Quicksilver: Manhattan Werewolves series, #2

1

SEPTEMBER 11, 2015

Mulberry Street, Little Italy

The lights flashed in colorful patterns, the red and white reflecting in the puddles on the street and the streams of water still running along the curb. The rain had been brief yet torrential, and it had done its job, pushing all but the most stalwart festival-goers out of the streets and away from the food stands and games. Samantha Karolyi looked up at the trailer awning and watched the steady drips of rain pouring off the top. She’d lowered the awning slightly when the rain began, hoping to avoid the heavy deluge that would be the result if left up. She sighed and took out another cigarette. She’d already managed to smoke through half the pack since the rain started. Ordinarily, Ange frowned on smoking in the games, but when it was raining, and marks were few, he merely frowned and looked the other way.

Sam sighed again and lit her cigarette, her gaze traveling over the few milling people and festival workers still on the street, finally stopping at the long-range trailer adjacent to the Roll-A-Ball game she was working. Or, more accurately, reclining on the tables, her back resting against the rear counter. She squinted at the basketball game and the slender black man standing in front of it. Sam chuckled to herself as she watched him shift awkwardly, the basketball tucked under his arm, his fingers taking turns running over the tidy cornrows running along his head and ending in a gathering at the nape of his neck.

Sam pulled out her phone and quickly dialed. Lifting the phone to her ear, she continued to watch the black man as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone.

Yeah?

Sam smiled. Lenny, you look about as comfortable as a cat in a hot tub. She watched as the black man turned toward her, his phone still pressed to his ear.

Yeah, well, you know about how much I like standing in the rain.

It’s not raining now. Spitting, maybe, but not raining. In reply, Sam saw Lenny waving at her, his middle finger raised. Sam chuckled again and promptly waved back. Lenny and she had been partnered only four months, but the record they accumulated in that short time was envied by most of the young detectives in the precinct. Within weeks of pairing them up, they had racked up an impressive number of collars and closed cases, earning them quite a reputation amongst the small-time dealers on the streets of the Lower East Side. More importantly, though, the pair had hit it off. Night-school educated Sam and degree-holding Leonidas Jackson could not have been more opposite, but their differences meshed rather than clashed.

Sam?

Yeah, Len?

How much longer are we going to stand in this, waiting for... nobody?

Sam shrugged. Until Ange tells us to close. Which could be any minute... Or another two hours. Sam glanced at her phone to check the time... Yep, two hours.

Festival people, also known as carnies, had very little concern for the workers freezing or baking in the joint trailers day and night if they were making money. Sam recalled other agents telling her about big time fairs up and down the East Coast, and how many days and nights they had spent getting no money, just sitting in the trailers watching the trickle of fair-goers straggle by. She’d seen it herself, that first summer when she was fifteen, and every summer after that until she went into the police academy. Her grandfather had arranged it with Ange only because he knew Ange was part of one of the Five Families and that Ange and his boys would look out for her.

Sam remembered the first time she’d passed by the Albanian club on Arthur Avenue. The brawny men sitting at tables outside drinking thick coffee, and Sam remembered the word thug popping into her head as she walked, keeping her eyes averted to avoid their notice. No such luck, though. One of the large men promptly started to talk to her, his bulk nearly blocking the sun as he stepped toward her in a sexually predatory advance.

Then there was Ange, along with his son Domenic. Not only did little 5-foot-4-inch Ange’s appearance cause the Albanians to back off, but it also got Sam an introduction to the club owner, and the designation to all in hearing that she was Ange’s niece.

No one ever bothered her again.

Sam?!

Sam shook her head, banishing the memories as she refocused on the phone, and on Lenny. Sorry, Len. What?

He. Is. Here.

Sam quickly got to her feet and stood at the center of the game, her free hand holding the center pillar as she straddled the gap between the tables. Where? Her eyes searched Mulberry Street first in one direction, then the other. Then her eyes fixed on the splashdown quarter trailer halfway down the next block – and the man leaning against it. The inside of the trailer was crowded with lookie-loos craning their necks to see inside as people slid quarters into the automated machine. Even amidst the large crowd, Sam could still see him, his Latin good looks, the cocky stance, the streetwise attitude...

