"Yeah, walking to the bus stop now. Michigan Ave, right?" Paul asked. He paused at the revolving doors and threw his coat over his shoulders. The wind gusted swirls of snow outside, and he shivered despite the warm comfort of the lobby.
"Yeah," Dennis said, sounding annoyed and tired. "Route B, remember, and it will be there in just a few minutes, if the bus is running on time."
A taxi pulled up to the curb and a man in a suit climbed out. He was instantly hit with a gale of winter wind. His suit and hair were blanketed with big flakes of snow. He wrapped his arms around his body and ran to the front door, slipping on some ice as he ran and almost losing his balance. When he came into the hotel lobby, he looked as if he'd been rolling in the snow, his suit blanketed with snowflakes and already melting.
"It's going to be cold out there. Hard to believe the buses are still running tonight," Paul said, more to himself than to Dennis. "The snow has got to be more than 12 inches deep, it's crazy."
"You're telling me," Dennis said. "I'm looking out my window at the parking lot, and my car is buried. Not going to be fun digging that baby out."
"Hold off on the digging and stay close to the phone for now," Paul said. "Still not sure how all this will go down."
"This whole thing is a little weird," Dennis said. Paul heard some hesitation in his voice, like he wanted to say something that he knew they were both thinking. The woman claimed to have information about a terrorist group operating within the government, and she was too afraid to meet in a conventional locale, for fear that that she would be found. She wouldn't talk more than a few minutes on the phone, and she always called from pay phones or pre-paid cell phones. As much as Paul wanted to get his hopes up, all signs pointed to this woman being a full-on nut job. The only thing that kept him from writing the woman off completely was that when a lucid person, or someone who seemed to be lucid, was as paranoid as this woman was, then maybe there was something to it. She was either telling the truth and playing around with something better left undisturbed, or she was a paranoid wacko.
"Yeah. I'll call you if anything happens. If you don't hear from me in an hour, then you call me." Paul said.
"You got it, boss." Dennis hung up. Paul stuck his phone into the inside pocket of his jacket and zipped up the front. He took a deep breath, buried his head and face into his jacket, like a turtle in his shell, and pushed through the revolving doors to the freezing night beyond.
He glanced up the street in the direction that the bus would be coming, and sure enough, it pulled around the corner and came towards the bus stop, which was a few hundred feet from the entrance to the Monoco. The yellow headlights flickered in the falling snow, the shadows from the yellow lights dancing out over the snow swept street.
It was cold, and Paul could feel the wintery tendrils breaching his coat and clothes, could feel it snaking its way under his skin. Not even five minutes outside, and already his muscles were starting to ache. He hurried faster to get under what little shelter the bus stop provided.
Paul was surprised to see other people huddled there beneath the short outcropping. A lady sat on the bench, her jacket pulled tightly around her body, and her scarf wrapped around her ears and face. From what little Paul could see of her face, he could tell that she was miserable. She had several grocery bags on the seat next to her and an old leather purse clutched tightly to her side. She stared straight ahead, and if she'd noticed Paul, she gave no indication.
The other two people were standing, one of them doing a little jig to keep warm, both of his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his dress pants. Paul stared at them for a moment, unable to look away. They weren't much older than teenagers, 25 at the absolute maximum. One of them was taller than the other, and he had a cool handsomeness about him that was striking, even in the middle of a blizzard. He stood there, one hand in his pocket, the other holding an iPhone and swiping through screens like he couldn't be bothered to be cold. He stood with an obvious assurance of himself, and seemed to be completely enthralled with whatever he was studying on the screen of his phone.
The shorter one, the guy hopping from foot to foot to stay warm, was nice looking too, though not to the same extent. His features were more plain and ordinary, like Paul's own, whereas the other could have been mistaken for a young Brad Pitt, if Pitt's hair had been dark and cut short.
But it wasn't their youth, or how they looked, or even how the shorter guy danced from foot to foot that was strange—it was how they were dressed. Both guys were in full-on tuxedos. Paul was no expert on fashion and design, but the tuxedos were sophisticated and impeccably tailored to fit the young men perfectly.
