Ghosts of Manhattan (11 page)

Everything was silent. He realized he was holding his breath. He waved Celeste inside and then rushed in after her, hoping there would be enough time to barricade the door behind them before the gangsters arrived.

The room on the other side was sparsely furnished, with only one exit in the shape of an open door that appeared to lead out into the basement proper. There was a roughly hewn set of wooden table and chairs, a mirror, a sink, and a pile of old newspapers. Gabriel guessed that this was where the showgirls prepared for their performances, preening themselves before the mirror and each other. It was hardly the most salubrious of dressing rooms.

Celeste made for the door. Gabriel called out, stopping her in her tracks. "No! Wait. Help me with this." He dropped his gun on the table and then grabbed the wooden lip, dragging the heavy piece of furniture toward the door, its legs squealing against the tiled floor in protest. Celeste rushed over to help him, and a moment later they had formed a rough blockade, propping the table beneath the door handle to jam it. Next, Gabriel heaved a couple of the chairs on top of the table and piled the rest around it, trying to make the barricade as deep as possible. It wouldn't stop the mobsters for long-especially if they had managed to bring one or both of their green-faced monsters into the passageway with them-but it might just buy them enough time to get away.

Gabriel retrieved his weapon, and then indicated to Celeste to lead the way. She knew this building better than anyone. That was their only real advantage.

The basement beneath this adjoining house had clearly been put to more nefarious use than the club next door. Passing through the low archway that led from the small room, it opened out into a space roughly the same size as Joe's. But here, the decor was far less plush and expensive, and it had about it the stink of old cigar smoke and whisky. Rats, too. Gabriel could always tell if there'd been rats. He hated the dirty animals. He'd seen them devouring the dead, in France. It still haunted his dreams.

He glanced around, trying to make sense of the shapes he could see hulking in the gloom. There were round tables, identical to the ones in Joe's. He crossed to the nearest of them. A deck of playing cards had been abandoned there; used, heaped haphazardly, along with half a dozen empty glasses and an ashtray, the stubs of fat brown cigars now cold and nestling amongst the ash. It took Gabriel only a moment to realize what this was. "Poker. A gambling den. So that's how Franco kept his nose clean at Joe's."

There was a crash from the small room behind them. The goons were trying to break through the door. Celeste nearly jumped out of her skin. "Come on!"

Gabriel rushed to her side. "Okay. Which way?"

"Follow me."

They raced to the back of the room, narrowly avoiding all manner of obstacles- wooden crates full of imported goods, barrels of cheap alcohol, boxes of cigarettes-as they wound their way toward the stairs that would lead them, hopefully, to safety. Franco had been running quite an operation. Gabriel wondered who would be in line to take it over, now that the man himself was dead.

Celeste, even in her heels, cleared the short staircase in three bounds, and Gabriel followed close behind. He could hear muffled voices now, from down below, and realized that their pursuers had finally managed to smash their way through his temporary barricade.

Panting for breath, he called after Celeste. "We need a vehicle. A car. We need to get away from here."

Celeste stopped in the mouth of the doorway, hovering like some ghostly siren leading him on in a wild chase. Beyond her was the hallway, and beyond that, the relative safety of the Manhattan night. She turned toward him, a wild look in her eyes. "Where's your car?"

"I told you. I took the train."

She laughed, then, and Gabriel didn't know whether it was in desperation or hysteria. He realized there wasn't much difference at that point in the proceedings. "I didn't think you actually meant it!"

He grinned. "I know." The voices behind them were getting louder. He could hear footsteps on the stairs. "Looks like we'll just have to make it up as we go. Now run!"

He grabbed her bodily and pushed her toward the exit, his breath ragged, his heart thumping in his breast. They crossed the hallway, and he was shocked by the relative comfort and modernity on display. Here, unlike the rest of the building he had seen so far, there was a thick, plush carpet, a hat stand, a large painting adorning the wall. It was the entrance to somebody's apartment. Johnny Franco must have lived upstairs.

Gabriel had no time to ponder the matter further, though, as the crooks were gaining on them. Celeste flung herself at the door, and then fell away in dismay when she found it wouldn't budge. The door was locked, and there was no key. They were cornered.

