Chapter 3Leaving Kayla at the register, I claim two seats in front of the window between two oblivious men engrossed in their laptops. A familiar blend of eclectic-Indie music, common at Starbucks, stream through speakers, diluting Barista's voices and patron's quiet chatter.
Outside the window, Lexington Avenue's rush hour congestion whirls about the coffee shop. I glance across the street and study the GE building's art deco façade from top to bottom, stopping on the entrance as Bruce Wheaton's anonymous guest exits the revolving door. He peers up and down the avenue, pulls a cell phone from his pocket, makes a quick phone call, then walks north toward the Citicorp building. At the corner of Fifty-Second Street, he enters a black Lincoln Town car.
“What's so captivating, Vic?”
I turn
