Mount Morris Park was a small square of greenery surrounding an imposing rock. It interrupted the north-south run of Fifth Avenue, from 120th to 124th Streets. I parked the car on the northeast corner of 124th and left Sheila locked inside with the satchel carrying the money. The park was dark and shadowy and a cold wind cut through my clothes. The wind was uncomfortable, but it turned out to be a good thing. Without it, I might’ve missed the white fluttering cloth tied to the stake.
Under the cloth was a tin can; inside the can was another note. This time, the instructions said to drive east to 124th Street and Park Avenue. There we’d find another white cloth.
I hurried back to the car. It was just as cold inside as out. Sheila was shivering when I returned.
“What happened?” she asked, with chattering teeth. “Did you find anything?”
As I started the car, I told her about the note. There was no traffic at this time of the night, so it only took a minute to get to the next piece of the puzzle. The cloth was tied to an iron railing in front of a brownstone. We saw no note or other form of communication. I steered us to the curb, then left the window cracked and the engine running to keep us warm.
“What do you think will happen now?” Sheila asked.
“I guess we’ll get more instructions.”
“But how?”
“I don’t know.” I noticed a pay phone on the corner. “Over there?” I pointed. “Maybe they’ll call us on that.”
“But how’ll they know?”
“They’re probably watching.”
She studied the telephone. “If it rings, will we hear it?”
I had wondered about that too. I rolled my window down a bit more and a blast of arctic air hit me in the face.
Next to me, Sheila shivered. We settled into silence, preoccupied with our private worries.
“We’ve been sitting here a long time,” Sheila said after a while.
“I know.” I glanced at my watch. “Fifteen minutes already.”
“You think they’re just testing us?”
“For sure.”
“To see if we called the police?”
I nodded.
Sheila turned to me. “I mean, you didn’t call them, did you? You didn’t tell anyone?”
How I wished I had. I shook my head.
“Good,” she exhaled. “We don’t need to worry then—about the police messing things up, I mean.”
I studied her profile. She was so very young and naïve and terribly, deeply in love.
She must’ve felt me staring at her, or maybe even read my thoughts, because she just started talking, picking up where she’d left off.