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I shut the door and take the gear out from neutral, my foot pressing down on the clutch. Destiny must be close and, if I act quick, I might find her before Lester’s men do.
I can’t believe that I’m about to do this, but fuck it. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I have no time to waste right now. I step my foot down on the accelerator and, as the engine starts to roar, I let go of the clutch.
The limo races down the alley and, by some miracle, I manage not to hit any of the mirrors against the wall. Swerving as the alley comes to an end, I press down on the brake and turn the wheel as if I’m driving not a limo but the fucking Titanic; this thing is too huge to maneuver at the speed I’m going, but it’ll have to do.
I honk as the limo jumps out onto Broadway, and people start jumping out of the way as the big black limo finally gets into the right lane.
Lucky for me, most passer-bys are more worried about what’s going on at Dirty Destiny than they are about the madman behind the limo’s steering wheel. No wonder, there are so many cops around Destiny’s club that you’d think she’s the fucking head of the Islamic State that they’re chasing after.
I can see the whole confusion around Destiny’s club from where I am, but that’s not what I’m interested in right now. As I drive down Broadway, I slow down and narrow my eyes as I try to spot Destiny or the cops chasing after her.
Then I see it, two men holding guns running down the sidewalk. They’re making a fucking show, pushing people around brandishing their weapons. They’re acting like the rest of the police, except they are not wearing any uniforms… and they don’t look like cops at all.
Fuck, if Lester brought guys like these for a raid, he sure means business.
I start driving after them, trying to keep my distance, but then they stop. They talk to one another, look around, and I start feeling relieved as I realize that they’ve probably lost Destiny.
But then the fuckers start pointing and then head down an alley. I can’t follow them there with this limo… I could just follow on foot, but I risk losing them.
Well, fuck it; I press my foot down to the metal and grit my teeth as the limo jumps over the sidewalk. The men are already reaching the end of the alley, and they’re so deep in their hunt that they barely notice the roaring limo behind them.
That’s when I see it: Destiny was hiding under a car at the end of the alley, and they have caught up with her. One of them is grabbing her by the arms and pushing her against the wall, and the other one is waving his revolver at her.
These motherfuckers are going to regret the day they’ve stepped foot inside their club, that much I can promise you.
The limo roars down the alley, but then they turn toward me, it’s already too late. I hit the brakes right before I hit them; if it weren’t for Destiny I might just have run over these bastards, and then step out of the limo.
They squint their eyes, trying to see who’s facing them down, but they can’t see me because of the headlights right in their eyes.
Before they can make a move, I jump over the hood of the limo and send my fist crashing against the face of the first man. He falls down on the ground, grabbing his broken nose, and the other man turns around to face me.
He raises his gun at me, but I grab his wrist and twist his arm around, only stopping when I hear the nauseating sound of his bones breaking.
“Fucking wish you’re dead after this, motherfucker,” I yell through clenched teeth, kicking the man closest to me in his ribs.
I hear fucking bone crunch.
I don’t fucking care.
The first guy tries to rise up, but seeing the look in my face he wavers.
I don’t fucking take a chance. I run the three steps over to him and kick him.
Hard.
My foot hits his face.
He crumples.
I’m breathing hard. Fucking seeing red.
I kick both their guns as far away from them as I can, and then finally turn to Destiny.
“You okay?” I ask her, and she closes the distance between us and presses her mouth against my own.
“I am now,” she whispers at me. “Let’s get out of here.” Holding her with one arm over her shoulders, I take her to the passenger’s seat in the limo and then take my seat behind the steering wheel. The men—definitely not cops—are crawling toward their guns, but the moment they hear the roar of the limo’s engine they roll to the side to let us through.
Now more calmly, I take us through the late New York’s traffic and head right down to my apartment in the Financial District. I’ll be close enough to Python if anything happens and, besides, I need to get to the bottom of this right now.
