A Cool Breeze on the Underground

24

Neal sat in one of the overstuffed wing chairs in the lobby of the hotel. He had chosen a seat where he could see both the elevators and the revolving door that led to the street. He tried hard to look composed and relaxed, but his stomach was jumping and his heart beating about eight trillion times a minute.

Please, Mrs. Goldman, get going. You don’t want to be late for the concert. Please come out of the next elevator. She didn’t.

He glanced out into the street, where he knew Colin and Crisp were waiting. Patience was not Colin’s long suit. Come on, Mrs. Goldman. Another elevator. Two well-dressed American ladies, neither of them Mrs. G. Who’s that? Another woman, not Mrs. Goldman.

He wondered about Allie, waiting in the hotel bar. At least he hoped she was waiting in the hotel bar, not shooting up in the ladies’ loo, or worse yet, out on the street looking for a connection. Time was not on his side in this thing, so, Mrs. Goldman, any haste would be appreciated. The elevator bell rang again. He had followed her to her room a bare two hours ago and held the surveillance, so he knew she was in there performing the complicated ablutions and ritual that go with a big night out. Let’s slip the frock on now, Mrs. G., and haul it down here. She wasn’t in the elevator.

Colin shifted his weight from one foot to the other again and gave Crisp a dirty look. Not that it was Crisp’s fault, he knew, but because Crisp was the only one there, and didn’t mind, anyway. That was what he was there for.

“Tardy, tardy,” Crisp said through a mouthful.

“Something’s wrong.”

“She’s late, that’s all. Maybe she’s giving the old man a quick one.”

Colin shot him an especially filthy look. “That would be just lovely, now, wouldn’t it?”

Allie was trying to hold it together. Her hand shook a little as she reached into her, bag for a handkerchief. Goddamn Colin, anyway, she thought, and double goddamn that bastard Neal Carey. If they had let her have one little shot, just one little shot, she’d be all right. She’d be perfect. She’d be fan-fucking-tastic. Colin had even subjected her-no doubt at that prick Neal’s urging-to a search. The fact that’d turned up a little envelope of powder didn’t make it all right. She’d get even with him later.

Now she just wanted to get this over with. Do this john, pick up that triple motherfucker Neal, and get home for the promised fix. She didn’t even care that this was her last trick, ever; that Colin had told her this was her farewell performance, her retirement party, her swan song. Fine and dandy, Collie baby, but I need a little taste. And if Neal doesn’t hurry up and get in here, I’m going to go out and find one. One thing she’d learned in her short career as a lady of the evening: Every place has a back door.

Mrs. goldman looked good. Almost worth the wait, Neal thought as he watched her stride through the lobby and out the revolving door. He gave her a few paces and then picked her up. She asked the doorman to get her a cab, and as he stood blowing his whistle, Colin and Crisp walked to the corner, where they had a cab waiting. Neal watched Mrs. G. climb into her taxi, and watched the car carrying Colin pull into traffic behind her. Colin looked out the window, saw Neal, and gave him a quick thumbs-up sign. Let’s hope so, Colin, let’s hope so.

He found allie in the bar working on her third gin. He walked up in back of her and leaned over her shoulder. She jumped when he whispered, “Give it five minutes, then come up.”

She whipped her head around and glared at him. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Easy. Steady. You look great.”

“Fuck you.”

“Five minutes.”

Neal went up to his room and fixed a tall gin and tonic and a scotch. He dropped four muscle relaxers into the G amp;T, sat down on the bed, and waited. A few minutes later, a soft knock came on the door.

“Come in. It’s not locked.”

She made an entrance. Slinky black dress, bright smile, her long strand of pearls held in one hand. Sexy, young, willing. It was a great act.

Her smile dropped as she saw Neal and her eyebrows arched in question.

“He just called. He’s on his way. Nervous, I guess. Sit down. I made you a drink. Your favorite.”

She plopped down on the bed. “Just how nervous is he?” she asked, raising the ugly specter of potential impotence.

