Gone, No Forwarding

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On the way from Harlem, Bart Heslip switched cabs three times, and then caught a plane from Newark because he was afraid they might be watching Kennedy and La Guardia. Six hours until the plane landed at San Jose, fifty miles south of San Francisco. He hadn’t called ahead to tell Dan Kearny he was coming, because of the phone taps.

Sleep began to wash over him. He knew who’d hired them. He even knew what they were trying to do. But why?

It had to go back to that rainy Friday in November, almost a year ago which he now knew had been

The premature rains had dumped 3.6 inches of water on the Bay Area before easing off to allow a patch of honest-to-God blue sky to appear around noon on Friday, November 5. Finally you could wait at the curb for a light to change without getting a wet lap from passing autos. You could drive across the Bay Bridge without being bounced into the next lane by gusting winds. Down at San Francisco International, in fact, Western’s 1:50 P.M. flight from Mexico City touched the rain-slick runway only ten minutes behind schedule.

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