The taller wore a vest beneath his jacket, and his cufflinks sparked in the light from a street lamp. The shorter wore a cummerbund, a matte black that was equally impressive. The buttons on their shirts were black onyx inlaid in silver settings that glinted in the faint street light, and the shirts screamed sophistication, perfectly fit and expertly starched. Both looked as though they had stepped out from an exclusive black-tie party in Chicago's financial district. But Paul didn't think that anyone in such attire would want to ride the city bus, especially in this weather.
Aside from their tuxedo jackets, they had no coats, and must have been freezing. Not to mention, the weather was doing a number on such fine clothing. Already, their shoes were covered with dirt, and the cloudy scuffs from street salt. Even the cuffs of their pants were dirty and wet.
They had to be on their way to a party, Paul mused, or maybe they were just thrown out of a party?
The taller of the two looked up from his phone and caught Paul staring at him. For a moment, the two held each other's gaze, before Paul looked away. He stood there, feeling awkward and foolish because he had nowhere to go, and nothing to do but stand there under the boy's scrutiny. It suddenly became very uncomfortable for Paul, and if the bus hadn't been right up the street, and if his meeting with the woman not so important, Paul would have walked away. Normally, he was confident and cool, but there was something about the boy that he couldn't place, something he didn't like.
Something about the guy's eyes.
It didn't matter, Paul thought. The bus neared, the blue florescent light of the interior filtering through the large windows. Paul looked through the windows and searched the faces of the passengers he could see, looking for anyone who might be his contact. He saw a young man and woman, their heads locked together in a kissing embrace. He saw an elderly man looking out the window at the falling snowflakes, his face serene and contemplative. There was a young family toward the front, dressed warmly in thick coats, knit caps and scarves. The little girl couldn't have been more than six years old, and her eyes were bright with excitement. Her curly black hair was pulled into little braids on her head, with colored beads on the end of each braid. Her smile was wide, and she reminded Paul of someone you'd see on the beach in the Caribbean, not in the dead of a mid-western winter.
From where he stood, looking through the windows of the bus, no one looked like they could be the woman he was planning to meet. His shoulders dropped, and he sighed. He'd been a journalist for more than two decades, reporting his countless investigations to whoever would read his work. There had been many sources who’d bailed on him over the years, and even more that had actually shown up, but with bogus information. He really hoped that wasn't the case here. No conspiracies; this was the most important story of his life.
He could feel it.
As the bus grumbled to a stop, dirty sleet sprayed up from the gutter and splattered the newly fallen powder. Paul took a deep breath and waited for the doors to open.
Chapter Eight
The brakes on the bus squeaked as it slowed to a stop, its big black tires crunching in the newly fallen snow. ROUTE B MICHIGAN AVE. flashed on the digital display at the top of the bus.
Ryan Coffee stuck his phone in the pocket of his tuxedo jacket, and looked away from the man who'd just joined them under the bus shelter. Ryan caugh
t Sam's eye, and he jerked his head toward the newcomer. Sam kept his body moving like a puppy needing to go outside, and it drove Ryan crazy— he couldn't figure out why Sam didn't just bring a coat if he was going to act so ridiculous.
Sam followed Ryan's gaze to the newcomer and looked him over. After a few seconds, he shook his head, still dancing like a buffoon.
Good, Ryan thought. At least the guy wasn't a cop. It was weird that the man was standing here at the bus stop. He didn't look like the type to be riding public transportation in the middle of a blizzard. But then again, neither did he or Sam. He tugged at his left coat sleeve and adjusted the platinum cufflink in left sleeve. The cufflinks were from Cartier, a gift from his father.