Franco.

Sam felt an involuntary shiver as she moved away from her vantage point and stepped down onto one of the stools in front of the game table. She and Franco had history, and not the pleasant kind. One of her first calls as a rookie was to back-up a bust on a house in Bed-Stuy. She’d managed to get herself cornered in a shed out back, cornered by Franco. Sam shivered again. He hadn’t assaulted her, thank God, but the encounter still disturbed her.

She craned her neck, searching the street again to find him. Yep, still there, still oblivious. As tools go, Franco was not the sharpest. Hence, his standing out in plain sight like this. He had to know they were looking for him, and the rest of the organization as well.

Lenny had been reluctant to bring her along, fearing that this simple apprehension could quickly escalate when she and Franco came together again. Sam insisted, though, and proceeded to make herself indispensable by securing their cover for the sting as green help attached to Ange’s show.

Sam stepped from one stool to the next, her right hand and arm out for balance as the left continued to hold her phone to her ear. Has he seen you yet?

Lenny hesitated before answering. No. Don’t think so. I’d be more worried about him spotting—

Me. Sam froze, balanced rather precariously on the next-to-the-last stool, her gaze fixed on Franco, on his brown eyes, which, at the moment, were looking straight back into hers. She watched as realization washed over his face, his expression changing rapidly from oblivious to fully aware as he recognized who he was looking at. Then... he smiled. Teeth glinting in the glare of the blinking LED lights of the game trailers.

Shhhhiiiitttt!

Sam wasn’t entirely sure when she started moving, but her body suddenly went into high gear. She leapt down from the last stool and hit the ground in a run, pocketing her phone as she ran toward Franco. She could hear Lenny yelling, but couldn’t make out exactly what he was saying. Franco had turned and had taken off at a run-down Mulberry Street towards Canal Street.

The smells of zeppole and fried peppers gave way to soy sauce and rotting vegetables as Sam rounded the corner on to Canal Street. Once as much a part of the city’s Little Italy, the area was predominately Chinese now, and the cultural enclave continued to creep northward... to the chagrin of the traditional residents of the historically Italian neighborhood.

There were more people here, making it more difficult to keep Franco’s head in sight as she pursued him. He suddenly disappeared, and Sam slowed scanning the street for a sign of him, or why he disappeared. She found the latter... Canal Street Station.

A chase through the subway was not really at the top of her To Do list today, but Sam was determined to get this asshole once and for all. She took a deep breath and plunged down the stairs.

The warm wind, pushed ahead by an approaching train, hit her like a wall as her feet left the last stair. Sam held up her badge as she pushed through the emergency turnstile and headed on toward the platform below.

It was relatively quiet, with the few people gathered in anticipation for the next 6 train moving forward as close as safety permitted to the edge of the platform, positioning themselves to the greatest advantage, or so they believed. Getting a seat on the 6 train was always an accomplishment, especially at this time of night, but this far south was nearly the end of the line, so the rush was usually minimal. Sam noted the subdued attire of most of the soon-to-be passengers. Local businesspeople, no doubt... or others on the way to cocktails at one of the venerable bars or pubs in the oldest part of the city.

Another train was approaching, and as the warm rush of wind began to pick up, pushed ahead by the oncoming train, Sam spotted him. Franco was standing at the far end of the platform, nearly hidden behind the last column. He wasn’t moving, wasn’t looking around searching for her... He obviously thought his stealthy skills were better than they were... Moron.

The grinding gears and shrieking wheels of the approaching train grew louder as even hotter air washed over her skin, causing the hair on Sam’s arms to stand on-end. She had contemplated trying to take him now, dashing down the platform as the passengers stepped forward to board the on-coming train.

No... too much risk to others, and herself. She wasn’t sure if Franco had a weapon, even if he didn’t have a gun, or at least a knife on him, he could easily grab one of those waiting for the train and use them as a weapon.

Sam kept him in sight as the train barreled out of the tunnel and screeched to a stop. The doors clattered open and an exchange of people quickly took place. One thing New Yorkers knew how to do was get on and off a subway – fast, smooth and with as little human contact as possible. Sam watched to make sure that Franco got onto the last car, then quickly squeezed into the nearest one to her just moments before the doors slid shut.

