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.‘We’re closed,’ he shouted over the roar of the vacuum and the sirens that were now screaming down Greenwich.‘I’m being followed,’ she said, ‘is there a back way out?’As though he’d heard this a thousand times, he pointed toward an exit sign at the far end of the dance floor.‘Thanks.’ She ran, came to the back door and gently pushed it open.She peered out on an alley that opened on to Sixth Avenue.The busy thoroughfare seemed broad and exposed.She heard sirens to the north heading east.She figured they were after Hobbs.So how could she get across the avenue without attracting a posse of her own? Still hidden, she ducked back inside.A door to her right had a sign – EMPLOYEES ONLY.She tried the handle and let herself into a small break room.She grabbed a Yankees cap from an open locker and felt a pang of guilt as she helped herself to a distressed and well-loved bombardier jacket and threw it over her top.She went back to the exit, took a deep breath, jogged the length of the alley, and keeping her eyes straight ahead, began to cross the avenue.‘There she is!’ a woman’s voice shouted.Barrett’s heart sank as her head whipped around.She saw Carla running flat out a block south on Waverly.The Guardsmen were in hot pursuit of her, but that maybe would buy Barrett a bit of time.She somehow got safely across Sixth and tried to figure the route.With cops both to the north and south she couldn’t see a lot of options.Still over a mile from Glash’s building on Delancey, she had an awful feeling.This was never going to work.As she started to jog east on Fifth Street, doubts flooded her.What if Hobbs was wrong and Glash wasn’t with his father? What if we’re too late?Her eye caught on a bread delivery truck parked in front of Emilio’s restaurant.The driver, his arms laden with two large brown paper sacks of rolls and loaves, was being led inside.Barrett sprinted to the driver’s side.She checked the ignition – no key.Her hand flew up to the sun visor.‘Hey, lady!’ a voice shouted.The driver, a young man dressed in white, ran over.‘What you think you doing?’ he demanded.‘I’m desperate,’ she said, taking in the stocky, dark-haired young man in his tee-shirt, apron and baker’s pants.‘I have to get to Delancey.’‘You ever heard of a cab? Stealing trucks is kind of hardcore – you don’t look the type.’Sirens turned off the avenue and headed toward them.‘Please,’ she pleaded.‘What did you do?’ he insisted, blocking her exit with his body.‘Listen, Richard Glash, the nut who plans to spread plague, is holed up in Delancey Street,’ she blurted.‘No one believes me, and I’ve got to try and stop him.’The smile faded from the young man’s face.‘Even if you’re shitting me, I’ll take you.Move over.’‘Thank God!’ She shifted over to the passenger’s side, and then pressed back into the seat, lowering the cap over her face as two police cars with lights and sirens blaring slowly cruised past.The driver turned to her.‘They’re really looking for you, aren’t they?’She nodded.‘Yes, please hurry.’‘What’s your name?’ he asked, pulling the ignition key from his pocket.‘Barrett.’‘I’m Marco, Barrett.’ He checked the mirrors and pulled out behind the last cruiser.‘You sure you’re not an escaped mental patient?’ he asked, as they inched with the heavy traffic down the block.Barrett could barely breathe.The bread truck seemed too exposed; all it would take was for one of the cops to turn around.But then again, did they even know what she looked like?‘It’s a fucking zoo!’ Marco said as the light changed.‘Shit!’ He turned right and they were met by a hurriedly erected police blockade that stretched across Sixth.Pedestrians were quickly gathering, making a thick circle around the frantic redhead, who was surrounded by Guardsmen in hazmat suits and uniformed police.Carla was screaming, ‘Richard Glash isn’t dead.He’s staying with his father on Delancey Street!’ She could be heard yelling out the address, as the armed personnel closed in on her.‘You’ve got to believe me!’Marco looked at Barrett, as a cop tried to move them down the street and off the avenue on to an already congested 8th Street.‘Friend of yours?’‘There were three of us,’ she said, realizing with a crushing certainty that no one was paying attention to what Carla was saying.‘Wait a minute,’ Marco said.‘You were one of the hostages [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]