The Matter of the Vanishing Greyhound – Chapter 27 & 28 – Readers and Writers Book Club

The Matter of the Vanishing Greyhound – Chapter 27 & 28

The Matter of the Vanishing Greyhound

Golden Gate Disappearing Greyhound Bus Caper

Steven Levi

Master of the Impossible Crime

Chapter 27

Hopkins was sitting in the Ryder truck six car spaces from the corner of 10th and Irving when he saw the ivory Ford pass him and turn the corner. Hopkins stayed in the truck as instructed, the windshield wipers squeegeeing through the sheet of rainwater coursing down the windshield. When he saw his contact walking along the sidewalk back toward him, he turned on the Ryder’s lights.

“Our contact is here,” Hopkins said to Billingsley who was sitting in the back of the Ryder truck smoking a cigarette smelling like burning spice. “Better pull your hat down, it’s really wet out there.”

“Don’t pull anything funny, Hopkins.” Billingsley pulled out his .45 and showed it to Hopkins. “One mistake and you go down, as you American chaps say.”

“Put the gun away, Billingsley,” his partner said. “You might hurt yourself. Now why don’t you be a real good boy and go with the nice man.”

Billingsley rose from the empty floor where he was sitting and walked to the back of the truck. The vehicle lurched as he opened the cargo doors and stepped onto the bumper and then the gutter.

“Don’t close the door!” Hopkins shouted after him. “I’m going to have company.”

Billingsley left the door open. A moment later Hopkins saw Billingsley and the perp John converge in the gloom of the wet evening. They talked for a moment and then John indicated with his right arm Billingsley should walk to the corner. He did and disappeared around the edge of the pharmacy window. John walked past the Ryder truck to the rear door.

The back of the Ryder truck shook as someone got in the back.

Chapter 28

“How’s it hangin’?” Hopkins looked at John.

John stepped into the cargo bay and closed the door behind him. “Turn off the lights, you idiot.”

Hopkins turned off the interior lights and John moved to the front of the truck. But he didn’t sit in the dead man’s seat. He squatted down in the cargo area below the window level and nodded his head. “Let’s go.”

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. 

Login/out