A String of Beads by Thomas Perry Page A

the street. He was still wearing his pack, and she reached into it. “Here,
     let me put this knitted cap on you. It’ll help stop the bleeding, or anyway, hide
     it.”
    They walked on, and before long they reached Erie Street. There were many cars, businesses
     with lights on, and pedestrians. When they were a block away from the station, she
     stopped him under a streetlamp. “Look into my eyes.”
    He did. “How do I look?”
    “Your pupils aren’t dilated. That’s a very good sign.”
    “I’ll take anything that’s not a very bad sign.”
    “Good policy. Can you just hang around here by yourself for about five minutes? I’ll
     go see when the next bus leaves, and if we can get tickets, I’ll buy some.”
    “Okay.”
    In a few minutes she came trotting back, smiling. “We’re in luck. There’s a bus that
     came in from Albany a few minutes ago, and it leaves for Buffalo in about five minutes.”
     She held up two tickets. “I also looked everywhere, and there’s not a cop in sight.”
    They began to walk toward the station. “I’ve been thinking,” Jimmy said. “What are
     you, really?”
    “What are you talking about?”
    “You tell me you’re just this doctor’s wife, but after those guys coldcocked me, you
     beat the shit out of them. Three men, and they all looked half dead.”
    “Don’t be silly,” Jane said. “How could I do that?”
    “I don’t know. How?”
    “Sh. You’re disoriented and confused. Just keep as quiet as you can, and once we’re
     on the bus I’ll make you comfortable so you can rest.”

7
    J ane took another look at Jimmy’s head wound after the bus was on the thruway moving
     west. They sat at the back, where they had some privacy. The light was dim, but she
     could see Jimmy well enough. She had some alcohol-based hand sanitizer in her pack,
     and she used it to sterilize Jimmy’s wound. In her first aid kit she had Band-Aids
     and a large gauze pad, which she stuck over the wound. His knitted wool cap was soaked
     with blood so she put hers over his head to cover the bandages, and then went into
     the bathroom to wash his with the antibacterial soap in the dispenser over the little
     sink. She wrung out the cap and hooked it over the window latch so the moving air
     would dry it.
    Jimmy fell asleep, and Jane watched him for a while. It was about two and a half hours
     from the East Syracuse station to Buffalo—about 150 miles of thruway. The flat, straight
     highway was monotonous in the dark, and Jane’s exertion in the fight made her welcome
     the sleep that finally took her.
    She woke as the bus slowed a bit to drift through the tollbooth at exit 50. The lights
     of the little outpost shone through the windshield and the window beside her, and
     then she sat up. She studied Jimmy’s face as the bus passed through the dim light.
     He looked calm, relaxed, and untroubled. A terrible thought occurred to her, so she
     wetted her index finger and held it beneath his nostrils for a second to feel his
     breath. He was okay, just in a peaceful sleep. She looked at the highway signs. Even
     at almost midnight, the bus might take a while to get to the station, so she let him
     sleep. As she surveyed the bus, she and the driver seemed to be the only ones awake.
    Riding with the sleeping Jimmy gave Jane a chance to consider what to do. There could
     be a cop or two in the Buffalo bus station. Sometimes police departments placed cops
     in airports and stations to watch for people who interested them—organized crime figures,
     parole violators, or fugitives. They were usually old-timers because experienced cops
     had long memories. She would have to watch for them. Where should he turn himself
     in? The trip to Akron or Batavia was too long and complicated to be practical unless
     they could find a taxi at the station.
    There were several police stations in downtown Buffalo, and at least one sheriff’s
     station. They would probably put Jimmy in the Erie County