Kylie said. “Saturday night is the loneliest night of the week.” “Then you’re in luck,” I said. “Another hour and twenty-seven minutes, and it will be Sunday morning.” We were back in the bowels of Hudson Hospital, scanning the monitors, looking for—no, make that hoping for—trouble. It was the second night of the stakeout. More important, it was the twenty-ninth night of my let’s-try-living-together-for-thirty-days experiment with Cheryl, and once again we were spending the evening living apart. “Guys, heads up.” It was Frank Cavallaro. There was so much going on in the giant medical complex that we needed an insider to flag anything out of the ordinary. Frank teamed up with us while his second-in-command covered the day shift. “Station fourteen, camera thirty-three,” he said, pointing at the screen. A sixteen-foot box truck had backed into the loading dock. It was pure white except for the words Med Waste Evac painted in red on the side. “What’s the issue?”
