Chapter Twelve
Homecoming
The passenger in the yellow taxicab glanced out the window and saw the signs for the Triborough Bridge. He took a look at his watch—it read 9:36. Within half an hour he would arrive at his destination.
“We’re making good time, traffic’s pretty light.” This bit of intelligence from the driver was met with silence from the passenger.
“Think the Mets are going to make it this year?”
“Could be.”
These words, spoken with impatience, and a touch of sharpness, were designed to discourage further conversation, and succeeded in their purpose. At the moment the passenger was not in a mood for conversing with chatty cab drivers. He had too many things on his mind, including what awaited him at his destination. In truth he was worried, although he would have been reluct
