The Cult of Osiris

swerving through traffic to make a screeching turn on to Seventh Avenue. The road down to Times Square was relatively clear; relieved, he accelerated again. Over the rising song of the engine he heard a voice. Nina.

‘The phone!’ he said. Grant held it up.

‘Eddie, Eddie!’ said Nina. ‘Are you there?’

‘Yeah, I’m here. Are you okay?’

‘They’re still after us! Where are you?’

He ducked across the lanes to avoid a knot of traffic. ‘Seventh.’

‘Seventh?’ He knew the scathing tone; that of every single New Yorker, convinced they alone knew the best way to navigate their city. ‘Why the hell are you on Seventh? Take Broadway!’

‘I know where I’m going!’

‘Dude, not the time for a domestic,’ Grant warned, pointing ahead. The neon glare of Times Square was approaching fast, the traffic getting thicker.

‘Where are you now?’ Eddie asked Nina.

‘On Sixth, coming up to 30th.’

He remembered that if he got on Broadway south of Times Square, it intersected Sixth Avenue at Herald Square, around 34th Street. ‘Keep going - I’ll meet you!’

‘And then what are you gonna do?’

‘I dunno - something violent! Just stay ahead of them!’

He ignored the sarcastic ‘No!’ from the phone, fixing on the road as the Lamborghini wailed through Times Square. Grant’s face, two storeys high, watched it pass from a billboard advertising his latest movie. Cars streamed across their path on 44th Street - and beyond, he saw more flashing lights as cops from the small police station at the square’s south end started their vehicles.

He speeded up, angling for a gap—

‘Shit!’ gasped Grant as the Murcielago shot through the crosstraffic, one car’s front bumper passing so close that it brushed the Lamborghini’s rear corner. ‘You said not a scratch, man, not a scratch!’

‘It’ll buff out,’ Chase replied, the joke a cover for the shudder that ran through him as he realised just how near he had come to a crash. He shot past the little police station, then turned hard, cutting across a short section of 42nd Street to join Broadway.

Strobe lights flashed across the buildings behind as more police cars joined the chase. He swore under his breath, looking down Broadway.

Where was Nina?

Where was Eddie?

The cab reached the lower end of Herald Square. Nina risked a glance up Broadway as she crossed the intersection and continued up Sixth Avenue, seeing police lights in the distance, before looking back at the nearer and much more menacing lights in the mirror. The pursuing police cars had also drawn closer, but were unable to overtake the powerful truck.

‘Hey, there’s my store!’ said Macy. Nina looked back, wondering what the hell she was talking about. ‘You know, Macy’s.’ She pointed as the giant store rolled past to their left.

‘Just hold up the phone,’ Nina snapped. ‘Eddie, where are you now?’

‘I’m almost there. Where are you?’

The taxi reached the 36th Street intersection, Nina checking for traffic coming from the left - to see a bright orange sports car zoom down Broadway. ‘Eddie, are you in an orange car?’

‘Yeah, why?’

‘I just missed you! I’m going north on Sixth!’

Eddie said something, but it was drowned out by Macy’s cry of, ‘They’re catching up!’ The pickup’s driver had put the hammer down, the great chromed whale-mouth of its grille looming large.

And Snakeskin was leaning out of the window again, revolver raised—

Nina hurled the cab into a desperate left turn on to 37th Street as a bullet punched through the door just above her thigh.

Eddie heard the unmistakable sound of a bullet impact over the phone. ‘Shit!’

He had to double back - but two NYPD cruisers were moving to block Broadway ahead, despatchers alerting them to the second high-speed chase.

And there were more police cars behind him . . .

‘Hang on!’ he shouted to Grant as he stabbed a button to deactivate the traction control - then dipped the clutch as he spun the wheel with one hand and yanked hard on the handbrake with the other.

Even with four-wheel drive the Lamborghini couldn’t keep its hold on the road, slithering round in a 180- degree spin as Eddie mashed the accelerator to the floor. The engine roar was accompanied by an earsplitting scream from the smoking wheels as the Murcielago lunged forward again, the tortured tyres laying thick black lines of rubber on the tarmac.

Ahead, the other police cars moved to box him in - then hurriedly swerved aside as the cops realised he wasn’t going to stop. He shot between them, the two cruisers behind him pulling into single file to follow the writhing Murcielago through the gap.

The tyres found grip again, the sudden jolt of acceleration like a kick to the back as the oncoming traffic peeled off to either side, headlights flashing, horns blaring. 37th Street was coming up fast. Eddie eased off, about to turn right to catch up with Nina—

A battered yellow cab hurtled across the intersection right in front of him.

Time slowed to a crawl as Eddie recognised the red-haired figure at the wheel, Nina looking round at him open-mouthed as the Lamborghini thundered straight towards her—

Eddie twitched the wheel - and accelerated. The world snapped back to full speed as the Lamborghini crossed just in front of the cab. He thought he heard Nina’s scream behind him, but it was probably his imagination: it would have been lost in his own.

Adrenalin surging from the almost-collision, Nina looked in the mirror - to see the Ram smash square on into a police car that had been chasing Eddie. The cruiser cartwheeled along the street in a storm of flying glass.

The impact had affected even the Dodge, the bullbar buckled back through the radiator grille and the hood crumpled upwards. Behind it, another police car skidded to a halt, cops breaking off their pursuit of the Lamborghini to help their colleagues.

‘Did you see that?’ Macy said breathlessly.

‘Kinda hard to miss,’ said Nina. ‘Eddie!’

‘You okay?’ Eddie asked her as Grant held out the phone in his shaking hand.

‘Yeah! Jesus, I nearly hit you!’

He turned west on to 39th Street. ‘Head for Times Square - I’ll get behind you and block them.’

‘Eddie, one of them’s got a machine gun!’

‘I’ll worry about the machine gun - you just put your foot down!’

Grant blinked. ‘Worry about the what?’

But Eddie had something else to worry about. Ahead, a truck was reversing into a loading dock, blocking the street. He braked hard and blasted the horn in frustration. ‘For fuck’s sake! What next, two guys carrying a sheet of glass?’

The truck was clear; he veered round it, powering towards the Seventh Avenue intersection.

Nina’s cab shot across the junction, heading north. If he could get ahead of the pickup—

The dented Ram roared past just before he made the turn. ‘Shit!’ He swung in behind it, vision filled by the broad red tailgate. Headlights blurred past on both sides. Like Broadway, Seventh was a one-way street, southbound only.

Grant cringed as an SUV passed uncomfortably close to the Murcielago. ‘We’ll never get past!’

‘What’re you talking about?’ Eddie countered. ‘We’re in a fucking Lamborghini!’ He dropped down a gear—