Sam braced herself against the central pole, her legs spread slightly to help her balance as the train jerked forward. The car was nearly empty, only a handful of people sitting scattered around the car, and a lone dark figure mirroring her posture at the next central pole.

Sam let her gaze scan the seated people before finally resting on the figure, her training taking over as she noted his appearance and manner.

He was tall, nearly a foot taller than her, and the long black duster he was wearing hung well on his muscular frame. Beneath the coat he wore a hooded shirt of some kind, the hood was pulled up over his head, hiding all but a few tendrils of curly, nearly black hair. His jaw was strong, covered with a growth of dark stubble, but his eyes were hidden behind opaque dark sunglasses. She watched him flexing his fingers, as if wanting to be at the ready for... something. Sam looked up again... and realized he was looking straight back at her.

The door leading to the next car opened and the conductor stepped into the car, bringing with him a gust of hot wind from the tunnel. It blew by Sam, breezing on toward the man in dark clothes. He suddenly stiffened, his frame going rigid and the gaze of his sunglasses becoming even more intense. He parted his lips as he inhaled through his nose and mouth, and Sam had the strangest of thoughts... but it seemed like he was tasting the air. Sam shifted herself, repositioning in case tall, dark, and (probably) handsome decided to do something brazenly stupid right here in the subway.

It looked like he wouldn’t have time, though, because Brooklyn Bridge/ City Hall station loomed ahead.

Sam watched peripherally as she moved toward the door, noting that the man was moving to the door nearest him as well. Apparently, he was planning to get out there, too. The train slowed to a stop, brakes grinding and electricity snapping beneath their feet. 

The doors clattered open and everyone began to exit the cars. This station was the last one on the 6, so it was an everybody-out sort of stop.

Sam hurried out of the subway car and wove her way towards the stairs, taking them two at a time until she was halfway up. She turned, scanning the faces of the people approaching her, searching for a sign of... Ah, there he was. Franco was strutting... poor schmuck thought he’d lost her back on Canal.

Sam turned her head slightly, trying to blend with the people coming up the stairs, all the while keeping her eyes on Franco, waiting until he was two steps above her...

"You thought you lost me, didn’t you?

Franco started at the sound of her voice and whirled around, his elbow catching Sam’s shoulder and pushing her backwards. He turned and ran immediately, and all Sam could think of was how hard that cement floor was going to be when she hit it.

But she didn’t. Instead, Sam could feel two hands gripping her shoulders from behind, stopping her momentum backwards and pushing her gently upright.

Franco reached the top of the stairs and disappeared into the group of exiting former passengers, pushing and shoving his way through. Sam didn’t stop to look back or thank her strong-handed savior, instead dashing up the stairs two at a time and racing for the exit. She pushed through the crowd of straggling people mounting the stairs to the street.

Sam looked around feverishly, her eyes scanning the area surrounding City Hall, looking for a sign of Franco’s retreating figure in the dim light. And there he was... headed East toward the bridge. Sam fumbled in her pocket, pulling out her phone. She hit the programmed speed dial number for Lenny. Shoot, he was going to be pissed at her...

The Man in Black watched Sam as she ran down Park Row, her phone to her ear. He opened his mouth slightly, then inhaled, tasting the air again. He frowned behind his dark glasses, his forehead creasing as he scowled in the direction in which Sam had run, then looked up at the silhouette of the Brooklyn Bridge in the distance.

SAM’S FEET POUNDED the pavement as she ran down Park Row. She could see the signs as she passed them, the ones indicating that the approach to the Brooklyn Bridge was, well, approaching. Franco was visible up ahead, not close enough to grab, unfortunately, but certainly reachable if she could put on another burst of speed within the next block or so. She’d always been a fast runner, quick on her feet and all, which was why everyone had been after her to play basketball back in grade school when she was still considered tall enough for it.

Even at the Police Academy, Sam had been speedy, and many of her fellow cadets had watched in awe as she sprinted through the obstacle course, scooting up walls and successfully leaping through rope and rail equipment.

She just let them think she was gifted rather than clarify that she and her best friend, Ben, had been free running their way through fire escapes and playground equipment around the city since they were teens.