“Pretty nervous.”

“Great.”

“Cheers.”

She took a gulp of the drink and then they sat there looking at each other. A good two minutes passed while she sipped on her gin before she said, “Is this supposed to be a long concert?”

“Aren’t they all?”

Another couple of minutes, and then: “Look, why don’t I just go to his room, whip my clothes off, and-”

“That would kind of defeat the purpose.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Three minutes passed before she spoke again. “Maybe he’s killed himself, couldn’t stand the precoital guilt.” Two minutes later, she passed out cold.

Neal picked up the phone, rang the front desk, and asked for Hatcher. Five minutes later, the detective called him back.

“I have a problem,” Neal said.

“Why does this fail to surprise me? I’ll be up.” Hatcher suppressed a sneer with some effort when he saw the young lady passed out on Neal’s bed. “A bit too much of the old persuasion, son?”

“She arrived this way.”

Hatcher sniffed the near-empty glass of gin. “And she brought this with her, I suppose.”

Neal shrugged. “I could never deny a lady a drink.”

“I rather think you can never deny a lady at all. In any case, what is the problem?”

“I have to get her out of here.”

“That is your problem. What is mine?”

“Hatcher, do you really want me to drag her through the lobby with all those people down there? How will it look?”

“With all respect to your privacy, why can’t the young lady sleep it off right here?”

Neal did his best to work up a decent blush. What with the nerves and the fear and all, it wasn’t tough. “Because the young lady is quite young. Hatcher, I just want to take her home. Help me get her out quietly and into a cab, please?”

“This is a bit much.”

“Okay. You’re right. I’ll just drag her through the lobby.” He started to lift Allie off the bed.

“Is this the niece?” Hatcher asked.

Neal nodded.

“I don’t believe you actually found her. And managed to bag her.”

I’m not sure I believe it, either, Neal thought. “She’s not in the bag yet.”

“I’ll ring a cab. We’ll use the service entrance.”

“He‘s got her.”

The overseas connection wasn’t the greatest. The phone crackled and popped like a Rice Krispies commercial.

“Who’s got her?”

“Carey’s got the kid. She went up to his room with him, then they left out the back.”

“Shit. You know where they went?”

The guy was enjoying this. “You said not to follow him.”

There was a long silence. “I know where he went.”

“What now, boss?”

“Can you do it?”

“I don’t do that kind of work. But I know who will. Local talent named Colin. He’s her pimp, and you know pimps.”

A lot of snaps, crackles, and pops went by before he got his answer. “Okay. Make it happen. Here’s the address. Phone number if you want it.”

“Might come in handy.”

“Hey, just get it done.”

Colin was in a major-league sweat. He’d been standing in the fooking Covent Garden tube station for close to an hour. No Neal. He grabbed Crisp by the shirt when he came back from the phone.

“Alice isn’t back and no word from Neal. We’ve been fucked, Colin.”

“Not yet, we haven’t.”

They hopped the train and rode it to Piccadilly. He breezed past the young doorman and got into the lift. Outside Neal’s room, he felt for the knife in his jacket pocket and got ready to use it. He motioned Crisp to the other side of the door and then rang the bell. And waited. Waited a good five minutes before stationing Crisp at the lift and going to work on the door lock.

Inside the room, everything was gone: luggage, clothes, Neal, Alice, and the books.

Two minutes later, he was at the registration desk. “Mr. Carey’s room, please.”

“Mr. Carey has checked out, sir.”

Triple poxy whoredog asswipe. “Did he leave a forwardin’ address?”

“Let me see, sir.”

Hurry, mate. Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry.

“No, sir, sorry.”

Colin slammed his fist on the counter. Then he headed for the door.

The doorman knew his lines. “Did you lose something, mate?”

“Did you find somethin’?”

Moments later, Colin and Crisp were in a taxi. Colin was thinking about bloody murder.

The doorman found the gentleman in the bar, just where he said he would be. “I did what you said.”

