Free Kiss Her Goodbye (A Thriller) by Robert Gregory Browne

operator must always use wisdom and diplomacy and keep an even temperament. Calling the guy a fool probably hadn’t been too wise or particularly diplomatic, but Lavare was more than willing to do a little backpedaling to avoid any job-threatening situations.
     The guy with the ponytail walked past the windshield and came around to the door. Lavare studied him through the glass, but didn’t see any sign of rage on his face. In fact, he was smiling. As friendly as a neighbor looking to borrow your lawn mower.
     Then it hit Lavare.
     Had blue eyes really been serious? Could this be the somebody she claimed was stalking her?
     The guy kept smiling and gestured for Lavare to open the door, but Lavare didn’t budge. He had to think this thing over, figure out exactly what was going on here.
     Behind him, a voice said, “Jessie, what’re you doing?” and Lavare checked his mirror again.
     Blue eyes was in the aisle now, working her way toward the gap in the middle of the bus where the side door was.
     Lavare was about to tell her to get back to her seat when he heard a rap on the glass and returned his attention to the guy with the ponytail. Smile still intact, ponytail gestured again to open the door.
     Something wonky was going on here and Lavare wasn’t about to start speculating what it might be. Instead, he picked up his two-way and clicked it on.
     “Base, this is Unit 219. Looks like I got me a situation.” No judgment calls for Lavare. Leave them to the brass. “Unit 219 to base, do you read me?”
     He was waiting for a response when the guy with the ponytail pulled a handgun from behind his back and pointed it at the glass.
     
    J ESSIE HEARD A firecracker pop, then glass broke, and the bus driver jerked backward, his chest bursting blood.
     She screamed. The bus erupted in panic, passengers looking around in confusion as others immediately ducked in their seats and covered their heads with their hands.
     The forward door slammed open with a loud crash. Mr. Ponytail came up the steps carrying an ugly black gun, then turned and looked directly at Jessie, his smile gone, his eyes flat, reptilian.
     Stranded in the middle of the aisle, Jessie dove for the side door. She tried desperately to pry it open, but Mr. Ponytail was on her in seconds flat. Grabbing her by the hair, he yanked her out of the door well. Needles of pain shot through her skull.
     Jessie cried out and stumbled backward, losing her footing. Mr. Ponytail readjusted his grip, pulled her to her feet again.
     Jessie winced, the pain nearly unbearable. “Please …” she cried.
     Mr. Ponytail leaned in close, his breath hot against her cheek. “Make a fuss, sweet pea, and this is only the beginning.”
     He released her hair, then grabbed her collar and jerked her backward. Jessie struggled to remain standing as he dragged her toward the front door.
     Off to her side, a big guy in a Megadeth T-shirt started to rise, a threatening look on his face. “Let her go, asshole!”
     Jessie heard another firecracker—this one loud and close to her head—and a hole the size of a dime opened up in the guy’s neck. He flew backward, slamming against his window.
     Jessie screamed again. A half dozen passengers echoed her, including Laura, Karen, and Kathy, who sat riveted to their seats, their faces twisted in terrified disbelief.
     Mr. Ponytail spun Jessie around now and shoved her toward the steps. She stumbled down them, glass crunching beneath her shoes. Feeling his hand on her back, she stepped through the doorway and onto the blacktop.
     Horns were honking, angry drivers oblivious to anything but the snarl of traffic backing up behind the bus and the Suburban. All along the sidewalk, startled pedestrians stood frozen in place, gaping at Jessie.
     “Somebody help me!” she cried. “Get the police!”
     A hand smacked the back of her head—“Shut up, bitch”—and a burst of hot, white heat shot through her brain. She