past four. The parking lot was already engulfed by the shadow of the bank tower on the far side of the street. Sydney handed the police report to Hunz and turned the ignition switch. Hunz readjusted himself, grabbing for the seat belt and clearing a space for his feet by kicking aside empty coffee cups and PowerBar wrappers with his expensive black European dress shoes.
“Want to get a bite?” Sydney said. “We may not get another chance.”
“A bite? Is that dinner?”
“Yeah. We could duck into a restaurant if you’d like. There shouldn’t be any lines this early. Anything you were hoping to try while you were in the States?”
“I was told to try your fish tacos. Are they good here?”
Sydney laughed. “Who told you that?”
“A close friend. Was she having fun at my expense?”
Sydney looked at him a moment before answering. This was the first personal comment she’d heard Hunz Vonner make. Until now it was as though he had no life other than news broadcasting. Now it seemed he had a close personal friend, a female.
“No. She wasn’t making fun of you. Did she say where to get these fabulous fish tacos?”
Hunz mentioned a fast-food chain.
Starting the car, Sydney said, “Well, the ambiance leaves something to be desired, but you’ll like the tacos.”
Ten minutes later they were seated at a bright red table next to a window overlooking a busy intersection. Fast-food wrappers served as plates as the German newscaster, still dressed in a black suit, took his first bite of fish taco. Three small plastic containers of hot sauce were lined up in front of him.
Sydney grimaced. “I can’t believe Sol took you to Ago’s and I take you to Taco Hut.”
A few more bites and Hunz fanned his mouth. “This one’s too hot,” he said. “The green’s good, but I like the red better.”
“Most people prefer the mild sauce starting out,” Sydney said.
On the table beside her taco wrapper were two sheets of paper stapled together. Her cell phone sat on top of them. The papers were a compilation of the people who had called the station during the noon newscast to report that they had received a death watch notice. The list was arranged by time; those who were scheduled to die first were at the top of the list.
Time had already passed on the first two names.
Maxine Hoffa 2:36 p.m.
Charles Bishop 3:55 p.m.
Were they dead?
Sydney took another bite of taco and gazed out the window. A silver Mercedes turning right stopped for a woman pushing a baby stroller in the crosswalk. His turn signal blinked impatiently. The Mercedes inched forward needlessly, dangerously. Californians were always in a hurry.
She felt her anger rising at the needless endangerment of life. Yesterday, she would have watched the same scene and thought little of it, other than the fact the guy behind the wheel of the Mercedes was a jerk. This morning’s death watch notice changed all that. Now everyday life seemed more fragile.
She remembered having a similar feeling on September 11, 2001, after watching the two World Trade Center buildings collapse,after watching the burning of the Pentagon and the tragic plane crash in Pennsylvania. The world felt different. It lost its innocence. It was as though the world was told it had cancer, and the prognosis wasn’t good. Nothing was the same. Everything was tainted by the news—work, home life, purchases, vacation plans, relationships, even simple things like getting the mail—because even during those everyday moments, in the back of your mind, you knew you had cancer. And the name of the cancer was terrorism.
Death Watch was just another symptom that she was living in a sick world. What kind of person or organization went around killing people indiscriminately? What kind of monsters taunted their victims for forty-eight hours before killing them?
And how could anyone sit at a fast-food restaurant and enjoy a fish taco knowing that people were being handed numbers and told to stand
“Want to get a bite?” Sydney said. “We may not get another chance.”
“A bite? Is that dinner?”
“Yeah. We could duck into a restaurant if you’d like. There shouldn’t be any lines this early. Anything you were hoping to try while you were in the States?”
“I was told to try your fish tacos. Are they good here?”
Sydney laughed. “Who told you that?”
“A close friend. Was she having fun at my expense?”
Sydney looked at him a moment before answering. This was the first personal comment she’d heard Hunz Vonner make. Until now it was as though he had no life other than news broadcasting. Now it seemed he had a close personal friend, a female.
“No. She wasn’t making fun of you. Did she say where to get these fabulous fish tacos?”
Hunz mentioned a fast-food chain.
Starting the car, Sydney said, “Well, the ambiance leaves something to be desired, but you’ll like the tacos.”
Ten minutes later they were seated at a bright red table next to a window overlooking a busy intersection. Fast-food wrappers served as plates as the German newscaster, still dressed in a black suit, took his first bite of fish taco. Three small plastic containers of hot sauce were lined up in front of him.
Sydney grimaced. “I can’t believe Sol took you to Ago’s and I take you to Taco Hut.”
A few more bites and Hunz fanned his mouth. “This one’s too hot,” he said. “The green’s good, but I like the red better.”
“Most people prefer the mild sauce starting out,” Sydney said.
On the table beside her taco wrapper were two sheets of paper stapled together. Her cell phone sat on top of them. The papers were a compilation of the people who had called the station during the noon newscast to report that they had received a death watch notice. The list was arranged by time; those who were scheduled to die first were at the top of the list.
Time had already passed on the first two names.
Maxine Hoffa 2:36 p.m.
Charles Bishop 3:55 p.m.
Were they dead?
Sydney took another bite of taco and gazed out the window. A silver Mercedes turning right stopped for a woman pushing a baby stroller in the crosswalk. His turn signal blinked impatiently. The Mercedes inched forward needlessly, dangerously. Californians were always in a hurry.
She felt her anger rising at the needless endangerment of life. Yesterday, she would have watched the same scene and thought little of it, other than the fact the guy behind the wheel of the Mercedes was a jerk. This morning’s death watch notice changed all that. Now everyday life seemed more fragile.
She remembered having a similar feeling on September 11, 2001, after watching the two World Trade Center buildings collapse,after watching the burning of the Pentagon and the tragic plane crash in Pennsylvania. The world felt different. It lost its innocence. It was as though the world was told it had cancer, and the prognosis wasn’t good. Nothing was the same. Everything was tainted by the news—work, home life, purchases, vacation plans, relationships, even simple things like getting the mail—because even during those everyday moments, in the back of your mind, you knew you had cancer. And the name of the cancer was terrorism.
Death Watch was just another symptom that she was living in a sick world. What kind of person or organization went around killing people indiscriminately? What kind of monsters taunted their victims for forty-eight hours before killing them?
And how could anyone sit at a fast-food restaurant and enjoy a fish taco knowing that people were being handed numbers and told to stand
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