The October List Part 7

11:50 a.m., Sunday

1 hour, 10 minutes earlier

'I don't see him.'

Daniel Reardon was referring to the man who'd been following him and Gabriela from the chaos on Madison Avenue the man in the rumpled gray suit and a bright yellow shirt, the man with the eyes of a hunting dog.

Gabriela said, 'Who the h.e.l.l is he? I don't think he's a cop.'

'No. He would've called for backup. There'd be a thousand cars here if he was.'

They were moving quickly south on Second Avenue. The wind was now brisk, clouds were coagulating low in the sky. The cross streets were still in the high digits fewer stores, more residences so the sidewalks were less crowded than closer to Midtown. They looked behind once again. 'Maybe it was just a coincidence we saw him a couple of times.'

'You really think that?' Daniel asked.

'No,' she gasped. 'But, frankly, I don't know what to think anymore.' She winced as she held her side and stopped.

'Still hurts?'

'Does, yeah,' she said. She touched away a dot of blood on her cheek.

'Doctor?'

'No. The police might've contacted the emergency rooms. Let's just keep going.'

'If you broke a rib and pierced a lung,' he said, troubled, 'that could be a real problem.'

'I'll have to live with it,' she shot back. Then softer: 'Until we have Sarah. I'll live with it.'

They started again, making as much speed as they could away from the site of the incident just moments before. Daniel asked, 'What could he want? That man?'

'In the yellow shirt?'

'Yeah.'

Gabriela shrugged, as if it was obvious. 'If it isn't a coincidence, he wants the October List. What else? Joseph can't be the only one after it, I'm sure.'

Daniel was silent, head tilted. After another scan of the sidewalks behind them, he said, 'There's another possibility, about Yellow Shirt.'

'What's that, Daniel?'

'He's working for Charles Prescott.'

She frowned. 'Working for my boss? What do you mean?'

Daniel continued, 'Your boss sent this guy to track you down to find out what you could have against him, information, evidence. To talk you out of testifying and going to the police.'

Gabriela shook her head. 'Charles would just call me up and talk to me.'

Daniel replied, 'The Charles Prescott you worked for, the Prescott you thought you knew might do that. But that's not the real Prescott. After what you've learned about him, don't you think he's capable of calling somebody up to do his dirty work for him?'

'Dirty work?' She clutched his arm. 'You don't think he'd hurt me?' Emphasis on the verb, as if it was too difficult to say 'kill.'

Daniel's voice was soft as he said, 'It's a possibility, Mac. We've got to consider it. You're the perfect witness. You can place Prescott at locations he doesn't want to be a.s.sociated with. You know his girlfriend. You can testify about all kinds of things. And now you found the October List.'

And when she said, 'No,' this time, though, her tone suggested even she didn't believe Charles Prescott was incapable of hurting her. Gabriela looked behind them, down the wide sidewalk. 'Yellow Shirt ... where is he? I don't know where he is!' Her voice crackled with panic.

'It's all right. We lost him in the crowds. I'm-'

'No! There he is!'

Daniel's head swiveled too. 'Right.' Yellow Shirt was a block away, dodging around pedestrians, moving steadily forward.

'What are we going to do? If he stops us Sarah's gone. I can't let that happen.' Her wide eyes, rimmed red, stared toward Daniel.

'Just keep going. Faster.'

But, only two blocks later, she pulled up abruptly and arched her back, wincing and moaning. Her knees sagged and only Daniel's strong arm kept her from rolling onto the sidewalk. 'It hurts, Daniel. My chest hurts ... I have to rest. Just for a minute.' She looked around. 'There. He won't see us there.'

Daniel helped her out of the crowds into the shadowy s.p.a.ce she'd indicated, between two parked trucks. Noisy traffic zipped past. Daniel looked out, back in the direction where they'd last spotted the man. 'I don't see him.'

Gabriela leaned against the hood of the Mercedes truck, a Sprinter, and cradled her chest.

Another glance behind them. 'Nothing,' he a.s.sured. 'No cops either. We'll give it a minute then keep going. We'll get to the apartment. You can rest. Find out how badly you're hurt.'