The gentleman slipped him a tenner. “Good job.”

The gentleman went to a phone and waited for the overseas connection to go through. “It’s over.”

“Hey, you sure?”

“He’s a duster.”

“What about her?”

“You kidding? A junkie and a pimp? It’s the perfect relationship. Forget about her.”

“Okay, get lost. Very lost.”

Allie started to come to as Neal plopped her on Simon’s bed. He was out of breath from lugging her dead weight up the stairs and maneuvering her into the bedroom. He was tying her wrists to the torn sheets when she woke up enough to speak.

“Are you kinky or something?” she asked, looking at the restraints but not necessarily objecting.

“I haven’t had the chance to find out.” He tightened the bonds just enough to hold her. It seemed to wake her up a little.

“Neal, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. I want you to get some rest.”

“Why are you tying me up?”

Neal sat down on the bed. He took her chin in his hand and lifted her face so that they were looking at each other.

“Alice, listen. No more smack. That’s over with.” He saw a fine edge of panic creep into her eyes. “I’m going to give you something to cool you out. It’ll be okay, but no more heroin for you.” She was still too woozy to really take in what he was saying, and he figured that was probably a blessing for them both. He broke a Valium in half and gave it to her with a swallow of Coke. The sugar would help. She fought him a little at first, but her body wanted sleep and her mind wanted refuge, so after a few seconds she took the pill. Neal sat with her for the few minutes it took her to go to sleep. Then he shut the door, went into the kitchen, and fixed himself a cup of coffee.

Seventy-two hours. He needed seventy-two hours and that should get them through the worst of it. She wasn’t too badly hooked and there was no question of her dying of withdrawal. He knew he could nurse her through it, knew he could get her off smack and get hooked on Neal, because that’s what it took. Three days of this and she’d belong to him as if he bought her at an auction. More than that, because she’d want it, too. That’s the way junkies are, and it takes a long time before they get to a place where they can stand up by themselves. So he’d wean her off the dope, and tell her he loved her, that he’d be her new man and take care of her, that they’d take the money and split and live happily ever after. Then he would whip her on an airplane and take her back and hand her over and that would be that. And it’s a shifty world, but there would be plenty of time to reflect on what a dark hole the universe is when this particularly shifty job was over. And he wasn’t letting her out of his sight, because she wasn’t going to be any Halperin kid. All he needed was seventy-two hours… seventy-two mean, sweaty hours-especially for Allie.

The ringing of the phone cut right through him. Made his heart jump a little before he reasoned that it was probably a friend of Simon’s who didn’t know his schedule. He went into the sitting room and lifted the receiver. “Hello.” “Hello, rugger.”

Neal edged to the window and inched the curtain aside. Colin probably didn’t have a gun, much less a rifle, but there was no sense taking chances.

Colin waved to him from the phone box-a cheery little wave accompanied by a wide grin. Vanessa was with him. He couldn’t see Crisp, which meant that he was out back-along with God knows how many others. Neal closed the curtain and stepped back into the middle of the room. “Hello, Colin.” “You’re dead. She with you?” “No.”

“Lying bastard. She’s dead, too.” “Come on up. We’ll talk.”

“I’ll be up, all right, rugger. Not to worry. When I’m ready.” He rang off. Neal’s mind raced. Come on, think. Cut through the fear and think. You weren’t followed; you’re sure of that. Sure or just arrogant? No, sure. Okay, who knew about this place? Simon. He’s out. Kitteredge, Levine, and Graham. Couldn’t be Kitteredge; makes no sense. Levine and Graham. Say it ain’t so, Joe. And how would they hook up with Colin? Unless they knew about him all along. Unless I was sent to make Liz Chase happy, while the Senator and everyone else wanted Allie to stay lost. So when I find her… I’m written off. I should have seen it. No files on the kid. Fed the Mackensen bullshit story like it’s gospel. No backup. No partner. Check in every day, let us know how you’re doing… Well, I’m doing pretty shitty right now, Ed.

