Read Online Remo Went Rogue by Mike McCrary - Free Book Online Page A

it was dark and the guy was wearing a bad beard, dark glasses and a hoodie. This time he’s able to get good look at the youngest Mashburn.  
    Chicken Wing stands still among the bystanders scurrying for safety, staring directly at Remo. His mouth cracks into a bone-freezing grin, followed by a finger curl wave.
    The blood drains from Remo's face as Chicken Wing gives a bounce-step and starts toward him. Chicken Wing walks a straight line through the masses running in every direction—a shark fin cutting through the water.
    Remo takes off, pursued by Chicken Wing. He loves it when they run.
    In and out of the crowds, they slice between gridlocked cabs, limos, and delivery vans. Remo darts in front of one of the few vehicles moving, a cab which stops just shy of taking off Remo’s leg. He jumps, rolling across the hood, back bouncing hard off the windshield before tumbling back to his feet on the street.
    Horns blare.
    Profanity flies.
    Chicken Wing’s still on him.
    Remo cuts through Macy’s, trying to find cover among the patrons long enough to catch his breath. Turning, looking, he doesn’t see the man chasing him. Taking a beat, Remo works to gather his senses.
    Chicken Wings springs through the store doors and scans the floor, wild eyes looking for his unwilling playmate.   Remo runs for all he’s worth up the nearest escalator, Chicken Wing back in pursuit.
    Second floor. Remo pushes and shoves his way through a Women’s Sports Wear Sale, doesn’t slow down or look back. His heart feels like it’s pumping battery acid as he races to an exit door. He finds an employee only stairway and takes the concrete stairs two, three at a time. Lungs on fire now but he can’t stop, flying to the emergency exit covered in alarm warnings. Remo pushes through, alarm screaming, and hits the street like he was shot from a cannon. Runs wild without knowing really where he’s going, only that he can’t stop. The feeling of safety he soaked in just minutes ago gone as quickly as it came.
    He spots a cab pulling out up ahead and chases it down, beating on the roof, slapping a palm to the window. The cab finally stops.
    Remo dives into the back, a bona fide mess. Barely gets out, “Anywhere,” to the cabbie before the cab door opens. Remo almost jumps out of his skin as Chicken Wing slides in.
    “You mind if we split this? Got a flight to catch,” Chicken Wing says with a shit-eating grin.
    Remo can’t speak.

    The cab takes off.      

14
     

    The cab cuts through the packed New York streets where it can, weaving in and around traffic and civilians who are completely unaware of the situation playing out in the cab’s backseat.
    This is possibly the single most unnerving moment of Remo’s existence. He’s been in close proximity to a lot of unpleasant individuals, no questions, but not like this. He’s not completely sure it’s number one, but sharing a cab with a psycho who murdered two peopleand intends to kill himis at least in the top three.
    A silent ride save for Remo trying to catch his breath, which isn’t going too well. He keeps his eyes actively looking for an exit. Chicken Wing pulls a New York Times from the floor. They don’t make eye contact. Remo labors to the get a hold of himself.
    Chicken Wing breaks the silence. “Where ya headed?”
    Remo can’t believe the question, but he answers. “Away.”
    “Must be nice to have that kinda freedom.” Chicken Wing puts the paper down and leans in close. Uncomfortably close. “More freedom than you gave my brother.”
    Remo jerks back. “Stay the fuck away from me.”
    “I’m just saying.” Chicken Wing goes back to the paper.
    “Who are you?”
    “You know me, man.”
    “Sorry, I don’t.”
    “Friends and family call me Chicken Wing. To you, it’s Mr. fuckin’ Mashburn.”
    Remo’s blood stops. He’s seen pictures, heard stories, but has never had the displeasure of meeting Mr. Chicken Wing Mashburn face-to-face.
    The cab driver looks