Central Park by Guillaume Musso (ebook reader macos .TXT) 📕

to allow maintenance workers to access the top of the underpass.

“You’re going to get us killed!” Gabriel screamed, gripping tight to his seat belt with all his strength.

One hand on the steering wheel, the other on the gearshift, Alice drove over gravel for about twenty yards, and then, just as the car was beginning to sink, she managed to swerve onto the concrete ramp that led toward Cobble Hill.

Whew, that was close!

A sudden turn to the left, then right, changing gear.

The car came out on a shopping street edged with brightly colored stores: a butcher, an Italian grocer, a French patisserie, even a barbershop full of customers.

Too many people…

Their pursuer was still right behind them, but Alice took advantage of the Cooper’s small size to slalom between the cars ahead of them before abruptly turning off the crowded street and going back into the residential area.

The landscape had changed now. The industrial backdrop of Red Hook had given way to a sleepy suburb: a little church, a little school, little front yards placed neatly in front of a row of identical redbrick town houses.

Despite the narrowness of the streets, Alice had not reduced her speed; she was still driving with her foot to the floor, her face almost touching the windshield, on the lookout for an escape. Behind the glass, the landscape rushed past. The Mini’s gearbox was on its last legs. At this speed, each time Alice shifted gears, it made a loud creaking noise, as if it were about to break in half.

Suddenly she slammed on the brakes. They had just passed a little back alley. She reversed the car and then turned into the narrow road at top speed.

“Not here—it’s a one-way street!”

To make things worse, a delivery van was blocking the other end.

“Slow down! We’re going to crash into the UPS truck!”

Ignoring his pleas, Alice stepped even harder on the gas and propelled the Mini onto the sidewalk. The shock absorbers, already struggling, now gave up the ghost. Alice leaned on the car’s horn and forced her way through, glancing at the rearview mirror as she went. Unable to follow through the narrow gap, the police car found itself nose to nose with the van.

At least we’ve won ourselves a few seconds…

Still on the sidewalk, the little car sped right and then went back onto the road.

They headed toward a landscaped garden surrounded by an iron fence—Cobble Hill Park.

“Do you know where we are?” Alice asked, slowing down as she went around the park.

Gabriel studied the road signs. “Go right—it’ll take us to Atlantic Avenue.”

She followed his directions and they found themselves on a four-lane road: the arterial street that crossed New York from east to west, from the neighborhood around JFK to the banks of the East River. Alice recognized it immediately. She’d been in taxis here on her way to and from the airport.

“We’re close to the Manhattan Bridge, aren’t we?”

“Just behind us.”

She made a U-turn and took the ramp to the highway. Soon, she saw signs for the exit that led to Manhattan. The grayish-blue pylons of the suspension bridge came into view in the distance, two steel towers connected by a tangle of cables and ropes.

“Oh, shit! Check your mirror!”

The cop car was just behind them again.

Too late to change direction.

There were now only two possibilities: head for Long Island or return to Manhattan. They took exit 29A, which led to the bridge. Seven lanes of traffic, four subway lines, and a cycling path—the Manhattan Bridge was an ogre that swallowed up travelers and vehicles in Brooklyn and spat them out on the opposite side of the East River.

Suddenly the pavement narrowed. Before reaching the entrance of the bridge, they had to take a long, curving concrete overpass.

The overpass was congested, with cars moving bumper to bumper. The cops were about a hundred yards behind her. Here, their sirens made no difference, because the way was too narrow for the other cars to move aside and let them pass. At the same time, though, the fugitives could not escape.

“We’re screwed,” Gabriel said.

“No, we’re not. We can cross the bridge.”

“Think about it. They have our description and now they know what car we’re driving. Even if we do get across, there’ll be other patrol cars waiting for us at the end of the bridge.”

“Well, let’s not forget it’s your fault they found us! I told you to get rid of that damn phone.”

“Yeah, I know. My bad.”

She closed her eyes for a second. She didn’t think the cops knew who they were yet, and it didn’t really matter much if they did. And Keyne had a point: the real problem was their car.

“You’re right.”

Seeing that the traffic was easing up farther ahead, she unbuckled her seat belt and opened the door. “You take the wheel,” she told him.

“What? But…what do you mean, I’m right?”

“This car is too easy to spot. I’m going to try something.”

Gabriel heaved himself over into the driver’s seat. On the overpass that led to the bridge, cars were still moving forward at a crawl. He squinted, trying to keep Alice in sight. This girl was full of surprises. She was weaving between cars now, elusive. Suddenly he panicked—she was taking her gun out of her jacket and pointing it at a beige Honda Accord.

Not the kind of car that anyone would notice, he realized.

The Honda’s driver, seeing a gun aimed at her face, did not ask questions; she simply got out of her car, climbed over the barrier, and fled down the long grass embankment.

Gabriel could not hold back a whistle of admiration. He turned around. The cop car was right at the foot of the overpass. From that distance, there was no chance they could have seen anything.

He abandoned the Mini and got into the Honda next to Alice just as traffic began moving again.

Gabriel winked at her and, in order to defuse the tension, pretended to complain: “You could have picked something nicer than this! At least