Hedging (A Smith and Wetzon Mystery)

car outside.”
    “Are you sure they’re not—”
    She interrupted. “Cops? No, I’d know if they were on the job.” How? How would she know? What did she have to do with cops?
    Above his thick, tinted glasses his eyebrows were white bristles. “Are you Feeb? DEA?”
    Some adjustment had been made. He was acting as if she was a colleague.
    “I’ll help you,” he said.
    “How? He’ll be waiting when we get off the bus.”
    “You get off the bus right behind me. The minute we’re off, Nora and I will create a diversion. People will crowd around. You take off behind the buses. Just be careful of the ones pulling out or coming in.”
    “Thank you, Mr. ... ”
    “Marty. Just call me Marty.”
    The atmosphere changed. Sound more compact. They were in the tunnel. They would exit the tunnel and enter the Port Authority, and it would start all over again. She pulled the beret over her brows. She was ready.
    As they pulled into their slot, Marty rose. The dog was already standing, alert. She gathered the big coat around her and followed him into the aisle.
    He bent his head toward her. “Do you want me to call someone for you?”
    “Uh. Three seven four five five—” She had no idea where those numbers had come from.
    He was nodding. “Go on.”
    Go on? What was he talking about? She shook her head. The well had gone dry.
    “Give me a name.”
    She racked her brain.
    “Your name?”
    She didn’t answer. She couldn’t.
    “Get ready.” He stepped off the bus, she on his heels. The dog barked. Marty began yelling, then fell to the ground.
    Amidst the confusion, she ducked behind the bus, and ran. A door marked, Exit. She opened it, clambered up the stairs, opened another door. Light so bright it hurt her eyes. The crowded lobby of the Port Authority terminal, everyone moving fast, faster.
    To her right, a Krispy Kreme doughnut shop. An ambulance siren blared and the crowd parted for the EMS people from the Fire Department. She ducked into the sweet-smelling shop and bought a doughnut, had them put it in a bag and asked for her change in coins.
    She had to get rid of the diamonds. She stopped at another shop and bought a pair of sunglasses. Next stop, a ladies’ room.
    Behind the door of the stall, she stuck the doughnut in her mouth and emptied the diamonds into the Krispy Kreme bag, shoved the bag back in her pocket. She ate the doughnut in ragged gulps.
    When she stepped out of the stall, there was a line of women waiting, everyone in a hurry. The water, the harsh soap, stung her hands. She saw cuts and burns, torn, bloodied nails. She glanced into the mirror over the sink and jerked back. The woman in the mirror had a deep rose rash mixed with dirt encrusting her face. She removed the dark glasses. Her features were sharp, her face drawn, her eyes bloodshot, deeply circled, gray. Fascinated, she pulled off the beret. Curly hair black as jet tumbled out, stopping at her shoulders.
    She had no idea who she was.

3
    T ERROR, WHICH she had till now successfully subdued, became a second self, ricocheting through her, having a thrill at her expense. She thought, soon I’ll wake up.
    The insistent crackle of the paper bag in her pocket gave her the impetus to push away inertia. A locker. The diamonds could stay there until ...
    A maintenance man directed her to the lockers. She put in the coins and pulled out the plastic card, then opened the door. Pausing, she checked the area. Everyone self absorbed. She took the bag from her pocket, pushed it all the way back in the locker, and slammed the door, testing that it was locked. She held the card in her tight fist.
    The flow of humanity through the terminal was incessant, uneven, swirling, at once menacing and yet not. She couldn’t spend the night here, hiding. The subway was downstairs. She took a breath, hat over her ears, head down, and stepped out into it, pushing back the random thought that, yes, the subway was downstairs, but where would she go?
    Something cold nuzzled her ankle. The golden. Nora. She knelt, causing a discreet clearing. “Nora,” she whispered into the dog’s coat.
    “She led me to you,” Marty said. “I thought you’d be long gone.”
    Nora’s growl was an alert. Too late. She saw the shoes first, the damaged stirrup. She hugged the dog, garnering energy, fingered the leash. She had to get rid of the locker card. The gunman had one arm across Marty’s shoulder, the other held his gun against Marty’s side.
    “Leave