the driver seat of his Ford Crown Vic, reading a newspaper with the motor running. He peered up from his paper, his eyes narrowing as he recognized us. Gordie’s shoulders sank. “He’ll get off my back after he starts his new security job tomorrow. He’d better – I can’t take any more of this.” He gave a nod and hobbled toward his old man’s car.
Raj folded his arms across his chest. “Ever get the feeling his old man doesn’t like us? It’s like he thinks we’re drug kingpins.”
“He has a problem with Cannondale and everyone in it.”
Raj and I walked through the school gate and started down Evermore Avenue, halos of light reflecting in the fog around the streetlights as we made our way along the sidewalk. It’d be dusk soon. We stopped at the intersection, and Raj thumped the traffic light button about a dozen times more than he needed to. As we waited, my thoughts began to crystalize and a sickening feeling hit the pit of my stomach. Kyle and his crew really weren’t going to stop till I needed to be scraped off the ground with a shovel.
“Hey, what happened to asking out Allie?” Raj asked.
“What do you think?” I tried to swallow down the ill feeling in my stomach.
He hit the traffic light button another half-dozen times. “I’ve never seen Kyle and his crew acting so weird.” The light turned green and Raj stepped onto the street. “Kyle beat Tony Di Marzio unconscious last year just for accidently stepping on his foot. Can you imagine what he’s going to do to you?”
The sensitivity switch in Raj’s brain was malfunctioning again. I kicked an empty beer can as we rounded the corner onto Gates Street where tall weeds pushed through cracks in the concrete. Feeling drained, I stopped walking and put my hands on my hips. “What are we going to do?”
“We? This is your problem. I just need to find new friends.”
I gave him a sarcastic smile. “Like anyone else would hang out with you.”
“You wanna try saying that again?” He dropped his bag. “Let’s see what you got.”
Play fighting was Raj’s way of turning uncomfortable situations into something he could deal with. Glad for the distraction, I slipped my bag off my shoulder and lunged at him. He dodged and struck me in the chest with his elbow, and I buckled and gasped for air. Rushing at him rarely worked, but it was too tempting to resist.
He stepped back. “Hey, you okay?”
“Yeah, give me a minute. I just need to–” I straightened and pulled him into a headlock. He gripped my arm with both hands and thrashed his entire body. Behind him, an old lady in a purple coat gave us a dirty look and moved out of our way. Raj went limp for just long enough to look like he was beat, and then shoved my chest hard with his elbow, slamming me into the brick wall of the Lanzetta Brewery. He forced me hard against the wall, pulled back, and threw me against it again. When it came to finishing a fight, he didn’t mess about. I loosened my grip on his neck, and he pulled his head free, grinning.
On any given day, our fights were so evenly matched they could go either way, which is what made it so worthwhile. I leaned on the wall, laughing between gasps. “You dick.”
I’d almost caught my breath when distant footsteps rumbled the sidewalk from the next block. I looked in the direction of the sound. Rushing toward us, three figures raced across the intersection of Gates and Weston. It only took a fraction of a second to recognize them, and a stomach-churning surge of adrenaline hit me. I tugged Raj’s jacket. “Run!”
Abandoning my bag, I tore down the sidewalk, scanning for a way through the boarded-up stores or the tall fence surrounding the brewery. Raj’s footsteps and rapid breaths followed me, and heavy shoes pounded the sidewalk less than a block behind us. I ran to the McCafferty Street intersection and staggered to a stop at the curb. Passing me from behind, Raj stumbled onto the street and a Chevy pickup screeched its tires. I grabbed his arm and yanked him back onto the sidewalk as it rolled through.
Still gasping for air, I searched for a gap in the traffic. Kyle and his crew were less than three hundred feet away and closing in like three pissed-off cops chasing a fleeing dealer.
I tapped Raj’s arm and pointed at McCafferty Street. “That way.” Not needing convincing, he took off at warp speed, and I followed, glancing over my shoulder every few seconds. Tree roots had upended the sidewalk, making it difficult to put a foot down without twisting an ankle. Cars and buses filled both lanes, and directly ahead at the end of the block, another set of traffic lights glowed through the fog. Kyle, Fink, and Bundy would be on top of us before we could get through a gap in the traffic. Ahead of the intersection, a neon sign with the words “Cheyenne Coin Laundry” hung over the sidewalk. I shouted, “Raj!”
