When Robie got up to the counter the young woman looked back at him with a bored expression. It was nearly eleven and she probably wanted to get out of this place.
“Can I help you?” she mumbled.
He held up his creds. “I’m looking into the bombing of one of your buses.”
She sat up straighter and looked more attentive. “Okay.”
“I need you to tell me where the buses come in from before they arrive here and load up passengers.”
“We have a maintenance and prep center two blocks from here. The driver checks in there, goes over the trip schedule, and then does a bus safety inspection. It gets fueled and cleaned there too, stuff like that.”
“Give me the exact address.”
She wrote it down and passed the piece of paper to him.
“Thanks,” said Robie. “What time do you get off?”
She raised her eyebrows as though she thought he was hitting on her and was not pleased by it. “Midnight,” she said warily. “And I’ve got a boyfriend.”
He said, “I’m sure. You go to school?”
“Catholic University.”
He looked around the depressing interior of the cinder-block building. “Study hard,” he said. “And never look back.”
He climbed into his Volvo and headed two blocks south.
The gate to the maintenance and prep yard was shut and locked. Robie finally got the attention of a security guard who was making rounds. The guy was suspicious until Robie flashed his badge. The guard unlocked the gate.
“Had some FBI agents in here already,” the man said. “And some NTSB guys too, to see if the bus had something wrong with it.”
“Did it?”
“Beats me. So what can I do for you?”
“Walk me through the prep for the buses.”
“I don’t really know that much about it. I just get paid to walk around with a gun looking for trouble. And in this area you usually find it.”
“Who does know? Is that person here?”
The guard pointed to the old brick building. “Two dudes in there. They work until two a.m.”
“Names?”
“Chester and Willie.”
“They been here a while?”
“I’ve only been here for a month. They’ve been here longer. Don’t know how much longer.”
“Thanks.”
Robie swung the door open and looked around at a cavernous space with high ceilings, rows of tube lighting, five parked buses, rolling toolboxes, generators, and work lights in grill cages. Everything was drenched with the odor of oil, grease, and fuel.
He called out, “Anybody here?”
A tall, thin black man dressed in work overalls walked around the front of a bus rubbing his hands on a dirty cloth.
“Can I help you?”
Robie held up his cred pack. “Need to ask you some questions.”
“Cops already been by.”
“I’m just one more cop coming by,” replied Robie. “Are you Chester or Willie? Guard outside told me,” he added when the man looked suspicious.
“Willie. Chester’s under a bus pulling a transmission.”
“So run me through how the buses are processed.”
“They come in maybe six hours before they’re scheduled to head out. We go over them in here. Got a checklist of maintenance items. Check the engine, coolant, tire tread, brakes, steering fluid, clean the inside of the bus, pick up all the crap people leave behind. Then we take it behind the building to the washing shed. Clean the outside. Then we gas it up at the fueling station near the front gate. Then it sits until the driver checks in and takes it to the terminal.”
“Okay.”
“Look, I showed all them dudes the maintenance records. Ain’t nothing on that bus made it blow up. I know we don’t look like much, but we take our work seriously here. Had to be something like a bomb.”
“Could you show me where the bus would sit?”
“Look, man, I got a ton of shit to do on three buses.”
“I’d really appreciate it,” said Robie, motioning to the door.
Willie sighed and led him out and around the building. He pointed to a spot near the fence. “They’re parked right there until the driver shows up.”
“How many buses were sitting here the night the one blew up?”
“Two. Side by side. The one heading to New York and one heading south to Miami.”
“Okay, somebody looking to put a bomb on a particular bus. How would they know which was which?”
“You asking me to think like some maniac?”
“Nothing on the bus exterior to tell them?”
“Oh sure, there’s a number on the front of the bus. The 112 goes to New York. The 97 bus goes to Miami.”
Robie said, “So whoever put the bomb on there would be able to tell which bus was which if they had the bus schedule or checked online?”
“I guess that’s right.”
“Or if they worked here.”
Willie took a step back. “Look, man, I ain’t got no idea how somebody put a bomb on one of our buses, if that’s what happened. And I sure as hell didn’t help them do it. I knew two of the people got blowed up. One was a friend and the other knew my momma. Went up to New York once a month to visit her granddaughter. Wore a damn robe on the bus. I used to think it was funny. Don’t think it’s funny no more. Almost gave my momma a heart attack when she found out.”
Robie thought back to the bus ride, to the old lady in her robe who had been screaming.
“So the 112 goes to New York.” He eyed the fence. Easy enough to get over. The bomber could have hopped the fence when the guard was on the other side of the property. Plant the bomb and then be gone. Less than a minute.
He looked at Willie. “That night, how long was the 112 bus sitting out here before the driver showed?”
Willie thought about this. “Didn’t have much work to do on it. It got in early from the last trip. Chester did the checklist, vacuumed the interior. I did the outside wash, fueled and then parked it. Maybe two-three hours.”
Robie nodded. “Did you notice anyone suspicious around?”
“I’m inside most of the time working on the buses. Guard might have seen something, but probably not.”
“Why’s that?”
“He does more eating in his little guard shack than walking, you get my drift. Why he’s so fat.”
“Okay.”
“Can I get back to work now?”
“Thanks for the information.”
Willie left him and walked back into the building.
Robie stood there in the dark and eyeballed the spot the 112 bus had been in. Bomber did the bus. Robie got on the bus. Robie got off the bus. Bus blew up. They sent a shooter into the alley to finish the job. Someone really wanted him bad.
Another thought occurred to him. But maybe not that bad.
“Doing some private sleuthing on your off time?”
He turned and looked through the chain-link fence.
