Hardbingers

22

Jack rushed down Second Avenue but slowed as he reached 58th Street and saw a flashing cop car blocking the entrance. He spotted other units farther east, clustered around a double-parked truck. But no ambulances, no EMS rigs.

He'd already stowed his Glock under the front seat, so he double-parked and ran to the nearest uniform.

"Was—?" He cleared his throat. It was almost too tight for speech. "Was there an accident here?"

The cop was waving away cars that wanted to turn onto 58th. He turned and gave Jack the patented NYPD who-the-fuck-are-you? stare.

"Move on, sir."

A vision of his hand shooting out and grabbing this lard-assed bastard's throat and slamming his head back against the roof of his unit flashed through Jack's brain, but he let it remain a fantasy.

"I got a call that my—my wife and little girl had been hit right here. Is that true?"

The cop's features softened. "Oh. Sorry. Yeah, we had a hit and run here. Woman and child hit at high speed. The driver took off."

Jack felt himself swaying—or was it the world? He looked around.

"But where…?"

"On their way to the hospital."

Hope jumped in his chest. His heart starting up again? For the first time since his call to Kosher Nosh, he sensed a trace of life inside.

"You mean they're alive?"

The cop's expression turned bleak as he became more interested in moving the traffic along.

"Can't say. Been up here since the git-go."

"Did you see anything?"

"I saw a couple of pretty banged-up people."

Aw no.

"Where'd they take them?"

"New York Hospital, up on—"

"I know where it is." Jack ran back to his car. Ten blocks uptown on York Avenue—he could be there in minutes.