“Well, I give you full credit,” Lou said. “But let me ask you, what the hell are you doing working on old cases after you talked me into allowing you one more day to play detective on the Sue Passero case? The way you were talking, I thought sure you had something definite up your sleeve.”
“I did. For sure. I was planning on having a second go-round earlier with another of Sue’s colleagues who was tight with both Sue and Cherine. Unfortunately, he didn’t call me until just a few minutes ago when he woke up. He works the night shift and sleeps during the day. We’re going to meet up at five-thirty. It should be rewarding, especially since he’s a knowledgeable guy.”
“Okay,” Lou said. “Where is this going to happen?”
“He’s working tonight and he’s paranoid about being late, so he’s insisting we get together over at the MMH. On the plus side, we’re going to have our tête-à-tête in the Emergency Department, so I don’t need to go into the hospital proper, where I’m somewhat a persona non grata.”
“Thank God for small favors,” Lou said. “What about the toxicology confirmation of this morning’s case, have you gotten it?”
“It hasn’t even been eight hours,” Jack said. “Good God! You’re more impatient than I am.”
After a few more back-and-forth teasing comments, they terminated the call. With a bit of time remaining before he needed to leave to head uptown, Jack went back to try to sign out one more case. Luckily it was an easy one and only required confirmation by his looking at a handful of the slides, which he accomplished easily. With that out of the way, he turned off his microscope, pulled on his corduroy jacket, and headed down to the basement to get his bike. A few minutes later, with his helmet and gloves on and his scarf knotted around his neck, he climbed on his Trek and set off up 30th Street toward First Avenue.
Chapter 30
Wednesday, December 8, 5:04 p.m.
Suddenly Ronnie sat bolt upright. He’d been impatiently waiting for Jack Stapleton to appear, sitting in his idling Cherokee double-parked on the right side of First Avenue just south of 30th Street, nearly the same location where he’d been that morning while watching for him. The traffic was heavier at 5:00 p.m. than it had been at 7:00 a.m., and on several occasions cars and taxis had pulled up behind Ronnie when the traffic light had been red, expecting him to drive forward when it turned green. When he didn’t, there had been lots of horn blowing and then choice epithets when the cars had finally pulled out and driven around.
Also different than ten hours earlier was that it was now dark and Ronnie was in a completely different mental state. Early that morning he’d been a calm observer, whereas now he was mentally hyped up in anticipation of ridding himself of the danger that Stapleton represented to his ongoing crusade. He felt a definite and pleasurable excitement, not too dissimilar to how he felt just prior to administering the coup de grâce to one of his suffering patients. As he’d sat there, waiting, he’d given a passing thought to immediately running over Jack right there at the intersection, as Jack would most likely have to wait for the light to cross over to the First Avenue bike lane that ran north on the west side and present himself like a sitting duck. But ultimately Ronnie decided that plan was far too risky since it involved colliding with Jack and running him over directly in front of too many witnesses. On top of that was the concern that Ronnie would undoubtedly be forced to stop at the next intersection due to the rush hour traffic congestion, which might cause unknown consequences.
“Finally!” Ronnie voiced as he watched Jack pedal up 30th Street and come to a halt at the intersection to wait for the traffic light to change, exactly as Ronnie had envisioned. In anticipation of action, Ronnie pressed on the Cherokee’s accelerator a few times with the transmission in neutral just to be rewarded with the purr of the engine, proclaiming it was ready to do battle. Ronnie had flipped the lever earlier so that the mufflers were fully engaged, and the engine was significantly quieter so as not to cause undue attention.
From that point on, Ronnie did not have a specific plan of attack because he wasn’t sure if Jack would come out of the relative safety of the bike path, which was busy, as was the avenue. Contrary to the avenue, the traffic on the bike path wasn’t as directionally consistent, with occasional electric delivery bikes going in the reverse direction. If Jack did venture out into the vehicle traffic, Ronnie thought it might offer a good opportunity to run him over, or, if that failed, to give Ronnie the opportunity to pull alongside and shoot him at close range through the open window. Since that was a distinct possibility, Ronnie had his beloved pistol conveniently ready on the passenger seat with a round in the chamber.
As Jack pedaled across the avenue only ten or fifteen feet directly in front of Ronnie, he was able to even see Jack’s expression thanks to a nearby streetlight. From Ronnie’s vantage point, it seemed as if Jack was smiling.
“Smile now, you fool,” Ronnie said. He truly couldn’t believe someone would be insane enough to commute to work on a bike considering all the crazy taxis and rideshare drivers, and especially only wearing a corduroy jacket. Although the temperature had been unseasonably moderate over the previous week, it was December, which meant winter in New York City. In Ronnie’s mind it was crazy, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Jack weren’t a dedicated bicyclist, Ronnie would have been at a loss for how to get rid of him short of merely shooting him as he came out of work or his house.
When the traffic light finally turned green for Ronnie, he gunned his Cherokee and jumped out ahead of the traffic. His idea was to cross over the five lanes so that he’d be driving alongside the parked cars that separated the bike lane from avenue traffic. Unfortunately, Ronnie had to slow down almost immediately because cars and buses were taking their time leaving the traffic light at 33rd Street. By then, he could see that Jack was already beyond 33rd Street, moving much faster than the vehicular traffic.
Ronnie’s heart skipped a beat. This was a situation he’d not anticipated, and he couldn’t let Jack get too far ahead. The idea of Jack arriving at the MMH before him would be anathema. As a result, Ronnie switched into his super-aggressive driving mode and the Cherokee responded in kind, allowing him to weave in and out of the traffic. In desperation, he even resorted to using the dedicated bus lane for short spurts, risking being pulled over by traffic police. Ronnie thanked his lucky stars that he wasn’t. He was also thankful that Jack wore a lime green helmet and had a flashing red LED rear bike light, making him stand out even from a block away. Within ten blocks, Ronnie had managed to close the gap and out of the corner of his eye he could see that he was currently traveling abreast of him, but it was a struggle to maintain with the amount of traffic Ronnie had to contend with.
The next thing he knew, a new problem had emerged. The lane of traffic he was in was vectored into a tunnel that he’d forgotten about near the United Nations building, whereas Jack’s bike lane stayed up in the open air. For several blocks while he was underground, Ronnie lost sight of him. When he emerged, he didn’t see him. Assuming that Jack had to wait for several traffic lights that were avoided by the tunnel, Ronnie moved over to the left-hand side of the avenue and slowed down, again evoking lots of horn honking and angry gestures from irate drivers. Finally, Jack appeared in Ronnie’s rearview mirror, along with a clot of other bicyclists that Jack quickly outdistanced. Since the location was now Midtown, more electric delivery bikes were going in both directions and the congestion had become more obvious.