"Stand back!" Gabriel practically shoved her out of the way as he brought his revolver up, pointing it at the lock. "Cover your ears." He squeezed the trigger; watched as the chamber revolved, loosing a shot into the wooden door and sending splinters showering into the air. He fired again and then grabbed hold of the handle and yanked the door open. Outside, the night was cool and dark. The moon was a shining disk in the sky. He turned to Celeste. "Go!"

She fled, her heels clicking on the paving slabs as she ran up the steps and out into the street. There was a grunting sound from the other end of the hallway, followed by the report of a shot being fired. Gabriel felt the bullet whistle past his thigh, felt the hot pain of it graze his skin as it only just missed its mark. He didn't wait for the next one. He practically dove out of the doorway, tumbling over a stone pot and falling against the steps that led up to the street. He scrambled up the first few steps, and then felt a hand grab him by the wrist, hauling him up to standing. Celeste. He offered her a grateful smile.

It was dark outside, but the streetlamps cast their warm, radial glow. The street itself was deserted. Gabriel knew it wouldn't stay that way for long. The police would be on their way by now, and soon they'd be flooding into the wreckage that was once Johnny Franco's Sensation Club. He wasn't about to hang around waiting, though, not with people taking shots at him. He needed to get Celeste to safety.

There were two identical cars parked outside the front of the club; black, sleek, and modern. Steam and smoke billowed out from the rear of one of them, and Gabriel knew he had no choice but to take it, with force if necessary. He rushed over to the driver's side and flung open the door. The driver-clearly a goon belonging to the same mob as the men pursuing them-looked up, startled. Then, just as he recovered himself and was about to reach for his weapon, Gabriel clubbed him across the temple, hard, with the butt of his revolver. The man crumpled into unconsciousness, and Gabriel grabbed his lifeless body by the collar and hauled him out of the vehicle, dropping him carelessly to the road. He glanced up to see Celeste standing by the car, unsure what to do. "Get in!" he screamed, and, startled, she leapt into the passenger seat, visibly shaking.

Gabriel released the parking brake and slammed his foot on the accelerator, tearing away down the road just as a hail of bullets shattered the rear windshield and pattered into the armored plates covering the back end of the vehicle.

The car careened down the road, swerving around other parked cars whilst Gabriel attempted to get it under control. He glanced in the rearview mirror, and then, sighing, tossed his revolver across to Celeste. "They're coming after us. Here. Fill this up with bullets. They're in my pocket. You'll have to find them while I drive."

Celeste was clearly in shock. She turned to stare at him, her eyes wide. "You shot that man! After they killed Johnny Franco. You just casually pulled this ... gun ... out of your pocket and shot him dead."

Gabriel took a deep breath. The circumstances had been ... different. It wasn't that he'd killed in cold blood. He'd shot to protect the woman he loved. He knew what those people were capable of. When he spoke, his voice was low and serious. "Shoot first. That's what they taught us in France. Always shoot first. Take them by surprise and don't give away your advantage. I was trying to protect you."

"Protect me ..." She seemed lost, as if the horrors she'd witnessed down there in the cellar bar had somehow caused her mind to disengage. Gabriel decided not to press the point; didn't have time to consider the implications anyway. But later-later he would get to the bottom of why these men had gone to such terrible lengths to attempt to kidnap this woman he loved. What could they possibly want with a jazz singer?

"Celeste!"

She started, shocked by his forcefulness.

"Fill the gun with bullets. We're going to need it ..." He trailed off as he swung the car wide around a sharp corner, narrowly missing a pedestrian crossing the road, an old man in a gray overcoat who looked more surprised than angry as they shot off along the slick tarmac, black smoke erupting from the twin exhaust funnels at the rear.

The other car was gaining on them, and he could see two of the mobsters leaning out of the windows, tommy guns at the ready. He needed desperately to stay out of their range.

Celeste, woken from her momentary reverie, was now fishing around in his pocket, attempting to grab hold of the stray bullets. And then, a moment later, she was screaming.

