The October List

large delivery truck struck Yellow Shirt at close to forty-five mph. He tumbled beneath the wheels and a sickening, crumpled-box sound filled the air around them. No time for the driver to hit the horn, no time even for the man to scream.
    Gabriela cried out, staring at the shattered figure. ‘Oh, Jesus. No, no, no!’ A thick wash of dark blood spread out behind the truck, which had slammed into a cab trying to avoid the man. ‘No.’
    Shouts, screams, people running toward the man’s crushed body, people running away. Cell phones appearing for 911 calls … and for pictures.
    Daniel Reardon took her arm. ‘Mac! We have to leave. Now!’
    ‘I didn’t … I didn’t mean to do it! I just reacted.’ She stared, shaking.
    ‘Listen to me!’ Daniel gripped her face and turned it toward him, ignoring her wince of pain. ‘We have to go.’
    ‘But—’
    ‘He was a threat. He had to be a threat. He wouldn’t’ve followed us if he wasn’t. You didn’t have any choice. It looked like he was going to attack you. He was reaching into his pocket. Maybe he had a gun!’
    ‘You don’t know that! Look, he’s still moving. His foot. It’s moving!’
    She stared at the blood, choked a cry.
    Daniel’s strong arm encircled her shoulders like a vise and he was walking her away. She half stumbled, half jogged beside him. It was as if she could barely remember how to walk.
    His voice was tinted with panic too. ‘I know you’re upset. I know you’re hurting, but we have to move, Mac.’
    ‘I—’ she began, shaking. ‘I don’t think—’
    But Daniel interrupted. ‘It’s all about your daughter. Remember what you keep saying, “Focus.” Well, focus on your daughter.’
    ‘My …’ she gasped.
    ‘Sarah.’ He said the name firmly. ‘I’m sorry, Mac. It’s a fucking shame this happened. But it did and we’re not going to be able to help Sarah if you go to jail. There’ll be a time to deal with it – later.’
    Her face a pale mask, Gabriela nodded.
    ‘Keep moving.’
    She followed as if she were a toddler unsure how to walk.
    Suddenly he froze. ‘No, wait, go the other way. We’ll circle around the block to the subway.’
    ‘Why, what’s wrong?’
    ‘The way we were going, there’s a meter maid at the corner.’
    ‘Meter maid?’ she asked. ‘What difference does that make?’
    Daniel leaned close and whispered, ‘Gabriela, everybody in New York City, from dogcatchers to the FBI, is looking for you now.’

CHAPTER
26
     

11:35 a.m., Sunday
15 minutes earlier
     

 

 
     
    In the trenches …
    Think, figure this out, Hal Dixon told himself.
    You work in the trenches. Improvise.
    He looked around the streets, spotted someone he thought could help.
    Dixon strode up to the hot dog vendor, who guided away the smoke of the coals warming chestnuts and pretzels in his cart with the wave of a hand. The smoke returned instantly.
    The smell made Dixon hungry but he was on his mission and he ignored the sensation.
    ‘Please, I need to ask you something,’ he said to the skinny vendor in jeans and a Mets T-shirt. ‘A couple came by here, a man and a woman. Just a few minutes ago.’
    The man glanced at Dixon’s wrinkled gray suit and bright yellow shirt and maybe came to some conclusion about the color combination. Then he was looking back at Dixon’s sweaty face. ‘Man and woman?’ A faint lilt of accent.
    Dixon described them.
    The hot dog man was instantly uneasy. ‘I didn’t see anything. Nothing. No.’
    ‘It’s okay. I’m a deacon.’ Trying to calm him.
    ‘A …?’
    ‘In a church, Presbyterian,’ the rumpled man said breathlessly. ‘In New Jersey. A deacon.’
    ‘Uhm,’ said the street vendor, who seemed to be a Muslim and would probably have no idea what a deacon was but might appreciate devotion.
    ‘Religious. I’m a religious person.’
    ‘A priest?’ the man asked, becoming confused. He was again regarding Dixon’s old suit and yellow shirt.
    ‘No. I’m just religious. A deacon’s a layperson.’
    ‘Oh.’ The vendor looked around for somebody he could sell a hot dog to.
    Mistake. Dixon said, ‘I’m like a priest.’
    ‘Oh.’
    ‘A private person who helps the priest. Like helping the imam.’
    ‘Imam?’
    ‘Look.’ Dixon reached into his breast pocket and took a small, black-bound Bible from it.
    ‘Oh.’ The man said this with some reverence.
    ‘I was just on Madison Avenue.’ He gestured broadly though the vendor would obviously know where