Assuming he survived the night, the cufflinks would go into the little cedar box toward the back of his sock drawer. They'd be right at home with the other little trinkets that were bought for Ryan from the highest-end stores in lieu of any show of affection from either of his parents. From his father, he got cufflinks, and tie clips from Harry Winston and Tiffany’s and Cartier, with diamonds or other jewels embedded in the center, and genuine Italian shoes that glistened with the sweat and tears of child labor. From his mother, it was always video games and electronics that he'd never really been interested in, but that she thought he liked, even at the ripe old age of 23. With every gift, his parents beamed, as though the gifts were actual hugs and kisses, and then the moment would be done, and the little show of affection over. Each of them would move on with their lives until the next occasion to show affection presented itself.
Ryan didn't care, didn't need the affection—especially on nights like tonight. His heart beat loudly in his chest, and he felt nervous and shaky anticipation build up within him. He allowed himself a few seconds with his eyes closed, to imagine the grip of the steering wheel in his hands, to hear the roar of its engine, and the quiet thrumming that flowed through the metal. He saw flashes of light, extended into glowing trails of reds and yellows and blues, the speed warping the reality around it.
When he opened his eyes, he realized that he'd also been holding his breath, and he exhaled slow and long, the smoke of his breath rising toward the falling snow.
The night of the dragon, he thought. Lit dragons. Ryan felt a surge of adrenaline, and couldn't help but smile.
A gust of freezing wind smacked him in the face, and he stopped smiling. The weather was bitingly cold, and Ryan had a lot on his mind. The map, for one, was difficult this evening, and he didn't know how it would work in this weather. He tried to remember the last time he'd led the dragons in winter conditions, and he was sure that it had been more than a year. Ice and snow changed everything.
The door to the bus slid open, and Ryan stepped away from the curb to allow the old lady and the newcomer to board first. Again, he was surprised to see these people out in weather like this. Ryan didn't pride himself on his knowledge of the behavior of others, didn't care really, but thought most people would have stayed inside on a night like tonight. They all formed a line behind the old lady, who struggled to climb the big, wet steps into the bus.
"That guy ahead of us?" Sam whispered.
"Yeah."
"I think he's got to be some sort of reporter or something." Sam said, gnawing on the nail of his little finger.
"That's really gross you know," Ryan said. "Do you realize how much dirt and crap gets up under there?"
"Sorry." Sam spit a bit of fingernail into the mud and snow on the sidewalk and continued, "So he's got some sort of file folder, with a bunch of papers. Who carries around stuff like that, especially in a full-blown, hold-your-hat snowstorm? Businessmen and lawyers, that's who, but he doesn't look like a business guy, and certainly not a lawyer. A night like tonight, and the lawyers are lining up in the hospital to wait for ambulances."
"Sam, if he's not a cop, it doesn't matter," Paul said. It was their turn to board the bus. Ryan went first, nodding to the big man at the helm, and dropping some coins into the payment collector. The man driving the bus was black, with his salt and pepper hair cut short and his eyes framed with deep laughing lines. He nodded back at Ryan with a smile that was genuinely friendly, a playful twinkle in his eyes.
Ryan walked along the aisle, past a young girl with black braids and fluffy pink coat, past the guy who'd been staring him down at the bus stop. The guy was now buried in the papers of his file, reviewing what appeared to be handwritten notes.
The floor of the bus was wet and dirty, streaked with muddy foot prints and small puddles. The air smelled liked dust burning in the heating vents. When Ryan sat down, he felt moisture on the seat, and he sighed. He hated the weather in Chicago during the winter. It was just so cold and wet and miserable, and it reminded him too much of home.
Sam sat next to him on the seat, his legs still fidgeting in an effort to stay warm.
"Can you stop that, please?"
"What?" Sam asked. The tip of his nose and cheeks were bright red from the cold, and his eyes had that glazy look of someone just trying to survive.
"Moving your legs like that," Ryan nodded at the constant movement of Sam's legs. "It’s annoying."
"I'm cold."
"There's a heater on this bus." Ryan said. Sam shrugged. He stopped moving for a few minutes, but then he started again.
"Sorry."
