The Matter of the Vanishing Greyhound – Chapter 13

The Matter of the Vanishing Greyhound

Golden Gate Disappearing Greyhound Bus Caper

Steven Levi

Master of the Impossible Crime

Chapter 13

Candice Greenleaf was not a happy camper when she opened her eyes and saw her new abode. Further, to say she was displeased would have been a gross understatement. Appalled would have been more appropriate. While the dormitory where they had spent the night was, at the very least, a civilized setting, this domicile was clearly designed only for sitting.

“This looks like an abandoned butcher shop.” Cheri Molk ran her fingers along the dust-covered glass and peered through the cupboards into the open, dry, warm freezers. “How long do you think this place has been abandoned?”

“I don’t want to think about how long it’s been abandoned,” someone said sarcastically behind her. “I only want to know how long it will be before we can abandon it.”

“Not soon enough,” snapped Greenleaf. “Let’s have a look around.”

For the next two minutes the ten hostages picked their way around the display cases, freezers, generators and hanging wires. It was as long as it took them to discover all of the doors were locked and there were no windows to test. There was no electricity and the sole source of illumination came from a large skylight 25 feet off the floor. The only amenities for the hostages were ten metal folding chairs set against a wall, a large grocery bag full of toilet paper and paper towels in the bathroom, and a pile of newspapers and magazines.

Greenleaf picked up one of the newspapers and looked at its date. “At least they got us today’s paper.” She held the newspaper up so the branch president could see the headline, VANISHING GREYHOUND FOUND, HOSTAGES STILL MISSING. “It’s certainly nice to know someone knows we’re still missing.”

“This is one heck of a place to keep hostages,” one of the tellers said to no one in particular.

“Maybe,” replied Greenleaf. “What it looks like is a Plan B holding facility. Someplace to hold us if we had to be moved. Clearly something is happening out there.”

“Well, maybe it could happen a little faster,” Molk said as she unfolded a metal chair and sat down heavily. “I’ve got a date this evening I’d hate to miss.”

Steven C. Levi is a sixty-something freelance historian and commercial writer who lives in Anchorage, Alaska, his home for past 40 years. He has a BA in European History and MA in American history from the University of California Davis and San Jose State. He has more than 80 books in print or on Kindle.