I blew through one red light and then another without a scratch, a double dose of lucky on our way to the West Side Highway. More lanes, less traffic, better chance of losing him. Or so I was thinking.
"He's gaining," said Owen, looking out the back while I frantically weaved in and out of the cars around us.
"How many behind?" I asked.
"Five cars," he said. "Shit, make that four."
We were a block away from the highway, but suddenly that idea wasn't looking so good. I couldn't shake him. Four cars back would become three and then two and then one, and he'd be right on my tail, shooting out my tires.
I glanced back at Owen. "Time for plan B," I said.
"I didn't know we had a plan A."
"Good, then you won't fight me on this."
He fought me anyway.
"Hell, no," he said after I told him what I wanted him to do. "It's two against one."
"Yeah, but we've got only one gun," I said. "That makes it one against one."
"Then I'll be the decoy," he said. "I'll distract him."
"Yeah, right before he puts four bullets in your chest."
It wasn't just what I said, it was the way I said it. Angry. Pissed.
Guilty.
All I could see was Lamont falling to the ground. It was playing in my head over and over, a vicious loop.
And as Owen went silent, it was as if he knew exactly how I felt. He'd felt the same thing with Claire.
I need you to run with this story, kid. Literally …
"Okay," he said, relenting. "But you better know what you're doing."
"I do," I assured him. And with any luck, that wouldn't be a lie.
Flipping the cherry back on, I looked up ahead to the end of the block about fifty yards away. I was straddling both lanes as parked cars dotted each side of the street like Morse code. What I needed was two cars lined up opposite each other like gateposts. Because I was about to close the gate.
The sound of my jamming the brakes was immediately drowned out by everyone else's brakes behind me. Not only was I stopping on a dime, I was stopping on an angle to block both lanes. Instant chaos.
No one was going anywhere … except Owen.
"Now!" I told him.
He hesitated for a split second, but that was it. He burst out of the backseat, dashing around the corner and out of sight as fast-and as low-as he could.
Now it was my turn.
Only, I was heading in the opposite direction. Suddenly, my life had become an existential fortune cookie.
Man chased too long must find new path.
CHAPTER 55
WITH THE cherry still flashing on the dash, there came an eerie silence as I all but crawled out of the front seat on my hands and knees to avoid being seen.
New York drivers have a well-earned rep for impatience, but even they know when to lay off their horns. You honk at a cop and you're likely to see some real impatience, and that old Buick LeSabre blocking traffic was an unmarked police car, as far as everyone could tell.
Everyone, that is, except the guy at the wheel four cars back who wanted me dead.
Quickly, I made my way behind a Prius parked along the curb. The angle was wrong, though. I couldn't see well enough up the street.
So much for the gift of silence, too. The line of cars now stretched all the way down the block, well beyond sight of the flashing red and blue. Any driver bringing up the rear had no idea why he was stopped. The horns began kicking in, one louder than the last.
Fine by me. I was banking on the confusion.
As fast as I got to the curb was how slowly I began moving alongside the parked cars, peering over the hoods until I had a clean line. But it wasn't happening. The headrest of a seat, a side-view mirror-something was always in the way.
I should've been able to spot him by now.
Finally, there came a good angle. I was maybe twenty feet away, sidled up next to the back tire of a MINI Cooper. Looking through the glass of the rear hatch, I had the perfect view.
Of nothing.
I could see the Jeep, but the driver's seat was empty. The engine was running, and I couldn't suppress the immediate thought that maybe I should've been, too.
</ol>
Gripping my pistol with both hands, I was whipping it around like a pointer. Where are you? Over here? Over there?
I didn't know whether to move or stay put. People were starting to get out of their cars. Some were yelling, others walking ahead for a closer look. No one knew what was happening. Including me.
Then, with one glance to the left, I saw him.
He poked his head out from behind the Prius back where I'd started. I'd gone to him; he'd come to me. We'd missed each other. He had no intention of letting that happen again.