Ryan shook his head and pulled out his phone. He tapped an icon that featured a dragon drawn with what appeared to be neon bulbs, and a map appeared. He swiped through the screens and settled once again on a map. He studied the line that marked the route, tried to picture the curves and the angles of the road. He saw a grayed area that looked to be a bridge, or an overpass. Ryan pored over the details, memorizing as much as he could.
They rode in silence for a few moments, then Sam started chattering away again.
"I gotta talk, man, 'cause it's cold, and I've got to move, and I'm a little nervous about the rundown tonight."
"Why are you nervous?" Ryan asked. He swiped at the screen on his phone, and the names of the other players appeared. Most of the names were unfamiliar, but he recognized a few.
"Because it's icy," Sam said after a few seconds hesitation. He sighed, as if admitting defeat. "The black ice scares me, okay? You can't see it, especially with it snowing like this and covering up the road.
"I'll take care of it." Ryan smiled and gave his friend a sideways glance.
"I'm sure, but it's been awhile, and I've got a kid to think about now. And Dani, jeeze-man, I hope she doesn't wake up while I'm gone. We've never really talked about this stuff, but if she'd seen me leaving with the tux and all, she'd be asking questions, and she wouldn't like the answers."
"You know the rules," Ryan put away his phone.
"I know the rules, and that’s why I'm nervous, that's all, and being nervous and cold as balls, makes me want to talk."
Sam paused, waiting for Ryan to say something. Ryan made a twirling gesture with his fingers.
"So talk then."
"I'm going to," Sam said, but hesitated. "But now I feel like you're annoyed, and you don't want me to talk. It's uncomfortable."
"For the love, Sam," Ryan said under his breath, "good thing you married early, because if she has to deal with this BS, she's going to divorce you for sure, and you'll at least have some time while you're still young to find someone else."
"You don't know Dani and me," Sam said, then blew warm breath into his cupped hands.
"We're good together, and holy crap it's still freezing in here, even with the heater."
"I'm sure you guys are good," Ryan said. His phone vibrated from the pocket of his tux, and they both heard it, glancing toward the sound. Ryan pulled it out, and a tiny red circle began to flash on the surface of the map, instantly followed by a cyan-colored line that led from the red circle to a solid green circle.
"We're here," Paul said, and the adrenaline was back. He could feel it in his bones, could feel the cool rush of blood to his head.
"The
guy has a pencil too, and he's chewing on the eraser. You don't get that in non-reporter types, and again, no way that guy is a lawyer."
"What are you talking about?"
"The guy we came on the bus with," Sam said. Ryan looked over the seat at the guy and shrugged. If he wasn't a cop, it didn't much matter. He reached up and pulled the cable that drooped above the windows. A sign that read STOP REQUESTED flashed at the front of the bus, followed by a loud ding. Both Ryan and Sam stood as the bus slowed. The man who was probably a reporter, not a lawyer, glanced up at them as they walked out of the bus.
"Have a good night, gentlemen," the bus driver said in a thick Chicago accent. His eyebrows were raised with concern as he looked through the windshield of the bus at the nasty weather and rough section of town.
"Later," Ryan said as he passed by and exited the bus. Sam smiled at the man and followed Ryan into the snow.
As the bus pulled away from the curb and the snow pounded down on them, Sam and Ryan looked around at the street that could have been mistaken for an abandoned ghost town out west, except for the swirling snow and the cars parked along the sidewalk. One of the street lights, close to where they stood, had burned out, and the area around it was dark. Although small brick houses lined one side of the street, the area consisted mostly of large storage facilities and warehouses.
"Sure this is the right spot?" Sam asked.
Ryan wiped away some snowflakes that had fallen onto the touch screen of his phone and studied the flashing red bulb on the map. He nodded.
"I'm sure," he said, and pointed to the entrance of an alley about halfway down the block.
"I bet it's right over there."
"Think an SUV this time?"
"Sedan," Ryan said. Of course he didn't know for sure, but the SUVs seemed to be fading out of style. And besides, SUVs weren't good for their line of work, as the bulk of the vehicle was more of a benefit than the performance.
The Snow Swept Trilogy Page 6