It’s 11:15, give or take. Colin is waiting for the small hours, when screams can be written off as nightmares. When the streets are quiet. No passersby. Then he’s got you.

The fear hit him again. The slash of the knife across his face. There was no way he could take Colin, no way.

Knock it off, Neal. Think. Run it through. You could call the cops. And tell them what? That you’ve kidnapped a girl? Fed her drugs? She’s tied up in the other room? Not a good choice. Okay, deal. You have the books. Trade him the books for Allie. Why should he? He can have it all. But he needs the name of the buyer for it to do him any good. Bargain there. No, he can get that out of you. You’ll talk. Colin holds a knife to Allie’s face. Shit, babe, be honest. If he holds a knife to your face, you’ll tell him.

And where would you go? Even if you got out of here, where would you go? You could make a break for it. Throw her over your shoulder and run for the tube. It’s closed, moron, and you’d never make it five steps. A cab? Same. That leaves the car. Down the back stairs and into the garage. Assuming you make it, where could you take her? Fuck her. Maybe you can handle Crisp on the back stairs and make it to the car, but not with her. Dump her, babe.

Right, he thought. Then you’ll have another face to add to the Halperin collection. So work backward. Go from the solution to the method. Where would you like to be? What’s the ideal? Safe, quiet, isolated. A place the office doesn’t know about. Think, think, think… a place you can hear your own heartbeat. How about a cottage in the Yorkshire moors?

Where did Simon say it was? Get to work, Neal.

He started to search the apartment.

Neal found what he was looking for almost immediately. Maybe his luck was changing. It was a road map of Britain, with the route to Simon’s Yorkshire cottage marked in bright orange, and notes on how to proceed on the unmarked roads. Neal went to the phone and dialed. It rang a long time.

“Dad?”

“Where are you?”

“Just listen, because I don’t have much time. There’s some stuff you have to know…”

Neal sat down on the edge of the bed. Allie was still sound asleep. Her face and hair were damp with sweat. He stroked her cheek with the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry, kid. I screwed it up. I tried to help you out and ended up getting you in more trouble. I’m really sorry.”

He figured he still had an hour or so before show time. He didn’t feel like sitting around letting the fear eat him out. He thought some more about Joe Graham and then did a very Joe Graham thing.

He cleaned. The place was a mess anyway, and that was hardly the way to repay Simon’s hospitality. He found a broom and a mop, some powdered cleanser and floor wax, and set to work. He vacuumed and dusted, polished furniture and scrubbed and waxed the kitchen floor until the sucker gleamed like ice.

When he was done, he felt much better. Then he sat down with a book to wait it out.

The footsteps woke him. He could hear Colin trying to sneak up the front stairs. He checked his watch and was surprised that it was quarter to four.

The steps paused on the landing. He heard fumbling. He saw the thin piece of metal slip the lock. The door opened just a crack. Apparently, Colin didn’t fancy getting whacked in the face with something hard and heavy. Too bad. Neal felt the sickening bile of fear rise. He fought to hold it down as Colin’s foot pushed open the door. Colin stood in the doorway, both hands tucked inside his leather jacket. Which hand has the knife? Neal wondered. He remembered playing that game with the old Italian men in the neighborhood. Which hand has the candy? He’d never been very good at it then, either.

Colin said, “You’ve been trying to ring but the line was engaged, right?”

What if I give up, Colin? What if I throw up my hands and say you can take the book, take Allie? Instead, he said, “You should have come with an army, Colin.”

Colin stepped in and locked the door shut behind him. “For you, rugger? Mind, I’ve seen you fight.”

“You want a cup of tea? A beer?”

“We can start with a book.”

“Start and finish.”

Colin shook his head.

“Where are we, Neal? Whose place is this?”

Neal saw Colin’s left wrist tighten. So it’ll come from that side if it comes. When it comes.

“A friend’s.”

“Are you ripping him off, too?”

As a matter of fact…

“I’ll give you the book. You leave Alice.”