Gabriel, trying to keep one eye on the road, turned about in his seat to see what was happening. A man-a mobster-was in the back of the car, leaning through the gap between the front seats so that he could grapple with Celeste, attempting to wrestle the weapon out of her grip. He must have been in the vehicle all the while, lying low in the back, waiting for his opportunity to strike. Gabriel chanced a proper look. He was a big man with a bushy black moustache, and he was wearing a satisfied sneer as he twisted Celeste's wrist, causing her to cry out again in pain. To her credit, she still had a tight grip on the revolver, but the angle of the man's attack meant that it was pointing away from him, forced low, toward the dashboard.

Gabriel had to help her. But he had to keep moving, too. If he stopped the vehicle, the others would be upon them in seconds, and if he let go of the wheel, they'd likely end up as a burning wreck in the side of a building when the car veered off course. His choices were limited.

He glanced at Celeste. Her eyes were pleading. Keeping one hand on the wheel, he tried to hold the vehicle on a straight path as he twisted around in his seat and jabbed his right elbow back sharply into the other man's face. It connected hard, jarring the crook's neck, and the man howled in pain. Gabriel tried again, this time catching the man in the mouth and loosening a couple of teeth. Blood spattered over the seats. The man momentarily relaxed his grip on Celeste. That was all she needed. Gripping the gun, she twisted around in her seat and pulled the trigger, firing a shot into the man's chest at point-blank range.

The mobster gave a short, burbling cry, and then, blood trickling down his chin, slumped back into the rear seat, his eyes staring unseeing at the jazz singer, his hands folded across his lap, dark liquid oozing between his fingers. The smell of cordite filled the air.

Gabriel grasped the wheel with both hands. He was breathing hard. "Are you okay?"

Celeste was wearing a hard expression. "I'm okay." She resumed her search for the bullets in his pocket, feeding them into the chamber of the gun. Gabriel noticed that one of her gloves was scorched with residue from firing the weapon. He glanced in the mirror again.

"They're gaining on us!" The incident with the man in the back had slowed them down; he'd taken his attention off the road. He pushed his foot flat to the floor, heard the engine roar in protest. The streets were getting busier here, and he had to dodge out of the way of an oncoming vehicle, another car, which sounded its horn expressively to signal its driver's annoyance.

Rat-a-tat-tat. More gunfire. Gabriel found himself ducking instinctively as the projectiles hammered home. He heard the hiss of steam venting-a bullet had clearly punctured a valve. The vehicle slowed a little, losing some of its power.

"No! Don't slow down now!"

"I can't help it. They've hit a valve." Frustrated, Gabriel flung the vehicle around another corner, only to find them approaching Union Square. An immense holographic statue of Atlas stood proud over the city there, a true titan, towering over one hundred feet tall, supporting the celestial spheres on his broad, unyielding shoulders. The statue cast the surrounding streets and buildings in an eerie blue glow, washing everything as if it were being viewed through a filter, as if someone had painted the sky a different shade. The base of the statue, which housed the projection equipment, was at the center of a large park, around which the roads crisscrossed in a grid pattern.

Gabriel forced the car around another bend at speed, causing it to shake dramatically and almost lose its grip on the tarmac. The other vehicle swung around behind it, and the onslaught of bullets continued. He realized that they weren't trying to hit him; more that they were attempting to riddle the car with so many bullets that it was rendered useless. They didn't want to harm Celeste.

Gabriel watched her weigh the revolver in her hands. She looked across at him. "Do you love me?"

Gabriel tried to keep his voice even. "I love you."

"Good." She turned about in her seat, resting the barrel of the weapon on the seat back. Then, taking a deep breath, she squeezed the trigger. The shot was like an explosion in the confined space of the vehicle, and she flinched at the sound. But her aim was true, and the bullet caught the windshield of the other car, punching a hole in the glass and causing a spiderweb of fracture lines to spread out from the site of the impact. The other car swerved, and then the man in the passenger seat used the butt of his tommy gun to smash the broken glass out, sending shards of it skittering off the hood.

Celeste ducked back behind the seat as a retaliatory burst of fire sprayed the rear end of the vehicle again, a stray bullet yipping through the hole where the rear windshield had been, burying itself in the roof of the car not far from their heads. Both cars swerved again, circling the enormous sculpture of light, driving around Atlas's massive feet.