Read Online Fifth Ave 02 - Running of the Bulls by Christopher Smith - Free Book Online
Authors: Christopher Smith
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“Are you expecting an apology from me?” she asked.
He didn’t answer.
“Because I won’t apologize,” she said. “You would have done the same thing had you been there.”
“No, I wouldn’t have.”
“I’ve seen you do worse.”
“I won’t deny that,” he said. “But I wouldn’t have pushed Hayes out that window. It wasn't necessary. It was juvenile. You’re too proud to admit it and that’s what disappoints me.” He started to walk past her. “But that’s your age and probably your gender, so I can look past it--this time.”
He shot her a sidelong glance, his eyes bright despite the dark room. “It'll be interesting to see how you handle Maria Martinez.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The van, a slate-blue Ford Spocatti picked up in Queens, farted little clouds of exhaust as it ribboned through the city.
It was rust-spotted and fender-dented, but its engine was strong and it drew no attention on these streets, which, Carmen knew, was the reason he bought it in the first place. He hit a string of green lights and sailed to 145th Street, just off the Harlem River, where he parked across from Maria Martinez's tenement and sat waiting with the engine off for the police to bring her home.
Carmen rolled down the passenger window and watched the activity on the street. It was almost midnight and the sidewalks were alive with the homeless, whores and pimps, pushers and addicts, their sunken faces occasionally caught in the trembling headlights of passing cars. Here, the streetlamps were dark. The city refused to pay for bulbs that were constantly being smashed by gunfire. Instead, the major source of light came from a storefront, where a couple was freebasing coke.
“Stay here,” Spocatti said.
He opened the door and stepped out. Carmen looked in the side mirror and watched him move down the sidewalk until the shadows and the night slid over his back and engulfed him. She didn’t know where he was going or what he had in mind, but his trust in her had weakened and she was surprised by how much that bothered her. She’d been in this business seven years and she’d never been caught. Her hits were as daring as his, her reputation just as solid. She had nothing to prove and yet she obviously tried to impress him when she pushed Hayes out the window. Why? What was it about him that made her want to be viewed as an equal in his eyes?
What was it about herself?
She leaned against the seat. What had Martinez seen? Anything? It all happened so quickly, Carmen couldn’t be sure. She played the movie of her memory through her mind and saw only a badly edited, disappointing blur--Hayes kneeling, mouth bleeding, head lowered, falling through. Everything else was lost in the dizzying rush of adrenaline that had overwhelmed her at that moment and she realized now just how wrong she’d been to go against the plan.
She looked for him in the side mirror, but all she could see was a dim stretch of empty sidewalk fading into darkness. It occurred to her that being here was not about killing Maria Martinez or learning what she might have seen. Rather, this was about saving face, fixing the past, re-instilling faith in Spocatti, and moving on with what they’d been hired to do. If she failed? Spocatti might shut her out completely.
The door swung open and he stepped inside. Carmen cupped a hand over the interior light and waited for it to dim. She glanced down at his hand and saw in it a tiny plastic bag, a spoon, a syringe. He tossed it all onto the dash and looked across the street. “Anything?” he asked.
She looked at the gleam of that syringe and shook her head.
Spocatti reached for the bag and the warped metal spoon with its blackened tip. The bag was filled with white powder. Cocaine or heroin, she couldn’t be sure. He emptied it into the spoon and told her to
He didn’t answer.
“Because I won’t apologize,” she said. “You would have done the same thing had you been there.”
“No, I wouldn’t have.”
“I’ve seen you do worse.”
“I won’t deny that,” he said. “But I wouldn’t have pushed Hayes out that window. It wasn't necessary. It was juvenile. You’re too proud to admit it and that’s what disappoints me.” He started to walk past her. “But that’s your age and probably your gender, so I can look past it--this time.”
He shot her a sidelong glance, his eyes bright despite the dark room. “It'll be interesting to see how you handle Maria Martinez.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
The van, a slate-blue Ford Spocatti picked up in Queens, farted little clouds of exhaust as it ribboned through the city.
It was rust-spotted and fender-dented, but its engine was strong and it drew no attention on these streets, which, Carmen knew, was the reason he bought it in the first place. He hit a string of green lights and sailed to 145th Street, just off the Harlem River, where he parked across from Maria Martinez's tenement and sat waiting with the engine off for the police to bring her home.
Carmen rolled down the passenger window and watched the activity on the street. It was almost midnight and the sidewalks were alive with the homeless, whores and pimps, pushers and addicts, their sunken faces occasionally caught in the trembling headlights of passing cars. Here, the streetlamps were dark. The city refused to pay for bulbs that were constantly being smashed by gunfire. Instead, the major source of light came from a storefront, where a couple was freebasing coke.
“Stay here,” Spocatti said.
He opened the door and stepped out. Carmen looked in the side mirror and watched him move down the sidewalk until the shadows and the night slid over his back and engulfed him. She didn’t know where he was going or what he had in mind, but his trust in her had weakened and she was surprised by how much that bothered her. She’d been in this business seven years and she’d never been caught. Her hits were as daring as his, her reputation just as solid. She had nothing to prove and yet she obviously tried to impress him when she pushed Hayes out the window. Why? What was it about him that made her want to be viewed as an equal in his eyes?
What was it about herself?
She leaned against the seat. What had Martinez seen? Anything? It all happened so quickly, Carmen couldn’t be sure. She played the movie of her memory through her mind and saw only a badly edited, disappointing blur--Hayes kneeling, mouth bleeding, head lowered, falling through. Everything else was lost in the dizzying rush of adrenaline that had overwhelmed her at that moment and she realized now just how wrong she’d been to go against the plan.
She looked for him in the side mirror, but all she could see was a dim stretch of empty sidewalk fading into darkness. It occurred to her that being here was not about killing Maria Martinez or learning what she might have seen. Rather, this was about saving face, fixing the past, re-instilling faith in Spocatti, and moving on with what they’d been hired to do. If she failed? Spocatti might shut her out completely.
The door swung open and he stepped inside. Carmen cupped a hand over the interior light and waited for it to dim. She glanced down at his hand and saw in it a tiny plastic bag, a spoon, a syringe. He tossed it all onto the dash and looked across the street. “Anything?” he asked.
She looked at the gleam of that syringe and shook her head.
Spocatti reached for the bag and the warped metal spoon with its blackened tip. The bag was filled with white powder. Cocaine or heroin, she couldn’t be sure. He emptied it into the spoon and told her to
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