“True love, is it? The book’ll do me no good without the name of the buyer.”

“Okay, I’ll toss that in, too.”

Colin took a tentative step toward him. Neal backed away.

Colin said, “You’re not in much of a position to toss anything, are you, Neal lad? I think I’ll take the book and the girl. And you’ll give me the name.” The knife flashed out of his left pocket. He held it, blade turned flat, level with Neal’s eyes, no more than a foot away.

The point sparkled and danced in front of Neal’s eyes. He felt the thud in his stomach and the tightness of breath in his chest. He’d seen people get cut.

He let the terror come up, thought about his face sliced open, the sickening flap of flesh dangling, the scar he would wear for life… Tears filled his eyes.

“She’s dead, Colin. She must have OD’ d.”

Colin’s hand dropped, not much, but just enough-enough for Neal to turn and run. He ran through the sitting room and flung himself through the sharp left into the kitchen. He had just enough lead to jump onto the counter.

Colin was half a second behind Neal. When he hit the waxed kitchen floor at full speed, his slick leather loafers went out from under him. He landed hard on his back, but not before his head took a nice bounce off the squeaky-clean linoleum. Neal raised the mop high above his head and jammed the butt end down into Colin’s crotch as if he was planting the flag on Mount Everest. This gave Colin a new relationship with the concept of pain, and he rolled on the floor in a fetal position, groaning.

Neal picked the knife up from the floor and put it into his pocket. Then he stepped over to the refrigerator and pulled out the pan he had placed in the freezer. It was now packed with solid ice. “Crisp,” he yelled in his best imitation of Colin, “get your arse in here!”

Crisp crashed through the flimsy back door and saw Colin rolling on the floor. He never saw Neal swing the pan of ice like Jimmy Connors smashing a high backhand. The heavy pan hit him square on the bridge of the nose, crushing bone and cartilage. Crisp was out before he hit the floor, which was probably a blessing, as he fell right on his shattered nose.

“You whore’s bastard,” hissed Colin with unintended accuracy. He tried to struggle to his feet, but nauseating waves of pain held him to the floor.

Neal went into the bedroom, lifted Allie in a fireman’s carry and hefted her down the back stairs. He was breathing hard and heavy from excitement, fear, and the exertion of beating up Colin and Crisp, so it took him a little longer than he wanted to get down to the garage. He didn’t have a great deal of time before Colin would suck it up enough to come after him. Knife or no knife, Colin would wipe him out in a fair fight, so Neal was hurrying to make sure there wouldn’t be one. He leaned Allie against the garage wall while he fumbled in his pants pocket for the key. He noticed his hands were shaking. Just to make things better, Allie was starting to wake up.

He got the door open, pulled her over to the dreaded Keble, opened the passenger door, and worked her into the seat. This maneuver felt as if it took about an hour and a half, and he expected Colin to come through the garage door any moment. He finally got her and himself settled in the driver’s seat.

Allie came to life. “Wazzup?” she asked sleepily.

“We’re going for a ride.”

“Thas nice,” she said happily, and fell back to sleep.

Yeah, thas nice, Neal thought, if I can get this thing started and get us out of here. He put the key in the ignition-the trunk key. It didn’t fit. Neither did the door key, no matter which way he tried.

Colin was fumbling with his own equipment, which seemed to be all there, even though that Yank bitch’s whelp had tried to geld him. His nether parts ached, though, no mistake, and his head hurt like Sunday morning. He got to his feet and stood over Crisp, who lay as stiff and still as a girl fresh out of the convent.

“C’mon, mate, get up,” Colin said, prodding Crisp with his toe. Crisp didn’t move.

The ignition key fit as if it had been made for the purpose. Neal turned it, stepped on the gas pedal, and waited for the demonic car to throb with malevolent life. Instead, it whined a dry, rhythmic hack. He tried it again. Same thing. Neal said some words your mother never taught you, and tried again.

Crisp wouldn’t move. Colin shook him a few times.

