The shove takes us over too far and the driver’s-side rearview snaps off against a lamppost. It ricochets into my window. The window shatters instantly, and hundreds of little pebbles of glass collapse into my lap while the rearview flies past my left ear and into the backseat.
I flinch and blink. When I open my eyes, we’re at the gap. I have to jerk the wheel to get us back on line. We swerve through the narrow space and I think I feel the bumper clip something as the rear end gives a slight tug. We’re through but come out veering to the right. I try to put us straight on the road. It’s too late. We broadside Roman’s car as he comes through on the other side of the ramp. His car is much bigger than ours and we rebound back to the center of the road. He loses the wheel for a moment and scrapes the side of his car down the iron fence on that side of the road. A fountain of sparksroostertails into the sky and we pull away again.
The road takes a nice easy arc to the right, passing Corlears Hook Park on our left. Just ahead it narrows down to one car’s width as it passes the pier’s storage yard. Roman is just about on us as I gear down andbrace myself.
– Russ, hold on to Bud.
I catch his rapid nodding out of the corner of my eye as we hit the eighteen-inch speed bumps at just over forty miles per hour. The front end springs up and, as it starts to drop, the rear hits the bump and pops up, driving the front down at an even steeper angle. I pump the brakes and try to keep the wheels pointed straight ahead. We bounce and skitter to the next one and hit it hard. We come down skidding to the left. I try to steer into the skid and goose the gas. We get traction and I straighten us out for the last bump and ease over it at twenty. Just behind us, Roman hits the first bump at top speed.
He just about flips but hangs on. The second one pops him off the road and into the chain link of the storage yard. His car plows to a sudden stop against the fence and we’re in the parking lot. I cut the wheel hard right, heading for the exit, jump the light at the intersection there and hairpin us straight up the FDR on-ramp, picking up speed. We pass Roman’s car, still pointed the opposite direction on the access road. He’s already moving, headed for the FDR.
I try to get lost in the traffic. I mix in and slow down to match the flow. We pass under the Williamsburg Bridge again, going north this time. Russ is nuzzling the back of Bud’s neck and whispering to him and Roman drives right up on us.
We’re in the far right lane and he pulls up on our left. I look out the window. Bolo is there, just a few feet away, sucking his scratched thumb. Roman doesn’t spare me a look, just keeps his eyes on the traffic. I can see Whitey still in the backseat, but I can’t tell if he’s alive or dead. I’ll never lose them as long as this is a race about speed. I need to slow the chase down. I pull onto the Houston Street exit ramp.Roman brakes fast and veers over to follow us. At the top of the ramp, I ignore the stop sign and blaring horns of the other cars and take us halfway around the traffic circle and onto Houston headed west. Roman trails.
Traffic is heavy and Roman stays right with us. From the middle lane, I take a right off Houston onto Avenue A. I cut in front of several cars and the drivers all lean on their horns. Roman gets tangled in the mess and I take a lead down the avenue.
The weekend traffic has us slowed way down by the time we get to 9th Street, Roman is back with us. But that’s OK, because I can already see the lights up ahead.
It looks like a movie set up on my block: cop cars, news vans, barricades andrubberneckers galore. Roman has caught on and he’s dropping back. It might be worth it to
– Hey, Hank, like, what the fuck?Mmmm.
– Just take it easy, man.
– Mmmm.
– Easy.
He rubs his nose against Bud’s face.
– Hear that, Buddy? Take it easy.Mmmm. Easy.Mmmm.
I look at him. He keeps his face close to Bud’s.
The cops wave cars through the intersection at A and 13th one at a time and they creep past my apartment building. We get to the front of the line and the cop holds us there for a second with an upraised palm ascrosstown traffic passes by. I spot a few people I know from the block mixed in with the reporters and sightseers. I pull up the collar on my jacket and hunch down a little in the seat.
The cop waves us through and never once looks in the car. The cops have been forced to use barricades to create room for a narrow lane in the middle of the street. We edge along and I picture a similar scene in front of my parents’ house.Reporters on the front lawn, strangers driving by to gawk and neighbors on porches pointing their fingers and shaking their heads. Russ never looks up from Bud’s neck. We’re held up at 14th by another traffic cop and I look east down the street, trying to see if Roman has circled around. I can’t see him, but now this car has become a target and I want out of it. The cop gives us the OK and I turn left just as the Celica starts to cough and shiver.
We wobble across the intersection and I pull us over to the curb just past the bus stop on the right-hand side of the street. I look out the window and the traffic cop is pointing from himself to us, signing, asking if we need any help. I smile and wave “no thanks” back to him. He nods and turns back to his job.
– Russ.
– Mmmm.
– Russ!
– Mmmm. What?
– The car died.
– Mmmm.
– Russ?
– Yeah?
– Are you OK?
He takes his face from Bud and looks at me. His left pupil has swollen, almost eclipsing the entire iris.
– Like, I don’t know, Hank. I don’t feel too good.
We have to get out of this car.
– It’s good to see you, Buddy.Mmmm.
We have to get out of this car.
– Good to see you.Mmmm. Sorry, I’m sorry I, like, left you for so long, Buddy.
We have to get out of this fucking car. The cop back at the intersection keeps glancing over at us. A few blocks away, Roman and Bolo are dumping Whitey or stuffing him in the trunk and coming after us. The left side of Russ’s face is sagging and frozen and he keeps rubbing it against Bud and whispering to him. We have to get out of this car before that cop comes walking over here to see what’s up, but I don’t know where to go next.
The cell phone rings.
– Buddy, Buddy, Buddy. I missed you, Buddy.Mmmm.
It rings again.
– Buuuuddy.
I take it out of my pocket and stare at it as it rings a third time.
– I’m sorry you, like, got hurt, Buddy.Mmmm. That was, that was really my fault.
It starts to ring again and I flip it open.
– Hello?
– Hello?
– Hello?
– Is this Russ Miner?
Fuck!
– Uh, yes.
– Mr. Miner, this is Detective Craig Williams of the New York City Police Department.
Oh, fuck.
