the driver was as experienced as his companion, he’d spot a tail within a hundred meters.
As I shot through on a closing amber and launched into traffic, I flicked my headlights off. Usually, I never ride without them or most car drivers don’t know you’re there—right up to the point you go under their wheels.
But in this case, being seen was the last thing I wanted.
I kept half a dozen cars back from the black Lincoln, using the extra height the bike gave me to keep him in sight. The car had a cheap glass-mounted phone aerial, which had been stuck on haphazardly at the far right-hand side of the rear window. It was distinctive, and made them marginally easier to track.
Even so, I knew these guys were too good for me to stay undetected on their tail for long. I needed help and had no way to get it.
Sure, my mobile phone was tucked away in the inside pocket of my leather jacket, but it was no use to me there. I cursed the fact I hadn’t bothered to fiddle around getting the Bluetooth headset that went with it to sit comfortably inside my helmet before I’d set off. That was still in my pocket, too.
I wasn’t armed—unless you counted my habitual Swiss Army knife. Parker had enough clout to ensure both Sean and I received our coveted New York City concealed-carry licenses in very short order, but I didn’t routinely carry unless I was working. Although I was now the fully licensed owner of several firearms, they were all locked away either at the office or the apartment. I had no choice but to stick with my father as long as I could, and ad-lib after that.
We threaded our way downtown and then, to my surprise, kept going. Over the Williamsburg Bridge and into Brooklyn. The Lincoln left the Brooklyn-Queens Expressway at the first exit and carried on down Broadway into Bushwick, the area dropping by stages. Fortunes change fast in New York. Things can go from safe to scary in the length of a city block.
Inevitably, by hanging back far enough not to get made, eventually I got cut off at a light. I swore long and loud behind my visor as I watched the Lincoln disappearing into the blur of traffic ahead, wallowing over the ruts like an inflatable dinghy in a heavy swell. But, just when I thought I was going to lose them completely, the driver slowed up ahead and made a right. I pinpointed the location by the nearest signpost and dropped the clutch like a drag star the moment the light went green above me, forgetting for a moment how easily the sheer grunt of the Buell would whip up the rear tire.
I almost missed the side street where the Lincoln had turned. It was little more than an alleyway, with the obligatory overflowing Dumpster partially blocking the entrance, and a network of zigzag fire escapes caging in the narrow slot to the sky. I slowed long enough to spot the Lincoln stopped about halfway along, but didn’t follow.
Instead, I kept going, made two quick right turns to bring me out at the far side of the alley. It must have been a squeeze to get the fat Lincoln past the Dumpster in the first place and there was no way the driver would want to reverse out again so, logically, he’d exit here. After London’s intestinal mass of side streets, the U.S. grid pattern was a breeze.
I cut the Buell’s engine and was aware of the silence that rushed in to fill the vacuum as the throaty rumble died away. After a moment, somewhere behind me in one of the run-down warehouse buildings, something like a jackhammer was being put to work with enthusiasm. Other than that, the distant roar of traffic and the litter rolling gently across the cracked road surface, it was almost peaceful.
I paddled the bike backwards into a narrow gap between two huge boxy American cars, both of which had more rust than original paint. As I nudged the kickstand down and settled the bike onto it, I undid the strap on my helmet, reached for my phone. At least I’d remembered to charge it. Sports bikes are irritatingly short of cigarette lighter sockets when you get caught with a dead mobile.
Sean picked up on the second ring, as he nearly always did. I’d never yet seen him fumble for an awkward pocket.
“Meyer.”
“It’s me,” I said. “Want to take a guess where I am?”
There was a slight pause, then he said, “Well, I assume from the background noise that you aren’t naked in bed and covered in half a pint of whipped cream.”
“Yuck,” I said. “If that’s your fantasy, you can wash the sheets.”
“I’ll take that as a no, then.”
“Besides,” I went on, “you know full well where I was heading when I left home this morning. What kind of sick and twisted mind paints that kind of a scenario from a visit to my father?”
He laughed. “Hey, for all I know, your father has hidden depths.”
I glanced across at the alleyway. “Yeah, I rather think he’s plumbing new ones right now.”
Sean’s amusement snuffed out. “Tell me,” he said.
I described the scene outside the hotel, giving him as clear a picture as I could manage of the man with the buzz-cut who’d put my father into the Lincoln. Out of habit, I’d kept a mental note of the number of turns and lights since we’d crossed the bridge, so I could direct Sean to my current location with some precision, even if I couldn’t tell him exactly where
“Well, if your old man has a self-destruct button, looks like somebody pressed it,” he said when I was done. “And you’ve no idea who these guys are or what he’s up to with them?”
“No,” I said. “But the longer he’s in there, the worse feeling I get about the whole thing.”
“Okay, Charlie, listen to me. Sit tight and wait for backup. I’ll be with you as fast as I can. Do
“All right,” I agreed, but the reluctance must have shown.
“Promise me,” he said, and I knew from his tone he’d hold me to it.
I glanced at the open mouth of the alley again, just as movement caught my eye. A shifty-looking guy walked out, turning up the collar of his cheap jacket. He glanced both ways when he reached the open street, furtive. There were no passing cars and I didn’t think stepping out into traffic was what had him worried.
“I shouldn’t have let them lift him in the first place,” I said, hearing the stubborn note. “If he’s not out in twenty minutes, I’m going in after him—alone if I have to.”
“Don’t worry,” Sean said, his voice calm and steady. “You won’t be alone.”
I didn’t have to go in alone.
Sean arrived inside the time I’d allotted, riding the black Buell Ulysses he’d bought at the same time as my own bike. He’d left the office fast enough after my call that he hadn’t even bothered to put on leathers. Instead, he was still in his suit. Apart from a helmet, his only nod to safety was some thin leather gloves that would have shredded in seconds if he’d hit the road surface in them.
He slotted his bike in alongside mine and flicked up the visor, his eyes hidden behind a pair of classic Ray-Ban Wayfarers with dark green lenses. His smile was all the more brilliant because I couldn’t see his eyes.
“Status?” he said as he killed the engine.
“The Lincoln pulled out about five minutes ago.”
Sean stilled, frowning as he slid off the shades and helmet and hung the lid over the Buell’s bar end.
“And you’re still here
“My father wasn’t in the car when it left,” I said. I jerked my head towards the alley. “I hung around over there so if they made a move I could see which building they’d gone into. Got asked twice if I was ‘working.’” My mouth twisted. “I think it must be the leathers. Anyway, two guys came out—Buzz-cut and the driver.” The tension in my hands was somehow connected to my throat. “My father wasn’t with them.”
Sean touched my shoulder. “Thank you for waiting for me,” he said. “I know what it cost you.”
I swallowed. “Maybe I’m just too much of a coward to go in alone,” I said stiffly. “At least if you’re with me, then if it comes to it you can be the one to break all this to my mother.”
Sean set the bike on its stand, climbed off. “What exactly are you expecting to find?”