'He's probably turned down a side street, don't you think? We tricked him.'

Daniel said, 'Could be.'

'Okay,' Gabriela whispered. 'Then let's go. I need to rest. I need to think.'

'There's a Lexington line station a block away. Can you make it?'

'Sure. I'm better now.'

They turned to the sidewalk.

'Wait!' a man's voice called. 'I want to talk to you!'

They swiveled around. Yellow Shirt had appeared from the traffic side of the gap between the trucks. The skin on his fat face was sweaty. He walked up fast, starting to speak and lifting his hands in an ambiguous way could be a greeting, could be a threat.

Then he was reaching into his breast pocket.

Gabriela reacted fast. She stepped away from Daniel, placed both hands on the man's chest and shoved. As he stumbled back into traffic she said to Daniel, 'Let's go, run!'

But before they could start down the sidewalk, there came a squeal of brakes and a large delivery truck struck Yellow Shirt at close to forty-five mph. He tumbled beneath the wheels and a sickening, crumpled-box sound filled the air around them. No time for the driver to hit the horn, no time even for the man to scream.

Gabriela cried out, staring at the shattered figure. 'Oh, Jesus. No, no, no!' A thick wash of dark blood spread out behind the truck, which had slammed into a cab trying to avoid the man. 'No.'

Shouts, screams, people running toward the man's crushed body, people running away. Cell phones appearing for 911 calls ... and for pictures.

Daniel Reardon took her arm. 'Mac! We have to leave. Now!'

'I didn't ... I didn't mean to do it! I just reacted.' She stared, shaking.

'Listen to me!' Daniel gripped her face and turned it toward him, ignoring her wince of pain. 'We have to go.'

'But-'

'He was a threat. He had to be a threat. He wouldn't've followed us if he wasn't. You didn't have any choice. It looked like he was going to attack you. He was reaching into his pocket. Maybe he had a gun!'

'You don't know that! Look, he's still moving. His foot. It's moving!'

She stared at the blood, choked a cry.

Daniel's strong arm encircled her shoulders like a vise and he was walking her away. She half stumbled, half jogged beside him. It was as if she could barely remember how to walk.

His voice was tinted with panic too. 'I know you're upset. I know you're hurting, but we have to move, Mac.'

'I-' she began, shaking. 'I don't think-'

But Daniel interrupted. 'It's all about your daughter. Remember what you keep saying, "Focus." Well, focus on your daughter.'

'My ...' she gasped.

'Sarah.' He said the name firmly. 'I'm sorry, Mac. It's a f.u.c.king shame this happened. But it did and we're not going to be able to help Sarah if you go to jail. There'll be a time to deal with it later.'

Her face a pale mask, Gabriela nodded.

'Keep moving.'

She followed as if she were a toddler unsure how to walk.

Suddenly he froze. 'No, wait, go the other way. We'll circle around the block to the subway.'

'Why, what's wrong?'

'The way we were going, there's a meter maid at the corner.'

'Meter maid?' she asked. 'What difference does that make?'

Daniel leaned close and whispered, 'Gabriela, everybody in New York City, from dogcatchers to the FBI, is looking for you now.'

CHAPTER.

26.

11:35 a.m., Sunday

15 minutes earlier

In the trenches ...

Think, figure this out, Hal Dixon told himself.

You work in the trenches. Improvise.

He looked around the streets, spotted someone he thought could help.

Dixon strode up to the hot dog vendor, who guided away the smoke of the coals warming chestnuts and pretzels in his cart with the wave of a hand. The smoke returned instantly.

The smell made Dixon hungry but he was on his mission and he ignored the sensation.

'Please, I need to ask you something,' he said to the skinny vendor in jeans and a Mets T-shirt. 'A couple came by here, a man and a woman. Just a few minutes ago.'

The man glanced at Dixon's wrinkled gray suit and bright yellow shirt and maybe came to some conclusion about the color combination. Then he was looking back at Dixon's sweaty face. 'Man and woman?' A faint lilt of accent.

Dixon described them.