5:07 a.m.
Two bright lights, coming out of the tunnel and up the tracks toward the concrete platform. The El. For the first time all night, Jack felt like he was on familiar turf. He knew Chicago and its El system cold; how hard could Philadelphia’s be to navigate? The train rumbled and hissed to a stop. The doors opened.
First disappointing development: The El car was empty. The train was headed eastbound. Guess nobody went eastbound this time of the morning.
Second disappointing development: Angela made her way to the opposite end of the car. Which meant he had to follow her.
The doors closed behind him.
Okay, this can’t be that tough. Wait until she sits, then sit two rows behind her. That had to be within ten feet, easy.
The train bucked forward. Jack almost lost his footing. He reached out and grabbed a steel pole, then made his way forward. He could feel a throb in his temples already. He was too far away.
The steel cars accelerated along the track, then dipped down below the eight lanes of 1-95, hanging a soft left along the side of an old church—one that had probably been here before the highway cut along one corner of it, and the El alongside it—before settling in for a straight shot until the next station. According to the map, that would be Girard. Jack counted up the line. Quite a few stations, at least a dozen, before the end of the line. Hopefully, Angela was going to the end of the line. It would give him time to think.
He chose the double seat two rows behind Angela. She’d pressed herself up against the window and was busy looking out at the tops of the buildings speeding by.
The track made a sharp turn. The train jolted violently. Jack almost fell again.
He sat down. The blue striped fabric of the seat was stained in places, and worn to beads in others. It sagged in the middle, as if someone had removed a central support. The entire cushion was loosened from its moorings, too.
Philadelphia. Fucking shit town.
The train pulled into the next station. Girard. Several people were waiting on the opposite platform, headed back downtown. Nobody stepped into their car.
Here’s the thing, Angela. I’ve got an experimental tracking device in my blood, and …
Look, Angela, I know we got off to a bad start, but I have this weird mental condition where …
Yeah. Mention a mental condition. See where that gets you.
Jack looked at his watch. It was …
5:08 a.m.
Kowalski thought it would be a simple matter of following the tracks, but that wasn’t easy at first. They popped out of a tunnel from beneath the city and led into a station that was tucked between eight lanes of an interstate. Then they dipped down again, and it was tough separating the columns of the El from the support columns of 1-95. Then he saw the church, and the tracks, and it all made sense. Kowalski turned off the engine of the chopper for a moment. Below the din of the early-morning highway traffic, he thought he could hear the rumble of the train.
First train of the morning, according to his new cop buddy. Gary? Gerry?
And a fat chopper between his legs, courtesy of his other cop buddy.
Philadelphia. Such a friendly town.
If this indeed were the first train of the morning, and his quarry were indeed on it, then all he had to do was overtake it, hop on board, then do a car-by-car search. Convince Jack to go along with him to Pennsylvania Hospital. He didn’t think he’d have to resort to his break-your-finger routine. Telling Jack Eisley that his life could be spared would be enticement enough.
Jack didn’t want to end up like Ed Hunter, after all.
No offense, Ed.
The bag was hooked to the side of the chopper, bouncing a bit with the bumps in the asphalt.
Hang in there, my friend. Soon we’ll have some answers.
5:15 a.m.
Ican understand why you’d do something like that, Vanessa— you being on a mission of vengeance and all that. But I miss your red hair. So beautiful, especially after sex. It always had this airy, wild look to it.”
Silence.
“Oh look. You did your eyebrows, too. Though they’re not perfect. Still, I’m impressed. You must have convinced someone to go shopping in a drugstore with you. Where on earth did you find a man to do
Silence.
“Did you dye everything? Let’s see.”
Silence.
“Interesting. See, I thought that kind of thing would give you away. Maybe you haven’t been quite the slut as I’d imagined. Did you talk them into staying with you? I would have loved to have been a fly on the wall for that one. You never were much of a talker.”
Silence.
“Thing is, I don’t know if you can even hear me. You could be a piece of broccoli lying here in this bed. Broccoli with red pubic hair. Ah, that would be a shame.”
Silence.
“We’ll find out soon enough, though. See, Vanessa, they’re bringing up a machine that will let me check out your brain waves. If they’re stable enough, I’ll bring you out. I’m not going to lie to you. It’ll probably hurt. Might even make things worse. But we’ll be able to talk for a little while at least.”
Silence.
“If you can hear me, let me ask a favor in advance. Spare me the cursing and the threats. You and I already know that you’d like to see me die screaming and all that. I get it. I’d want me to die screaming, too, if I were you. But we can save ourselves a lot of useless drama if you tell me a few simple things. Like who, exactly, you told about our work.”
Silence.
“So yeah, give that a little thought. Not like you have much else to do.”
Silence.
“Ah, here comes the machine I was waiting for.”
Silence.
Whispering now: “Brace yourself. This is going to be more painful than you can possibly imagine.”
5:16 a.m.
