Every Second. Rick Mofina
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kept a lonely vigil. After Dan parked, Vic told him to turn his car off, leave the keys and grab the duffel bag filled with cash.
“See that green Chevy in the lane directly across from you? It’s unlocked, the key’s inside. Get in.”
Dan remained frozen where he stood.
Alone in the lot with the heavy bag, he considered running into the mall for help. For the hundredth time this morning he wondered if he should end it here. There was always a chance they’d been bluffing the whole time. Maybe they never intended to kill anyone. Maybe the bombs weren’t real. But could he risk it? What if it backfired? Could he live with himself if they killed Lori and Billy because he screwed up?
“Get in the Chevy now, Dan!”
Reaching the car, he opened the front passenger door, dropped the bag on the floor, then walked around and got in behind the wheel.
He noticed the faint hint of men’s cologne and cigarettes. The car’s interior appeared to have been cleaned, as if all traces of the previous user were hastily obliterated. There were gouges and scratches around the ignition switch, some wires were hanging down. A single key had been inserted into the switch.
It’s a stolen car!
Dan’s fear suddenly deepened—Vic and his crew were not planning to end this soon. This meant they wanted something more.
“Start the car, Dan.”
“No. Please... I—I’ve got your money! Just take it, release my family and leave us alone.”
“Start. The. Damn. Car. Now!”
Dan hesitated.
“Don’t test us, Dan!”
The Chevy’s motor came to life.
“That was smart. Now drive back to the street, get on to the Cross Island Parkway north to the Throgs Neck Bridge.”
“Why?”
“We’re not done, yet.”
“Yes, we are! I’ve got your money, and I’m driving home to give it to you!”
“Get on the parkway now!”
“No. I’ve got your money! You’re going to take it and release my family!”
A long moment of silence passed before Dan wheeled back to the street, but he didn’t head to the Cross Island Parkway. Instead, he headed home.
“Where’re Lori and Billy? I want to talk to them!”
“You’re disobeying us, Dan. There’ll be consequences.”
“You already killed them, didn’t you?”
Silence.
“Put them on, or I swear I’ll ram this car into a bus!”
Still nothing from Vic.
Sweating, gasping for air, Dan searched the streets, the strip malls, the corner store, the retirement home, the gas station and the houses as he passed by. People were just going about their daily lives while he was barely hanging on to his, helpless to do anything.
Suddenly his vest vibrated, and his entire body contracted. He gripped the wheel as hard as he could, preparing for the explosion, to be blown to pieces, thinking of Lori, of Billy.
Nothing happened, but the vibration continued.
Like a ringing phone.
He moved a trembling hand from the wheel and felt around the vest until he noticed the spot where a phone had been sewn in.
He was still alive. Nothing had happened. The phone kept humming.
Then it stopped.
“Do we have your attention, Dan?”
“Yes.”
“That was a little test. The next time you feel that vibration, you’ll know your life is about to end. Now, unless you’d like to feel that right away, you’re going to do as we say and get your ass north on the Cross Island Parkway to Throgs Neck.”
Dan’s body was numb as he turned and made his way to Northern Boulevard, merging with the northbound traffic on the expressway. As the parkway hugged the western shore of Little Neck Bay, he searched the expanse of water for answers while praying for his wife and son.
Throgs Neck Bridge, New York
Not knowing what had happened to Lori and Billy tore Dan up as his Chevy Impala ascended the approach to Throgs Neck Bridge, which connected Queens with the Bronx. One of the three northbound lanes was under construction, blocked with orange cones. He got into the middle lane and watched his speed.
He looked at New Rochelle’s skyline in the distance, then up at the bridge tower rising above him. Sections of the deck clicked under his wheels with regular cadence, like time ticking away on a clock.
Ticking down on us.
Dan dragged the back of his hand across his sweaty face, thinking of Lori and Billy in their vests, feeling the bulk of his own, his fear and anger broiling with a desire to tear it off, to fight back. He looked out at the East River more than one hundred and fifty feet below and begged God to help him, to keep Lori and Billy alive so he could find some way out of this.
He knew Lori would never give up. She’d protect Billy with her life. In his heart he knew that she was a fighter, a survivor, that despite what had happened to her in California, she’d overcome the odds. In the years since they’d moved to New York, Dan had watched over her and stood by her, ready to catch her if she stumbled.
The worst is behind us.
That’s what he’d always told her. The worst is behind us, not you. Because what had happened to Lori, happened to him. It’s how he felt about everything in their marriage.
Lean on me. Let me take this on with you.
Lori had done well. She’d had good days and bad days, but mostly good ones.
The worst is behind us.
At least it was. Until this.
Dan felt panic rising to the surface as he took in the sweep of the bridge, the water and the sky.
God, please, keep them alive!
The toll plaza was just ahead, but Dan didn’t have a pass. As he slowed and guided his car into a cash lane, his pulse raced with a mixture of dread and hope.
License plate readers!
He remembered a report in the Daily News that police had installed license plate recognition technology at most toll plazas. They were using cameras that read license plates and checked them instantly against databases with hot lists of wanted plates.
Dan studied the gates. Did they have plate readers here?
As he crawled ahead in his line, he fumbled in his wallet for money.
“Don’t try anything here,” Vic said into his ear. “We’re watching you, and you know what will happen.”
Dan let out a slow breath. The thought of them detonating his vest here sent a chill up his spine. It would end any chance to save Lori and Billy. And innocent people would die.
He was now one car from the booth. Gripping a folded ten-dollar bill in his hand, he prayed that his plates would come up as stolen, alerting police, helping them get closer.
Thud!
Dan’s head snapped back. His car had been rear-ended.
After taking a moment to assess that he wasn’t hurt, he got out.
“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?” A woman in her twenties came toward