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Blake hollered at Wayne, who was closest to the door, “See who that is, would you? Probably some drunk who thinks this is still a bar.”
Wayne walked to the door and looked through the peephole. “Blake, it’s a woman with short auburn hair. You want me to let her in?”
By the time Blake cleared the distance to the door, Wayne was closing it behind June Warner. It was the first time she and Blake had met face to face since their passionate embrace in her home. “June, welcome to the Hideaway. It’s good to see you. I like your short haircut. What can we do for you?”
June was looking over the sparse interior. “I like the openness of the place – a few tables scattered around, and a bar. Does a band play on the weekend?”
Blake couldn’t read whether she was making a friendly joke or being sarcastic. He looked around and shrugged his shoulders. “It may not be as fancy as the A.P.S. digs we were in, but we call it home. What’s up?”
She spied the big conference table and started toward it. “Let’s talk back here. Or do you have an office?”
“This is it,” Blake said.
At the table, each took a seat and Blake asked once more, “June, what’s on your mind?”
She seemed to be searching for the right words, or to be trying to work herself up to what she would say. “You’re down a person. I’m the replacement.”
At first, Blake thought she was joking. “No! I mean, no, that won’t work. You can’t be a part of this hunt. Your son was a victim; if something goes wrong and you have to shoot this guy, they’ll call it murder, no matter how justified the shooting. Plus, I doubt the people you have contracts with would approve of a field trip like this. It could be in all the papers.”
June stood up. “For some reason, you seem to believe I was asking your permission. I’m your partner, and that’s it. I’ve been filled in by Peter and I’m up to speed. Plus, I’m the most qualified person for the job that A.P.S. has. I’ll see you when we leave for the test run next Wednesday.”
Blake tried to close his mouth and say something, but the only thing that came out was: “How did you know I had picked Wednesday?”
He was talking to her back. June waved as she headed to the door. She stopped and turned her head. “When you replace Bobby, try picking another woman. There’s too much testosterone in the air. I’m surprised Shelley can breathe.”
They were all staring at the closed door and wondering what had just happened. Blake walked back to his table. “Get back to work. For your information, June Warner will be going to Dallas with me.”
Wednesday week came faster than anyone had expected. It was June and they decided that once each team had reached their assigned city, they would stay there until the weekend stakeout. With travel time and cost, it made no sense to return to Memphis for one night. They all met at the Hideaway and parked, and Mary shuttled each team to the airport, which was only 5 minutes away. Blake and June were the last to leave. They had a straight flight to Dallas on American Airlines, which would take less than two hours.
Upon landing, they retrieved their weapons and took a cab to a hotel Blake had booked two blocks from the bus station. As they approached the registration desk, June said, “I hope you weren’t foolish enough to get only one room.”
Blake didn’t break a step. “No, two rooms.”
At the desk, Blake signed in and got his key and waited for June to sign in and get hers. On the way to the elevator, Blake whispered, “But the two rooms are adjoining, if you’re interested.” He managed to keep a straight face.
On the third floor, they went to their rooms, and Blake’s phone rang moments after he closed the door.
It wasn’t June. Peter’s face appeared on Blake’s phone screen. He was able to speak individually with each team and give them directions without interfering with the other two teams. “Sorry to push you, but I’m starting in one hour. Everybody will be in place by then.”
Blake dumped his go-bag on the bed and headed to the bathroom. “Let June know. I’ll be out as soon as I take a piss.”
A few minutes later, Blake opened his door to find June leaning against the wall. “I didn’t mean to keep you, but nature called.”
The air outside was hot, and even the breeze was warm. Texas was in for a hot summer. The Greyhound Bus station hadn’t changed in years. The interior had a lot of open space with a large number of seats. Along the right wall were a couple of shops, and straight ahead was the ticket desk. Beside it were the doors to and from the buses. On the left were restrooms and a short hall leading to a side exit. Blake peered down the hall and took note of the camera above the exit door.
Both of their phones rang – Peter again, this time calling 3-way to include June. Blake put in his earplug, and June did the same. “Find yourselves a good location; when the next bus pulls in I’ll tag a person and, by my direction, you’ll find that person.”
The bus came and Peter put them on to a little salt-and-pepper-haired lady. Then, with 10 minutes before the next bus, Peter went on to team two, Shelley and Taylor; then on to Tony and Wayne. In a couple of hours, the three teams had run through four trials each, with everyone finding their tagged person each time. Blake and the others were very impressed with the way Peter’s system worked.
Walking back to the hotel, Blake and June both felt good about the tests and had high hopes of catching their man. As they entered the hotel lobby, Blake said, “June, there’s a bar in the hotel, and I’m going to have a drink. Would you care to join me?”
She crooked her arm around his and looked fondly at him. “I’d love to, Blake.” Blake didn’t think she was just putting on a show, but he couldn’t be sure.
One drink led to the next and the next, all of which led to Blake’s calling room service and ordering dinner for two.
The back-to-back doors between their rooms were both open, and June was in her shower. June’s bed looked like a bomb had gone off in it. Blake began picking up his clothes. He put his head into June’s bathroom and hollered above the rush of water, “I ordered us something to eat, to be brought to my room. Come over once you’re finished.”
Over the water, he heard June shout, “I’ll be there in about 30 minutes.”
The food arrived shortly before June came in. She was wearing a pair of flowing pajamas and a sheer robe over them. She could have stepped out of Vogue magazine. Blake, on the other hand, looked as though he had just come back from a great battle on the front lines, or had just been doing a photo shoot for Adventure magazine.
He pulled out her chair and meekly said, “I feel under-dressed.” June only smiled up at him and removed the metal cover from atop her plate.
Thursday and Friday were free days, so Blake and June decided to take the tour bus that Peter calculated the killer might use. The tour company, called White Wave, was three blocks away, so they walked, as they knew the killer would do. The company’s buses were pure white. They found a seat on the top of the next one scheduled to leave, which was mostly empty due to the heat. Almost everyone else was below in the air-conditioning. On top with them were only a young couple at the back, smoking a joint.
June turned and pointed at a DART bus that was passing. Dallas Area Rapid Transit had local buses running throughout the city. June said, “We passed three DART bus stops on the way over here. I don’t think our guy would use a tour bus.”
Blake watched the DART bus go by and jumped to his feet. “Come on! We need to get off this thing.”
There was a café on the corner where they exited the bus. Inside they ordered a couple of Cokes and Blake called Peter. “Peter, Mary is wrong about the tour buses. You have to sign in for a tour bus, and that would mean a paper trail, which the killer would surely avoid. Also, he is doing this on the cheap – why pay a tour company when the local buses will get you where you want to go? DART is the local bus line here. See if the computer can give a route that the killer might use.”
In about 15 minutes, Peter came back on the screen. “Good news and bad news. First, you’re right: Dallas and all of the other cities have a good local bus system. Dallas, I’m afraid, has too good of one. Our killer would need to take what is known as a cross-town bus, which makes a complete circle of the city. The route numbers for these buses run from 401 to 488; it’s like a line of them traveling one after the other. Three buses stop across from the Greyhound station within a 30-minute period of the arrival of the bus from Cary: 425, 428, and 414. The first is at 6:10, then 6:20, and then 6:30.”
Blake was writing this down on a napkin. “Thanks, Peter. Let the others know he’ll be going local.” Blake looked across the table at June and smiled. “Looks like we spend tomorrow riding buses. There are three that leave across the street from the station; we’ll check them all out.”
| Copyright © 2019, 2020 by Ed Rogers |
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