Outside the SUV, people are still screaming. Some are crying. Out on the street, traffic has come to a complete stop. A chorus of car horns sounds out their displeasure.
Eli says, “We have to go.”
I only nod. Compared to the rest of the crazy stuff that’s happened in the past half hour, this is the one thing that makes the most sense. I won’t be able to use my door, though; that’s where the coffee shop’s wall is. I tell Eli this, and he opens his door and steps out, slowly, like his entire body is broken.
Ashley goes next, hesitant but quickly.
I slide across the seat, trying to be careful not to cut myself on any of the loose glass-did I mention some of the windows shattered, too? — and when I’m out of the Tahoe, I turn and take in the destruction.
Tables and chairs and bodies strewn everywhere. Those still alive are either kneeling over these bodies or trying the best they know how to tend to their wounds.
Someone grabs my arm.
It’s Eli, stepping close to me, his voice low: “We need to get out of here.”
“And go where?”
“Jersey,” he says. “Weehawken. That’s where I have another car waiting.”
I take another look around the destroyed coffee shop. I gaze out the shattered glass window, at the traffic that’s still not moving.
“But they’re still following us.”
Eli says nothing, but it’s clear from his face he knows this.
“Hey,” someone shouts at us. “You guys okay?”
“Hey,” someone else shouts. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
I say to my father, “Let’s go.”
We start toward the shattered window, but my father redirects us toward the door. I’m not sure why until we pass the coat hangers and he grabs three coats. He hands one to me, one to Ashley. We slip them on without a word and step out onto the sidewalk.
Inside, people are still shouting at us. It won’t be long before someone rushes outside to keep us at the scene until the police arrive.
Thinking of this, I ask, “Why don’t we just wait for the cops?”
As if summoned by the question, sirens rise up in the distance.
Eli shakes his head, walking quickly, the three of us already a half block away from the carnage.
“Some of them are dirty. It’s impossible to know who’s who. We need to get to Weehawken.”
Something across the street catches my eye. “Where in Weehawken?”
Eli gives me an address of a parking garage.
“You guys get going. I’m going to distract them.”
“Who?”
“The bald guy was on the phone with someone who was only a few blocks back. He’ll probably be here in a minute, if he’s not here already.”
Eli grabs my arm again. “What are you going to do?”
“Like I said, distract them. Now go.”
I don’t wait for them to walk away first. I step off the curb and hurry across the street. A half minute ago a Chinese delivery guy propped his bike against a post. He’s put a chain around it, but that doesn’t mean it’s locked.
I look around inconspicuously to make sure nobody’s watching me, try the chain and find that, shit, it is locked.
“Hey, what you doing?”
It’s the delivery guy. He was in and out, already stuffing cash into his pocket.
“Sorry,” I say, and glance toward the street. Traffic has started moving a little, but not by much. “Just admiring your wheels. It’s a sweet ride.”
The delivery guy doesn’t say anything. He just pushes past me. His rudeness makes it so I don’t feel bad about this next part.
Because as he’s unlocking his bike, taking the chain off, I grab him by the back of his coat and fling him aside. He’s small and light enough that he goes a short distance.
“Sorry,” I say again, grabbing his bike and wheeling it down the sidewalk.
The delivery guy yells after me. He starts to give chase.
I mount the bike and push off. The thing really isn’t a sweet ride. In actuality, it’s a piece of shit. But at the moment, beggars can’t be choosers.
I reach the corner of the block, take a left, away from the coffee shop. I hear shouts, one of which is the delivery guy, another of which is a witness yelling at me to stop.
I spot the sedan at once. Or, more appropriately, I spot the driver behind the wheel. Business suit, just like my buddy back at the bookstore. He has a cell phone to his ear.
He spots me, too.
I smile, give him the finger, and start to ride like hell.
twenty-six
He shoved the sedan in reverse, punched the gas. A taxi was coming up behind him, slowing because of the gridlock farther up the block, and the driver slammed on the brakes and honked and shouted and did everything he could to announce his displeasure.
Zach was barely fazed. He jerked the wheel just enough to veer around the taxi, but still the two vehicles scraped up against one another until Zach had moved the sedan past the taxi and then he jerked the wheel again, tapping the brake, sending the front of the car whipping around in a calculated one-eighty.
He punched the gas again, tearing off down the one-way street, another car coming straight at him and swerving out of the way.
John Smith was already two blocks up.
Zach had tossed his cell phone on the passenger seat when he first saw Smith on the bike give him the finger. He’d known he was going to need both hands free for a couple of seconds. Now, in pursuit, he lifted the phone to his ear.
“Tyson, you still there?”
“Yeah. What happened?”
“As far as I could see, the SUV crashed into a building.”
“Any survivors?”
“That’s what I need you to find out. I’m guessing Eli’s okay, though.”
“What makes you say that?”
“John Smith is trying to lead me away from the scene.”
“You’re abandoning the target?”
Zach didn’t care for Tyson’s tone. Normally the man didn’t second-guess Zach-hell, he never did-but now Zach heard the doubt in the man’s voice, and it gave him pause.
“Do you have a problem?”
Tyson was quiet for a moment. “No, sir. I’m just trying to understand-”
“Eli just made contact with his son. He’s not going to give his son up for dead, at least not this fast.”
“But how can you be so sure?”
The truth was Zach couldn’t be sure, but so far he had been ignoring that part. Instinct was what had made him initially shove the sedan into reverse, and so far in life, instinct never let him down.
“Trust me.”
“But-”
“Smith is trying to lead me away from Eli. Right now I have Smith in my sights. Eli I don’t. That’s why I need you to find out where he went and track him.”
“I’m already working on it. From what I can tell from the traffic cams, the Tahoe somehow lost control and crashed into the building.”
Zach was again swerving in and out of traffic, which was difficult on this narrow side street. From the brief report Zach had read, John Smith was an excellent courier, one of the best in the city. The kid definitely knew what he was doing, and he was skilled, but so was Zach.
“Obviously our mercenary friends underestimated Eli.”
“Police have just arrived on the scene.”
“Any of them ours?”
“No. What should we do if either Bent or Grayson is still alive?”
“We’ll deal with it if and when it happens. Something tells me Eli got lucky. Otherwise he would be dead, and Smith wouldn’t be leading me on a wild goose chase.”
Up ahead, Smith cut the corner onto Sixth Avenue, headed north. Zach accelerated, then immediately tapped the brake as he swerved around the corner. He hated overplaying his hand, but he thought fuck it and reached down to flick on the emergency LED lights.
“Tyson, do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Shut the fuck up and find Eli.”
twenty-seven
Out of all the bikes I could have stolen, this one is pretty shitty. It might be ideal for delivering Moo Shu Pork and Chicken Lo Mein, but it’s not the best form of quick transportation when people are trying to kill you.