He came to. “My nose! What happened to me?”

“That beggar Neal smashed it. Let’s go get him.”

“You go get him,” Crisp moaned, sinking back to the floor. “I’ve had enough of him.”

Colin gave him a boot in the groin for good measure and headed down the back stairs. The motion joggled his throbbing balls, and he decided he might take two or three days to kill Neal when he found him. Then he heard the distinctive sound of an engine not starting coming from the garage at the bottom of the stairs. If there isn’t a God, he thought, there bloody well certainly is a devil.

The keble wouldn’t start, even though Neal was about standing on the gas pedal. All it would do was hack and spit, and Neal, who hated cars anyway, hated this car more than he had ever hated anything.

“pullona choke,” allie said dreamily.

“What?”

“Pullona choke. Fucking Gordon-Keble won’t start ‘less you pullona fucking choke.” She leaned over his lap and pulled the choke knob out about halfway. The engine roared to life.

“How did you know that?” he asked, but she was asleep again.

Colin heard the engine. Too late, Neal bugger, he thought as he tried to turn the knob to the garage door. The fucker was locked from the inside. He raised his leg to kick it in, but the sheer agony that bolted through his right testicle changed his mind. He limped around to the front of the garage, stopping on his way to pick up a convenient two-by-two left over from the construction. He posted himself outside the sliding door. When you come to open this, Neal, arms all nice and raised and all…

Neal pressed down on what he figured to be the clutch and eased the car into first gear. Keeping a foot on the brake pedal, he raced the engine a couple of times, pleased with the resounding result. This isn’t so bad, he thought. He let off the brake.

Colin waited patiently for the door to lift. He held the two-by-two up around his shoulders, ready to decapitate Neal. The delicious tingle of impending revenge eased the dull throb from his recent drubbing. C’mon, Neal lad…

First and third are a long way apart on a baseball diamond. But on a gearbox, they are barely distinguishable, especially to a mechanical moron like Neal Carey. He punched down on the accelerator and let off on the brake. The car flew backward. That’s when Neal remembered that he’d forgotten to open the door.

Except that Colin had done it for him. The impatience of rage had gotten the better of him, and, suspecting some trick, he had leaned down to open the door and go in and get that bastard when the little sports car plowed straight into him. Colin took a short ride on the hood before rolling off to the right, avoiding the crush of wheels by inches.

Neal had swerved to avoid him, hit the brakes, and, in doing so, killed the engine. “Fuck!” he yelled, turning the ignition key. He could see Colin in the rearview mirror. Colin was on all fours in the street, shaking his head as if to clear it. The Keble coughed again.

Allie leaned against the door, lost in a happy dream, just aware enough of her surroundings to mumble, “Choke, you gotta pullona-”

“Choke, I know, I know,” Neal snapped, a little too busy to reflect on the fact that a girl whose bloodstream contained enough drugs to sedate a small town could drive better than he could. He pulled the fucking choke, the car started, and Neal once again put it into first.

Colin stumbled to his feet and realized he’d been run over by a car. He saw his assailant in front of him, dead in the water. He picked up his stick and was about to attack when the car started to back up, slowly at first, and then faster-straight at him.

Neal wasn’t such a terrific driver going forward. Backward, he was a complete disaster. He tried to stop when he saw Colin, he really did. But when you step on the foot feed instead of the brake, you go faster.

Colin did what any smart, tough cookie would do: He ran. And not in a straight line, either. He zigged, lie zagged, he ran as fast as a man who’s been smashed to the floor, bashed in the balls, and crashed with a car could run. But the little auto kept coming after him as if he had a magnet strapped to his arse.

Neal was trying to do just the opposite, but that was the problem. Lacking any facility for thinking in reverse, he made the precise opposite happen of what he intended. Each time he tried to steer away from the madly fleeing Colin, he headed right for him. It was all pretty confusing, especially at that speed.

Colin‘s scream woke up Vanessa, who had been dozing in the phone box. She made a quick assessment of the scene and acted with dispatch.

