Mark's POV
The call came in at 9:47 p.m.
Mark was on his third drink at the kitchen counter of the apartment that used to feel like a trophy and now felt like a room he was trapped in, and when the unknown number lit up his phone he almost didn't answer.
He answered.
"Rest stop off Route 9," the man said. No introduction. No preamble. The voice of someone who communicated in information and nothing else. "I put them on a bus heading north. They got off early small town, two stops before the terminus. Couldn't follow without being made."
Mark set down his drink. "Which town."
"Can't say for certain. Third or fourth stop on the northern route. Population nothing. The kind of place with one motel."
"You lost them."
"I found them," the man said, and his voice had an edge in it. "Which is more than anyone else has done. You want the information or not?"
Mark wanted the information.
He took it.
