Maybe taking a bus might not be his best idea, perhaps steal another car. Either way if he got caught by the cops, Mickey knew it would be just a matter of time before those who were after him would find a way to get to him in prison. They have their tentacles everywhere.
A small-time dope dealer like me can’t’ go to the cops, he thought. For all I know, one of them could be in on it.
He clenched the steering wheel as he pulled into the bus station. What to do? This time he was at a loss for what to do. Tapping his fingers on the wheel as he pulled into a parking spot, he decided on taking the bus. His earlier conclusion that an enterprising cop would eventually run the plates and find out it was stolen, and then this trip would be over.
Mickey would just have to hope for now that the people looking for him weren’t watching this bus station.
He grabbed his backpack off the passenger seat, and with his wad of cash went inside and bought a ticket to Lawrenceville. With his head on a swivel, he went into the waiting area, he had half an hour to wait before boarding the bus.
A hunger pang made his stomach growl, and lucky for him the cafeteria was just opening. While he could have dug into his stash, he wanted to save that in case he needed it for another time.
When he turned his back on the ticket counter and made his way to the cafeteria, the clerk pulled out his cellphone and made a call. If he had kept his eyes about him his danger senses would have perked up.
Mickey bought a sandwich and coffee and kept his eyes darting about as he ate. When the boarding call came, he went to his bus, showed the driver his ticket and made his way to the back of the bus, sat down and pulled the cap over his forehead.
As the bus pulled away, he faked deep breathing pretending to sleep, his eyes slightly open. For now, no one seemed to be watching him. Most were asleep or had their eyes glued to their phones or tablets. Safe for now.
* * *
The “for now” part was the kicker here. After the ticket clerk got off the phone, ten miles away, a muscular man who had the look of a man who ate kittens for breakfast screwed a suppressor onto a 45 Colt pistol and slid it into a shoulder holster. He picked up a satchel case off the kitchen table and made his way into his garage.
Ten million dollars for this job, and a threat eliminated. The Cleaner, as he was called, clicked the door opener to his silver SUV, got in, hit the garage opener button, and drove outside. When the garage door closed behind him, he drove off into the night.
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