“Stop!” she yelled as she chased the car down the street. “Stop! You’re going to kill him! Stop!”

Neal stopped. His scrambling feet and hands finally found the right combination, and the high-performance vehicle screeched to a sudden halt, slamming Neal and Allie into the dashboard and then flinging them back into their seats as it lunged forward.

Which surprised vanessa, who never really thought you could get anybody to actually stop just by yelling “Stop.” She was quite pleased with herself until she realized the little auto was now heading toward her, and she was about to turn and run when a shout from the window distracted her.

“He broke my nose, Vanessa!” Crisp bellowed as he hung out the window. “He broke my fucking nose!”

There were two things about Vanessa that became important at this crucial point. The first was that, of all the players in the game, she was the freshest. That is to say; she wasn’t stoned into the Enchanted Forest and she hadn’t been wrestling with a demonic triumph of automotive engineering. Nor had she smashed her head on the floor, had rough sex with a mop handle, or had her face smashed by a pan full of ice. The second factor was that Vanessa was relatively unattractive. She had never had a horde of suitors fighting over her, and she was bound and determined to hold on to the one she had, a man who found her witty, sexy, and desirable. A man who now stood in the window, bleeding and disfigured, crying for justice.

So as the car bore down on her, Vanessa stood her ground. Neal saw her standing in the middle of the street, Katie-Bar-the-Door. He was on the verge of gaining a semblance of control over this vehicular virago and even managed to slow down as he steered around her. Mistake.

You’ve heard all those stories about mothers lifting Mack trucks off their children. Something about a chemical combination of maternal instincts and adrenaline? Vanessa had plenty of both going for her as she grabbed the driver’s door handle and jumped onto the narrow running board. “You hurt my baby!” she screamed as she landed a nifty right hand through the open window onto Neal’s jaw. He hit the brake, forgetting that damn thing about the clutch, and the car shuddered to a stop. As Neal struggled to find the ignition key, Vanessa smacked him again in the side of the head.

“You hurt my baby!”

Neal tried to push her off with his left hand, but she had a death grip on the inside of the window. Neal glanced at the rearview mirror and saw Colin hobbling toward him, a stick in his hand and blood in his eye.

Crisp felt ashamed as he looked out the window. Here was the love of his life and his best friend doing desperate battle in the street. And here he was, two stories above the fray, snug and safe. “I’ll save you, Vanessa!” he yelled, and went looking for a way to make that good.

“Nessa, offa car,” Allie said sweelly but thinly from her less than commanding position in Neal’s lap. “Jes’ goin’ for a ride.”

Vanessa was trying her best to pull the driver’s door open and vent her full fury on her love’s attacker, but Neal was at the same time holding the door shut and trying to start the car and was doing a pretty remarkable job of it, considering the bashing he was taking. But it wasn’t working. So Neal let go of the gearshift to get leverage, leaned back, and popped Vanessa square in the chops with an overhand right. This girl can really take a punch, he thought. He had to give her that.

Colin reached for the passenger door to get his hands on that bitch Alice before he beat her new boyfriend into bread pudding. He had the door half open…

“Okay, nessa, have it your way,” Allie said, her patience exhausted. She wanted to go for a ride. Squeezing herself onto Neal’s lap, she shoved her left foot down on the clutch, yanked the shift into first gear, and stepped down hard on the accelerator. This Keble did just what Daddy’s Keble always did. It took off like a rabbit on Dexedrine.

Neal was surprised when Vanessa suddenly dropped from sight as glass shattered all over the roof of the car. He didn’t have time to think about it, though. He just had time to grab the wheel as the Keble suddenly surged forward.

Which action presented colin with a clear choice: let go, or lose his arm. He took the former course, and only rolled fifteen or sixteen times before coming to rest in the street.

“Sorry, vanessa!” shouted Crisp, whose aim with the gin bottle had been off by that much. He threw another one at the fleeing car.