The Bridge loomed ahead, and Franco was showing no signs of stopping. Sam pushed on... Lenny had been irate, as she thought he would be, but he was on his way with backup. Even if she cornered Franco, she wouldn’t be alone with him for long. Her path shifted slightly as she ran through the pale stone arch spanning the entrance to the Bridge. Franco had veered to the right, heading up and onto the top level, and Sam did likewise, lunging her way up the incline with an extra burst of speed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw movement behind her, someone running as well. She dismissed it as possible backup arriving... maybe a patrol had been in the area after all... She pushed forward up the ramp, her legs twitching, her lungs burning.

Reaching the top, Sam pressed on. Franco was slowing and seemed to be searching the railing area... for an exit, perhaps. Oh, no you don’t, Sam thought as she dug deep for a last burst of speed, aiming to reach him and grab him before he attempted to hop the railing on to the bike path.

He was just getting his footing when she reached him, barreling into his back and sending Franco crashing into the metal fence with a grunt. Sam momentarily lost her balance, but it was moment enough for Franco to get his bearings quickly and whirl on her, grabbing her wrists and pushing her up against the fence.

You know, Franco panted, bringing his body up tightly behind her, his breath at her ear. You know, baby girl, I had a feeling we’d end up in this position eventually. He ran his sharply-stumbled cheek along hers. Smooth as silk... I bet you are all over, too.

That’s enough of that... Sam jerked her head back, catching Franco in the nose. As he stumbled back grabbing his nose in pain, he released his grip on her and Sam scrambled away from the fencing toward the railing. She gripped the railing, catching her breath as she caught a good view of the ground four stories below. It was a long way down, and the thought had no sooner passed through her head when she heard the yell of rage and the sounds of scrambling behind her. Sam turned just in time to see Franco coming at her. Blood was smeared across his face, making him look more like Darth Maul than a two-bit druggie.

He slammed into Sam, pinning her against the railing. She could feel herself beginning to lose her balance as he bent her backwards, her back screaming as the metal railing dug into her. Franco leaned over her, his weight pressing her down against the railing even harder, and Sam let out a yelp of pain as the last bit of her breath was pushed out of her lungs.

You shouldn’t have done that... Bitch.

Sam felt his hand on her thigh and prepared herself to fend off the assault that was coming. Then she felt her feet come off the ground. The lights of the Bridge arced before her eyes as she began to fall. She felt her breath catch, the sinking pressure in her stomach just like the feeling she got riding the Cyclone at Coney Island. Everything around her was a blur of darkness and light, everything... except the Moon. Silent and still, she hung upon the cheek of night... a beauty too rich for use...

The ground was near... she could sense it even without turning her head. She knew it would be the ground that she hit, because the East River, though decidedly gross, would be survivable. This probably would not.

Sam started to close her eyes, the familiar words of the Act of Contrition beginning to run through her mind, when she thought she saw another movement from the Bridge above.

A dark shadowy... figure...

The smell of peppermint...

The shattering pain...

Blackness.

2

MARCH 17, 2016

Fifth Avenue and 51st Street

St. Patrick’s Cathedral

Sam fiddled with the lid of her Styrofoam coffee cup as she bobbed and weaved on the corner, her gun belt rubbing against the edge of her heavy leather jacket. The gun belt was heavy, too, and she honestly hated wearing it... But it was better than suspension, and if being back to work meant being back to work and on the street in uniform, then so be it... For now.

Light snow flurries had begun to fall this morning, as was often the case when it was parade day, and the weather report was not encouraging as the start time quickly approached. The fall was, in fact, increasing, and the size of the flakes was getting larger, heavier. Looked like the annual snowstorm might fall on Saint Patrick’s Day this year after all.

Sam took another sip of her coffee, the steam rising from the small opening and briefly obscuring her lips, adjusted her sunglasses as she looked around at the crowds gathering. The Saint Patrick’s Day Parade was major, to be sure, and always required extra personnel to keep an eye out for the rowdy who had started their drinking way to early in the day, which also unfortunately included some parade marchers at times. Sam had worked the parade before, in the past, a light day’s work compared to her usual assignments, but this