It appeared to take him a few seconds to recognize my voice before he looked back, his eyes darting about like a spooked rabbit.
I pointed at the sign. “Cheyenne.”
Changing direction, he sprinted to the launderette and swung the glass door wide, letting it crash against the wall as he leapt inside. I ran in behind him and threw the door closed. With equal parts panic and precision, Raj pushed down on a lever under the handle until it clicked.
Warm air flowed down from the ceiling, and the drone of the heating system muffled the noise of the cars and trucks in the street.
Coin-operated washers lined the walls, and caked washing powder covered most of the tile floor. We were alone in the launderette, nobody washing clothes and nobody minding the machines.
Outside, Fink stumbled to a stop at the door, breathing heavy and wiping his nose on his sleeve. He rattled the handle and thumped his fist on the glass.
Raj leaned his elbows on a washing machine, his chest heaving as he watched Fink peer in at us. “Now what? We can’t stay here all night.”
“You wanna try and leave instead?” I leaned against the wall and caught my breath.
Fink grabbed the handle and shook the door. He leaned down to examine the handle and then stepped back.
Crying had never been Raj’s thing, but I wondered if that was about to change. He pressed his hands to his cheeks and closed his eyes.
Almost like a demonic presence, Kyle appeared at the window, holding my gaze with a determined stare. Bundy moved in beside him, his cheeks red and his face contorted. Together, the three of them leaned against the glass looking in, calculating their next move. Not waiting for a group decision, Bundy lifted his right leg and drove his shoe down hard on the door handle.
Crack.
The doorframe separated half an inch from the wall, and concrete crumbled around the edges.
“Oh shit.” Raj scrambled to the back of the launderette.
I searched the floors, walls, and ceiling for something to swing at them. I’d be in luck if I could throw a washing machine, but other than that, nothing. A green curtain covered the far corner of the room. I ran past the washers and flicked the curtain back to find a fire escape door held shut by a barrel bolt. Escaping fires was so overrated anyway.
Another loud crack came from the front.
“He’s almost in!” Raj shouted. “What are you doing?”
“There’s a door back here.” I gripped the bolt and pulled it, but it didn’t budge. I jiggled it up and down and tried to wrench it back and forth, but my fingers slipped on the metal.
Smash. A tinkle of shattering glass came from the front of the laundromat. Raj flicked open the curtain. “They’re coming.”
I pulled my sleeve over my fingers and wrenched the bolt as hard as I could. Metal scraped against metal as it shifted a quarter inch – just enough. I shoved open the door and stepped into a dark alley, the freezing air swallowing me whole.
A rusty dumpster and two overflowing trashcans stood against the curb. To the left, the alley ended with a graffitied wall topped with barbed wire, and to the right it opened onto a backstreet. I clambered down the steps, my nose burning with the stink of rotting garbage and motor oil. Hiding in a dumpster of evil-smelling waste would’ve been tempting if it wasn’t for what
they’d do when they found us. I pointed at the backstreet. “This way.”
Raj leapt down the steps and landed on the side of his shoe, collapsing onto the pavement. “Fuck!” He got up and limped with a pained grimace, his eyes widening in desperation. Changing direction, he headed for the dumpster. “I’ll hide. You go.”
He wasn’t about to become a body in a dumpster if I could help it. I lifted his arm and wrapped it around my neck. “Come on!” He stagger-ran alongside me to the end of the alley, glancing back at the door. Abandoned offices and low-roofed warehouses lined both sides of the backstreet. A Buick waited at the intersection, and on the sidewalk, a white-haired old man hunched over a cart filled with junk.
Two hundred feet behind us, Fink kicked the fire escape door wide open and lurched left and right. He stepped into the alley and locked eyes with me. Kyle and Bundy leapt through behind him, and Fink broke into a sprint after us.
Moving slower than a crippled snail, Raj and I rounded the corner, the cold wind stinging my face as I scanned the street ahead. Dark alleys branched off on both sides like a human rabbit warren, and four yellow cabs stood in a line at the opposite curb near the intersection.
Raj pointed at the alley across the street. “Over there!”
“No, we won’t make it. The cabs.”
With Raj’s arm around my neck, we stumbled onto the street and shuffled to the first cab in the line. I
Killer of Giants Page 14