The keble zoomed off into the night with its two fugitives. Neal gripped the wheel and played with the gearshift. Allie slept soundly against the door.

Then the damnedest thing happened. It started to rain.

The sky had been saving up all summer for this one and now it really let go. It didn’t take Neal more than four or five minutes of frantic fumbling to figure out the windshield wipers and another minute or so to roll up the windows, by which time he was soaked down to his shoulders. He pulled the car over to the side of Camden High Street to check the map. The route had seemed simple when he’d memorized it earlier, but everything looked different on the ground, especially when you had a split lip, a blossoming shiner, and couldn’t see a thing through sheets of rain in the dark.

He decided to take the Seven Sisters Road to the A406 and the A406 to the M-11, the major thoroughfare north.

He didn’t even notice that he didn’t have any trouble slipping into first gear and easing out onto the street.

Colin hissed with pain as he straddled his motorbike. Rain? he thought. Bloody rain? It hasn’t rained in three months and now it has to come down in great awful buckets? There is a God, he thought, and he’s a ball-stomper. Well, there was nothing to do but head off after them and see whether his luck was changing. He turned up the throttle.

The kid at the gas station was thrilled to death to see Neal pull up.

“I need gas. Fill it up,” Neal said.

The kid spit a mouthful of water out and answered, “if it’s gas you want, go to the States. We have petrol here.”

“Whatever it is that makes this car run.”

“Cars are on a train, mate. Over here we call it an auto.”

“You want to stand there getting soaked or you want to hold a comparative linguistics seminar?”

“Money first. Then the petrol for your auto.”

Neal handed him a ten-pound note.

“How do I get on the A406?” he asked when the attendant had finished pumping.

“Roundabout straight on. Second right.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

The kid was even more thrilled when some moron on a motorbike roared in.

“Little sports car pass by?” the biker shouted above the din of the rain.

“Didn’t pass by. Stopped for petrol.”

“Where was he going?”

“I don’t know where he was going, but he was using the A406 to get there.”

“How-”

“Roundabout straight on. Second right.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Neal took it nice and slow in the rain. Allie was peacefully sleeping and he was in no particular hurry-until he saw a single headlight in the rearview mirror, coming on fast.

Neal slowed down. If it was Colin, he might as well find out now instead of letting him follow them and blow another safe house.

He was going about forty when Colin pulled up along the driver’s side.

“Pull over!” Colin shouted.

Neal tapped the gas pedal and the Keble shot ahead.

Colin kept up with them.

“Pull over!” he shouted. He was soaked, flushed, and furious. His white suit clung to him.

Neal tapped the accelerator again, forcing Colin to speed up. Neal knew the bike was no match for the Keble.

Trouble was, he was afraid to go too fast, in this rain. Colin could probably win a game of chicken. Oh well, he thought, what the hell.

He stepped on the pedal again, getting a good head of steam and bringing Colin speeding up beside him. Then he hit the brakes.

The back wheels skidded and turned out and the car sped sideways for a good hundred feet. Colin sped right past it, twisted the brake handle, and flipped the little bike over the top of himself.

Neal remembered that old driving-school bit about turning in the direction of the skid, but didn’t remember what it meant, so he just kept spinning the steering wheel back and forth until the car pointed ahead again and came to a stop. He looked in the mirror and saw

Colin disentangling himself from the bike-very slowly. He fought off an insincere urge to go back and see whether he was all right. Then he put his foot on the gas and took the Keble for a ride as fast as he dared.

All this action actually woke Allie up for a second.

“We there yet?” she asked.

“Just looking for a place to park.”

Colin watched the taillights of the little car disappear over the hill. It had been a very bad night. He had lost the book, the money, the dope, Alice, Neal, his bike, and about a pint of blood. He was well and truly fucked.

Neal eased off on the pedal until the Keble slowed to something less than the speed of sound. Now that he didn’t have to shift, he felt okay driving the thing, his heart was settling back into his chest, and he was headed for a place he could actually hear it beat.