"But why?" she'd asked.
"Don't ask! Just keep it unless something happens to me."
Amy could remember looking into his eyes. He was being so melodramatic that she'd thought he was joking with her, because he did have a sense of humor. But he apparently wasn't joking, because he dismissed her and never mentioned the USB drive again.
Now, as she was ready to leave for home, she opened her bar and took out the USB storage device and looked at it as if she expected it to communicate with her. She couldn't help but wonder if Paul's absence fulfilled his request for her to file the 8-K. When he'd given her the charge, he'd never described what he meant by "unless something happens to me." Certainly, going on a binge qualified as something happening to him, but Amy wasn't confident. She slipped the drive back into its side pocket and closed her purse. Her last thought before leaving was whether she should call his home. She'd considered doing it off and on all day but wasn't sure if she should. She'd even considered calling one of his old girlfriends, whose number she still had, but she decided not to do it since he'd had no contact with her for five years, as far as she knew. With a sigh, her indecision was such that she thought it better to do nothing than to do something that might make the situation worse. With that thought she turned off her desk lamp and left the office.
"WHAT THE HELL is going on?" Carlo said with a shake of his head. He was mystified.
"I haven't the slightest idea," Brennan said.
Carlo and Brennan were in Carlo's black GMC Denali, pulled over to the right side of Fifth Avenue at Grand Army Plaza. Just to their right was the Pulitzer fountain with the statue of a naked Abundance in all her glory.
Carlo and Brennan had picked up Franco and Angelo the moment they'd emerged from the Neapolitan Restaurant. At a safe distance in Johnny's parking lot, they had joked about the two Lucia enforcers, trying to decide which one was the weirdest-looking. To them, Franco looked like a hawk with his narrow, hatchet-like nose and beady eyes, while Angelo looked like someone from a horror movie with his extensive facial scarring.
"What a pair," Carlo had commented as he'd put his sub sandwich down on the center console and put his car in gear.
Tailing the two had been easy, since Franco's car stood out from the crowd with its erect tail fins and whiter-than-white sidewall tires. The only problem spot had been getting on the Queensboro Bridge, since they had missed a traffic light, and Franco's car had driven out of sight. After a short period of anxiety, they had been able to catch up to their quarry, thanks to the traffic light on the Manhattan side of the bridge. From there, they had proceeded to Fifth Avenue without a problem until Franco had suddenly pulled to the side a bit beyond the commercial entrance to the Trump Tower.
Franco's parking had been so precipitous that Carlo had had to drive by and make a right at 55th Street, and go around the block. That maneuver had also caused a bit of concern about losing them until they'd returned to Fifth Avenue and saw Franco's car still standing where it had been.
For the next thirty-five minutes, Carlo and Brennan had stayed where they were next to naked Abundance, alternately watching Franco's car with a pair of binoculars Brennan had thoughtfully brought along. They couldn't see much, just two silhouettes having an active conversation from the looks of their intermittent hand gestures. While they waited, they finished the sandwiches they'd gotten at Johnny's. Without knowing where they were going or how long it would take, they'd jumped at the chance to haw some food.
The stakeout had gradually become boring until both men sat up a little straighter when the NYPD officer had appeared and closed in on the car.
"What's going down?" Carlo had questioned. Brennan had the binoculars at the time.
"I don't know. They're just talking."
"Let me see!" Carlo said. He took the binoculars from his colleague, who was lower in the organizational hierarchy. Carlo and Brennan had known each other for years from living in the same neighborhood and attending the same high school.
"Franco's walking toward us," Carlo said as he continued watching through the binoculars.
"Uh-oh," Brennan said urgently. "Angelo is driving away! What should we do?"
"Let's stick with Franco," Carlo said. "He's stopped at the Trump Tower entrance. My guess is he's waiting for someone to come out of the building."
"What about Angelo? I could get out and stick with Franco while you tail Angelo."
Carlo shook his head. "My bet is Angelo's just going around the block. Let's stick where we are. I'm starting to think they're planning on snatching someone."
"That's crazy with all these people around, not to mention the cops."
"I can't argue with you there," Carlo said, and then quickly added, "I think he sees who he is after. He just tossed his cigarette into the gutter."
"Who is it, a man or a woman?" Brennan questioned. He eyed the binoculars and had to resist an urge to grab them away from Carlo. After all, he'd had the sense to bring them along.
"I think it must be that girl with the green coat. She's taking a cab, and he is, too. I bet he's pissed because Angelo's not in sight."
Carlo tossed the binoculars into Brennan's lap and put the Denali in gear.
"What are we going to do?" Brennan asked while searching for Franco and the girl. "God, the girl looks like she's twelve. What could Franco and Angelo be after her for?"
"It doesn't make much sense."
"Uh-oh! The girl's got a cab and is about to leave Franco high and dry. Should we try to follow her or stick with Franco?"
"We'll stick with Franco, you dope."
Brennan pulled his eyes from the binoculars and cast an angry look at Carlo. He didn't like being called a dope.
"Well, lucky for Franco. He's caught himself a cab as well. Hang on! We're off to the races."
"YOU MUST BE joking," the taxi driver said, twisting around to look at Franco sitting in the backseat."'Follow that cab!' That's the first time I've actually heard that outside of the movies. Are you for real, man, or is this a joke?"
"It's no joke," Franco said. "Keep that cab in sight and you got yourself a twenty-dollar tip."
The driver shrugged and turned back to drive. A twenty-dollar tip was well worth a little extra effort.
Franco bounced around in the backseat and had trouble handling his cell phone. Giving up for the moment, he struggled with the seat belt instead. Once he got that secured, he wasn't being thrown about quite as much, especially since the car had steadied to a degree once it had gotten up to speed. It was still relatively hard to dial the number, because the driver was weaving in and out of the lanes.
"Where are you?" Franco demanded the moment Angelo answered.
"I'm stuck in traffic on Sixth Avenue going north. Where are you?"
"In a cab heading south on Fifth. The bird has flown."
"Okay. As soon as I can, I'll head south."
Franco flipped his phone closed. He was irritated at himself for two reasons: He should have had some sort of a plan when the girl or woman, whichever she was, appeared. More important, he should have insisted they take Angelo's humdrum Lincoln Town Car for their evening activities instead of his babied Cadillac. The idea of Angelo wrecking his car or even denting it in New York City's rush-hour traffic made him sick.
"We're coming up on the cab in question," the driver said proudly. "Want me to pull up alongside?"
"No!" Franco said quickly. "Just stay behind."
The two taxis made good progress down Fifth Avenue, catching the lights. Franco began to wonder if Paul Yang gave them the wrong information about her living in New Jersey, of if she did, whether she was going out on the town for the evening, which would complicate things.
Franco's fears were dispelled near the New York Public Library, when Amy's taxi suddenly braked and turned right. Franco relaxed a degree, sensing they were headed toward the Port Authority Bus Terminal.