Kiss by Francine Pascal Page A

at this particular aspect of his written instructions. Who used a phone booth anymore? It was rather galling. He’d punched in the beeper number as instructed, and now he waited for the ring. There it was.
    â€œMrs. Travesura, I presume?”
    â€œYes, Doctor. Is it done?”
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œExcellent. And in what condition is our patient?” The woman could barely contain the pleasure in her voice.
    â€œAlive, as promised,” the doctor responded. “Though not likely to recount her experiences any-time soon.” He wouldn’t reward her with the graphic details.
    â€œNo one saw you?”
    The doctor sighed impatiently. “Absolutely not.”
    â€œI’m sure. Now, did you remove the bug from the pocket of her coat?”
    This had grown annoying, verging on insulting. “Mrs. Travesura. I am a professional. You need not grill me on these absurd details.”
    â€œI apologize . . . Doctor . If you’ll permit me one last question?”
    He sighed again. “Yes.”
    â€œAre you holding the tracking device in your hand?”
    â€œI am.”
    â€œGood. Good-bye, then, you disgusting, evil bastard.”
    The doctor was blinking in fury, barely able to process the childish affront, when the device began beeping in his hand. He held the readout close to his face, trying to discern the message in the darkness ofthe booth.
    He could make out numbers scrolling across the screen. 5 . . . 4 . . . 3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . .
    The explosion ripped the tiny booth apart.

No Refunds
    GAIA TURNED AT THE SOUND OF the explosion. Virtually everyone in the station jumped at the noise. Within a minute she heard a symphony of sirens.
    She glanced ahead of her in frustration at the single open ticket booth. She glanced behind her at the ten or so people who continued the line, all of whom looked as cranky as she felt. She didn’t care ifher own feet exploded. There was no way she was losing her place in this line.
    Scores of policemen were zipping in and out the south doors of the station. Many civilians were running around, too, wanting a piece of the action.
    â€œThere was a bomb!” she heard somebody shouting. “Right out front. Blew up a phone booth!”
    There were lots of oohs and ahs and murmurs throughout the station, but Gaia was morbidly amused to see that not a single person left her line.
    Just wait until the camera crews from the local news get here — then it will really be a circus, Gaia found herself thinking.
    Another ticket salesperson opened a second window. That would speed things up. Minutes later, Gaia was waved forward. Before she reached the window, she realized she was being reunited with her old friend Ned.
    â€œHow can I help you?” His eyes showed not a flicker of recognition. Apparently she was a lot less attractive battered and bruised.
    â€œRemember me? I bought a ticket to Orlando from you about an hour and a half ago. The sleeper car?”
    His face was blank.
    â€œWell, listen, my ticket got stolen. I need to get a refund.”
    Ned shrugged. “Sorry. Train 404 to Orlando is long gone. Unless you can produce the ticket, I can’t give you a refund.”
    Gaia rolled her eyes. “How can I produce a ticket if it got stolen?”
    Ned’s face was devoid of interest or sympathy. “No ticket, no refund.”
    Gaia was starting to feel desperate. If she couldn’t get a refund, she’d have no money. Not a cent. Nothing. How long could she last on the streets of New York flat broke? Even the flophouses cost a few dollars. “Ned, please. We’re . . . friends, practically. Can’t you help me out here? I really, really need the cash.”
    Ned shook his head. He wouldn’t look anywhere near her eyes. A pretty, confident, sexily clad girl with a wallet full of cash was interesting to Ned. A bruised, desperate, penniless girl was not. He focused his gaze over her head.