East 89th St near 2nd Ave
1:06pm
"I'm going to the corner for coffee and rolls," Frank said. "Want any?"
Kevin said, "Sure, but man do you live dangerously. You just might have to drop it again."
"It'd break the boredom." Frank left the P-I. Starlings were chattering in the locust trees along the street and had been for some time, from the look of the sidewalk. Kevin had used the windshield washer twice over the past half-hour. Frank stayed on the street (its traffic was waiting for the light) until he was beyond the drip line.
He had taken three steps in the restaurant when his phone buzzed. He pulled it out and saw a text from Rollins.
Ursula was out of surgery, stable and awake. She'd told Rollins that her attacker had blue eyes, a mole on the back of his neck . . . and an old lady as a companion.
The phone chimed. It was Kevin.
"Frank, you see Rollins' text?"
"Sure did. Looks like Darren Troy is our man. Why don't I stay in this eatery while you watch the street."
"If only Troy hadn't eluded the cams."
Frank swept with his eyes and repeated, "If only." This restaurant looked good.