Manny’s neck snapped forward and back and he woke with a grunt. The bench he’d used as a bed was too narrow for his frame and his body was cramped and sore. He’d been so optimistic as he’d rode to Utica and even when he boarded the bus from there to New York, but that last trip had drained his positivity. Two miles out of town the air con had given up and the heat had piled into the coach. Four miles later the bus packed in entirely and the passengers decamped onto the roadside while they waited for a replacement service.
When it came, it was the oldest, paint peeling bucket imaginable. Again, the air-con didn’t work and it didn’t take Manny long to discover that he’d boarded a bus that stopped at every goddamn village and town in the state.
It meant it was late when he arrived at the city bus terminal and his good humour had soured. He’d caught his reflection in the window of a store in the precinct and winced at what he’d seen. He was fatigued and it showed. I need a washroom, he’d told himself, freshen up a little. Besides, there was no need to be so irritated by the hold-ups. They were only minor delays to his plans, after all, and wouldn’t affect the outcome.
Now, he stood, stretched, and cursed the authorities for putting their prisons in the most inaccessible places. Clearly, they were built so far from anywhere to discourage ex-cons from returning to the city. They weren’t built far enough away to stop Manny, though.
At least his belly had stopped rumbling. The burger and fries he’d stolen from a punter in the bus station’s fast-food joint had been nice, but it’d left him bloated and tired, which was partly why he’d fallen asleep. That, and the fact it had been one in the morning when his coach had pulled in.
There was a large clock pinned to the wall, its hands declaring a time of six a.m. After the hour he’d spent eating and washing, he’d managed four hours rest. It was enough. He was as awake and fresh as he was going to be. Now it was time for his next move. His plan progressed, albeit it had taken longer to get to the city than he’d expected. Happily, he was within a few miles of Williamsburg, a few blocks from where Taylor lived, and that was satisfying. Now, as close as he was, he took stock to make sure his plan held true. But shit! Planning wasn’t easy, and that was less satisfying. Each time he came up with a new idea it got blown away on a cloud of what ifs…
After his burger he’d drifted off to sleep while revisiting those plans. And his story. Harry Chance had warned him about not having a story. He’d come up with a good one. He smiled again. The sleep must have given his mind an opportunity to work things through, it was obvious what to do next.
There was a candy store in the terminus that sold souvenirs, books and maps alongside its banks of chips, sodas and chocolate bars. Manny wandered across to a collection of tourist guides and pulled a street map out of the stand. He fished inside a pocket for the slip of paper with Taylor’s address on it and cross-referenced it in the map’s index, then he flipped through the booklet’s pages until he landed on the appropriate one and followed the grid reference to the location. A slow smile crept over his face. Yes! he thought. I’ve gotcha! But he wouldn’t go there directly. His finger traced downward several blocks, until he stopped upon a nondescript sounding street. I’ll go there first, he thought as he committed the street name to memory. He’d plenty of time to explore her neighbourhood before ferreting her out. Besides, heading straight to her place might be a little too obvious if some cop came snooping around. His smile broadened to a full-on grin, which caused a man standing nearby to baulk, unnerved. Manny chuckled as the man edged away. It didn’t matter what the stranger’s opinions of him were. Manny had a plan that would work out fine.
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