Like a bull out of the gate he came at me, running with his arm raised. His first shot caromed off the sidewalk mere inches to my left, the sound setting off screams up and down the block. People were scattering everywhere as I bolted around the next car at the curb, just barely eluding the second shot. Had the MINI Cooper been any less mini, I would've been nailed in the back for sure.
Three-point-eight billion years of evolution tucked away in your DNA …
Immediately, I spun around with my arms locked, the inside of my index finger flush against the trigger. Once again, I had the perfect view.
And once again, it was of nothing.
The sidewalk was empty. He wasn't there.
But he was far from gone.
CHAPTER 56
I'VE NEVER cracked the cover of Sun Tzu's The Art of War. It's never even made the to-read pile next to my bed. But I had to believe that somewhere buried in the book was a rule that said if the enemy knows where you are but you don't know where the enemy is … move.
As fast and low as I could, I zigzagged across the street, stopping only when I saw some bald guy in a suit halfway out of his shiny red Cadillac. He was crouched, looking through the window with his entire head exposed as if he'd somehow missed that physics class in high school explaining the effect of a speeding bullet on a piece of glass. This just in, pal, the bullet wins … .
"Hey," I tried whispering, which was pretty much a lost cause given the cacophony of horns still blaring. The entire street had become a parking lot, an exceedingly angry one at that.
"Hey!" I tried again, louder.
Finally, he turned around and I motioned with both hands for him to get down. That immediately got me a look suggesting I should mind my own effin' business. Then he saw the gun in my right hand. That did the trick. He ducked back into his seat so fast he literally banged his bald head on the top of the car.
Any other time, any other place, that would've been funny.
I wasn't laughing.
All I could do was keep looking left and right as I approached the other sidewalk, my head on a swivel. Forget my trigger finger, the slightest movement anywhere in front of me had my entire body twitching. Throw in some self-doubt, and I was close to drowning in my own sweat. Did I really need to go after a trained CIA field agent head-on?
Too late.
It was like lightning before the thunder. I first saw a flash in the corner of my eye. I turned quickly to look, squinting for focus, and heard a booming voice right behind it.
The voice was saying something. He was saying something. But he was too far away; I couldn't make out the words.
The voice, though … I knew the voice. It was familiar.
It was Owen.
He was sprinting toward me on the sidewalk, his cell phone lit up with one of those flashlight apps. Damn, those things are bright. He was close enough now, the words beginning to come together.
"You!" he was screaming. "Find you!"
Find me? No.
Behind me!
I spun around, hands out front, my eyes blowing up wide with panic as I looked out over the barrel of my pistol to see another gun already lined up with my chest. Somehow he'd gotten behind me.
Now he was right in front of me, dead center. All Gordon's partner had to do was pull the trigger. But he suddenly had a problem …
He couldn't see me.
The light from Owen's phone hit his face so fast I could practically see his pupils snap shut. He raised his arm to shield his eyes, but it was the other arm I was watching. The one with the gun. He was swinging it right at Owen.
There was no thought, no planning, no decision. Just instinct. And maybe a little trace memory thrown in for good measure in case he was wearing a bulletproof vest.
In other words, I aimed a little bit higher.
I got off two shots. I couldn't tell if the first one hit him, but there was no doubt about the second. Let's just say it was going to be a closed-casket funeral, and leave it at that.
"C'mon," said Owen. "Let's go."
That was all he said. Or maybe that was all I heard.
For sure, it was more than I was able to say, which was nothing. I could barely breathe, let alone talk. But I was keenly aware. The kid came back for me.</ol>
Later, I would thank him. The heart rate would slow; the thoughts and words would come. I'd point out that this was the second time he'd saved my life. I'd even crack that I'd never been so happy to have someone ignore what I asked him to do. If Owen had fled back to the hotel from Lamont's car as I'd asked-as he'd told me he would-I would've been the one lying on the pavement in a pool of blood.
But he hadn't. So I wasn't.
Yes. Later, I would do all this. When there was time to think and sort things out. But the moment after I pulled the trigger was no different than the moment right before.
No thought, no planning, no decision. Just instinct. The same instinct Owen had.