he caught up to her, which made her laugh. She had the most beautiful smile, the most beautiful eyes, he’d ever seen.

And she’d agreed to go out with him.

They’d walked along the beach at Santa Monica, and she’d told him that she’d been crying because her boyfriend had found someone else.

“His loss,” Dan had said.

Soon after that, Dan and Lori had begun dating more seriously. She’d been studying criminology, he’d been studying business. They were happy together. They had chemistry. It was clear from the start that Lori was the right one for him. She owned his heart.

Three years after they graduated and were well into their careers, they’d gotten married. A few years later they’d had Billy. Dan had been there with Lori every step of the pregnancy, attending all the birthing classes, doing all the breathing exercises, shopping for clothes and furniture.

When he’d witnessed the birth of their son, Dan had felt a degree of love he’d never known existed. Soon, he’d grappled with his own mortality. It had frightened him, overwhelmed him, along with the realization that he was a father. He feared he would fail at fatherhood, so he compensated the only way he could: by striving to be a good husband, a good provider and a good protector.

But it was Lori who was more adept at handling life’s crises, a point made clear the night they’d gone to a movie and come upon two intimidating young men testing the doors on their car in the lot. Dan had stopped a distance away, kept his voice low and reached for his phone.

“I think we should call nine-one-one.”

But Lori had strode right by him and confronted the men.

“Excuse me, can we help you? That’s our car.”

They two men had eyed Lori coldly, then glanced at Dan as if he was pathetic and it amused them.

“We was just checkin’,” one of them had said. “Ya know, so’s to make sure everything’s locked up safe, like mall security.”

“That so? How about you show me ID?”

They’d flashed their empty palms and backed away.

“Not necessary, baby. All cool.”

As they’d backed off, the two shared a loud joke about “the bitch and the scared-ass pussy,” and their laughter had painfully underlined the truth: Dan was weak, while Lori was the rock of the family.

At least, that’s how it was until it all went wrong and nearly destroyed her.

But Dan had been there for her. When she’d thought she could no longer endure, he’d hung on for both of them, finally getting the chance to prove himself-to show that he could take care of them, too.

“We’ll get through this together, Lori,” he’d said a hundred times. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”

He’d sought the new job with the bank in New York not long after. Not for himself but for Lori, since it provided a chance for her to start over. It wasn’t easy at first, but eventually it worked out. Things got better. Ever since the move five years ago, she’d been healing. The worst time of their lives was behind them, convincing Dan that they’d never face anything as horrible again.

Until now.

Now, when Lori needed him most. And he’d failed her.

He’d done nothing to protect her and Billy.

He descended the bridge, his heart heavy with the shame of having failed them. As he rolled by the toll plaza, he had to face the fact that he was a coward, afraid to take action, to fight back.

“Take the Four to Hackensack,” Vic said.

Dan eyed his fuel gauge. “I’m getting low on gas,” he said. “I’ll need to stop.”

Vic did not respond.

As Dan drove ahead, he signaled and got into the lane for Hackensack, dreading what was coming as they took him farther and farther away from Roseoak and the happy life he, Lori and Billy had known there.

Roseoak Park, New York

Charles McGarridge’s small eyes were taut with worry behind his dark-framed glasses.

He was a short, balding man in his late forties with a thin moustache and a tailored suit-the bank’s senior loan officer. Tilden and Varner were interviewing him in his office.

“What time did I get here?” McGarridge said, repeating the detectives’ question. He smelled of cigarettes, and he rotated the small bowl of peppermints on his desk. The two investigators had declined his offer to share them. “I got here a little before ten, maybe around nine-thirty. It was after it happened. The police were already here talking to Annie and Jo.”

“You’ve worked with Dan Fulton for five years?” Varner asked.

“That’s correct.”

“Was he under any stress that you knew of, maybe acting strangely in the time leading up to this incident?”

“No, nothing like that.”

“So you would consider this behavior out of character?”

“Absolutely. Managers don’t usually rob their own banks.” McGarridge shook his head. “I can’t believe this is happening. I mean, bomb vests! This is crazy.”

Tilden leaned forward.

“Mr. McGarridge, we need to move fast on this and we need your help.”

“Of course, of course.”

“Has anything happened recently that might indicate who could be behind this? Anything suspicious? Anything unusual?”

McGarridge’s jaw muscle pulsated and he licked his lips, suggesting to both Tilden and Varner that something was troubling the loan officer.

“Anything at all that you can recall?” Tilden nudged him.

“Well, there’s one client…” McGarridge stopped as if to ask himself if he should proceed.

“Mr. McGarridge, we don’t have a lot of time,” Tilden said.

“There’s one client whose past behavior disturbs me-you know, in light of what’s happened.” McGarridge realigned his stapler and penholder, then rubbed his chin. “I, uh…don’t want them to know this came from me.”

“It’ll stay confidential. Now, who’s the client?” Tilden asked.

“Vitori Bazerinni.”