Unaccustomed to being opposed and worried about losing Amy, Franco felt a surge of anger well up inside him. Controlling himself with some difficulty he said, "I can't miss my bus. My wife's having a baby."

Without a word and with obvious irritation, the painter reluctantly stepped aside and motioned for Franco to go before him.

"Where you going, Dad?" the agent said, having overheard Franco's statement.

For a second, Franco froze. With everything going on, he hadn't thought about his needing a destination. Frantically, his mind tried to remember some place in New Jersey, any place, and luckily, Hackensack popped into his consciousness. He didn't know why Hackensack but was thankful nonetheless. He told the agent the name of the town, and while getting out a twenty-dollar bill, he glanced back over his shoulder. Amy was a distance away, being engulfed by a crowd at the base of an escalator. She disappeared quickly.

Franco paid, then ran for the escalator. When he got there, he pushed ahead using the same line that had worked so well at the ticket window. Once he got to the top, he frantically searched the area and was immediately relieved to see Amy waiting in line alongside a number 166 bus with her petite face buried in a New York Daily News.

With a sense of relief on one hand and a new worry on the other, Franco went to the end of the line. The new problem was that his ticket wasn't for the number 166 bus.

Despite being out of breath, Franco called Angelo and found out that Angelo was just outside the bus terminal.

"I'll be on a one sixty-six bus," Franco said, trying to cover the phone with his hand. "Find out the bus's route once it gets out of the Lincoln Tunnel, because I have no idea. Then drive over to Jersey yourself. I'll keep you posted where Amy and I are, and obviously when we get off. Try to get as close as possible so when we do get off, we can end this circus."

"I'll give it my best shot. Meanwhile, you got any more pictures of Maria Provolone in this hog of yours to keep me company?"

"Up yours," Franco said and flipped his phone closed. He didn't like Angelo razzing him about Maria, his one true love, who'd been shot and killed their senior year in high school by a rival gang.

At last, the line began to move. Franco wasn't as concerned about the ticket discrepancy as he'd been about having no ticket at all, and he was proved to be right. The bored driver making his umpteenth run just took the ticket without checking it, as he did with all the passengers. Franco moved down the center aisle. He saw Amy almost immediately. She'd taken a window seat in the middle of the bus and was back into her newspaper. By coincidence, the seat next to her was vacant. For a second, he thought about sitting next to her and engaging her in conversation, but he quickly nixed the idea. On this kind of job, surprise was critical. Instead, he took an aisle seat several rows behind her.

The bus didn't leave for another fifteen minutes, making Franco wish he'd had an opportunity to grab a paper himself. Instead, he had to just sit there. At least he had the opportunity to plan the rest of the evening. It wasn't easy, because what was to happen depended on what Amy Lucas did at the other end of her bus ride. He knew worst case would be if a companion picked her up. Ultimately, that could mean he and Angelo might have to ice two people, which doubled the opportunity for trouble.

When the bus finally closed its door and pulled away from the loading platform, it had to wend its way within the terminal until exiting onto a multistory-high ramp that dove down directly into the Lincoln Tunnel. The good part was that ramp avoided the clogged city streets; the bad part was that he was going to be significantly ahead of Angelo.

Thanks to the gentle rocking, the soothing drone of the engine, and the overheated bus interior, Franco was practically asleep by the time the bus burst forth into the glory of the New Jersey twilight. Rousing himself, he asked his seatmate where the bus went. The man gave Franco a confused questioning glare before asking, "You mean the end of the line?"

"Yeah, I guess," Franco answered.

"I know it goes to Tenafly because my sister lives there. Ultimately, where it goes from there, I don't know."

"How long does it take to get to Tenafly?"

"I'd guess a little over an hour."

Franco thanked the man. He was hoping Amy wasn't going to Tenafly or beyond. The idea of spending that kind of time on the bus with fifty or so apparently depressed people smelling of wet wool was daunting. To keep himself occupied, he went back to musing about what would happen when Amy got off the bus. Somehow, he'd have to approach her and get her involved in a conversation, probably by talking to her about her boss. Since there had been nothing in the newspapers, his disappearance had gone essentially unnoticed and apparently unreported, except, of course, by the fish. Although he didn't have Angelo's police badge, he could pose as an authority, perhaps even someone from the SEC. He didn't know if the SEC had investigators like the police, but he assumed they'd have to. At least it was a plan. Giving credence to such a plan was that he and Angelo were dressed to the nines. Both appreciated elegant clothing almost to a competitive level. Both leaned toward Brioni and were that evening, as usual, decked out in their Brioni splendor. Franco couldn't help but believe that such attention to their appearance gave them an aura of credibility.

Mulling over confronting Amy made him think about calling Angelo, but he decided to wait. He didn't have anything to report, and Angelo was undoubtedly about to get into or was already inside the tunnel.

Going back to Amy again, he thought that the best thing he could do was talk her into entering a public place so they could talk more easily and wait for Angelo, and a bar fitted that description, with the added benefit of them being able to have a drink. Reflexively Franco slipped his hand into his pocket and reassured himself that the date-rape pills were where he put them. The question then arose if he should try to get one in Amy's drink before Angelo got there or after. There was no doubt in his mind that timing was paramount.

Glancing out the window, Franco noticed they had left the main highway leading from the Lincoln Tunnel and were now heading north on city streets. Franco reached for his cell phone.

"Where are you?"

"At the Twenty-one Club, having a nice dinner," Angelo said sarcastically. "I'm stuck in traffic. I'm not even into the tunnel yet."

"Good work!" Franco said, with equal sarcasm. "Did you find out where the number one sixty-six bus goes?"

"Not exactly. Someplace in Bergen County. That's up around the George Washington Bridge and beyond."

"Call me when you are out of the tunnel!"

Franco replaced the phone in his inner jacket pocket and then tried again to settle back. The second he did, the bus made its first stop. Several people got off, but not Amy.

Franco sat up straighter, worried that if he did happen to fall asleep, he might miss Amy getting off, and all their effort would be for naught. If that were to happen, Franco could just hear Vinnie's reaction.

Twenty minutes later, Franco's phone shocked him into full wakefulness since it was on buzz mode and was against his chest in his jacket's inner pocket. It was Angelo, who'd finally made it into the tunnel and out the other side.

"Should I take the first exit?" Angelo asked frantically, suggesting he was rapidly approaching it.

"Have you looked at the goddamn map?"

"Of course."

"Then take the first exit and come north, for chrissake. And hold on!" Franco leaned over toward his seatmate once again and asked if he knew what town they currently were in. Then Franco put his cell back to his ear. "The gentleman I'm sitting next to believes we've just entered Cliffside Park, so get your ass up in this neck of the woods."