– You’re on the outside now, pissant.
He makes two fists and places them end to end and twists them apart like he’s ripping something in half.
– Watch your back.
– Yeah, yeah.
I pull the revolver and empty it in the giant’s face.
I look at the shadow in the backseat.
– That was a freebie.
I toss the gun in the limo and ride up Slip to Pearl and north.
A guy like that, it doesn’t pay to have him around when you’re out in the cold. Besides, not like I didn’t tell him I was gonna do it.
A couple miles away I park the bike and unscrew the cap from the gas tank and slip the hose inside and suck on the other end until the gas flows. I fill the empty beer bottle and raise the end of the hose and the rest of the gas runs back into the tank. I toss the hose aside and screw the cap into place and walk over to a dumpster and find a rag and stuff one end into the neck of the bottle.
Back on the bike, I ride around the corner and stop in the middle of the block and straddle it. I look up and measure the distance as I remember it and light the rag and heave the Molotov in a high arc up over the Enclave warehouse, and above the sound of the Commando, I hear shattering glass.
Fire.
It will do little.
But I want him to know.
That I’m alive. That’s it’s not over.
And that I’ll be coming back for her.
Thirty minutes later I’m crossing the Broadway Bridge at the northern tip of Manhattan. Onto original turf. Unhallowed ground. Home.
The Island is done with me. Closed its doors and cast me out.
That’s just fine. I wasn’t born there. Only made.
And soon enough the city will be burning.
And I’ll be going into the flames.
To get my girl.
Dreaming of fire and love and an enemy’s blood, I ride into the Bronx.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CHARLIE HUSTON is the author of
