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Somewhere in the darkness Nick heard the wail of a siren as if it came from the end of a long fuzzy tunnel. He struggled to figure out where he was and what had happened.
The siren grew louder.
Panic surged through him, urging him back to consciousness and a flurry of whispering voices passed through his mind like trash scattering before the wind, then the blare of the siren drowned them out. His head hurt.
He opened his eyes and saw the idiot lights of the Camaro glaring back at him from the dashboard. Engine stalled. Windshield spider webbed. Joey gone. Shit!
He heard the roar of an engine racing toward him from the end of the street. Pushing himself up, he looked in the rearview mirror and saw the flashing blue lights of a cruiser bearing down on him.
"Son-of-a-bitch!" He slid across the seat and stumbled out of the open door on the driver's side, standing on wobbly legs. Over the roof of the car he saw a little kid holding a ball, staring first at him, then at something above him. Looking up, he saw a woman in an old pink bathrobe and curlers glaring down at him from the porch of the house they'd hit.
The sound of the cop car's tires screeching to a stop hit him like a shock. Doors opened.
"Freeze!"
Nick bolted down an alley beside the house. The cop's footsteps echoed on the sidewalk behind him.
"I said freeze, punk!"
Nick thought he recognized the voice, but didn't look back fearing that the cop might see his face. Two gunshots hammered his eardrums. Warning shots. He turned the corner, rounding the back of the house. Another shot. The bullet zinged by the corner of the house. No more warnings.
He ran through the yard, passed another alley and spotted a second cop running toward him. Leaping onto a rickety wooden fence between the yards, he flipped himself over, landing on his tailbone. A knife point of pain shot up his spine.
"Put in a call for assistance," he heard the first cop say. “Then get over to the next street and cut him off." He heard a grunt and the fence shook, looked up and saw two arms coming over the top. Nick sprinted for the back fence, hoisted himself over and came down on his feet. He heard the cop landing in the yard on the other side, then a vicious growl followed by the rattling of a chain. A snarling Doberman sprang toward him.
He scrambled away from the dog, tripped and fell. The Dobie lunged, jerking short at the end of the chain, its teeth inches from his face. Nick's breath stuck in his throat. His head pounded, pain slamming his temples like twin mallets.
The back door of the house opened. Nick rolled away from the dog, jumped up and ran through the half-opened gate. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw the top of the cop's head over the fence. The Dobie turned its attention toward the cop.
Yeah, go ahead. Jump that fence.
He ran down another alley and sprinted across the street, ducking into a clump of high bushes as a cruiser skidded to a stop across the street.
The first cop ran out of the alley, pointing toward him. "Over there, in the bushes." Both cops trotted across the street, guns drawn. Nick recognized one of the cops. Sullivan. He had more than one run-in with Sully in the past.
Running between the houses, Nick ducked behind one as the two cops burst through the bushes. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a storm cellar, its doors laying open at ground level. He hopped down onto the stairs and found the cellar door closed. Footsteps closed in. He wouldn't make it out of the yard. Crouching against the concrete steps, he lowered his head.
His breathing came hard, the slamming in his head keeping time with his ragged breath. He wiped sweat from his face, took his trembling hand away and saw blood. Jesus, how the hell did I get myself into this?
Sully and the other cop ran into the yard, stopping less than two feet away. Putting his hand over his face, Nick struggled to breathe through his nose.
"Maggot must have hopped the fence," Sully said, gulping for air. "Go call for someone to cover the next few streets. We know which direction he's heading."
The cop looked straight at Nick, not seeing him, then trotted back the way he came. Sully climbed up on the fence and scanned the surrounding yards. Nick saw him clearly. Short, wiry hair. Dark, hollow eyes. Long nose jutting from his gaunt, pockmarked face. He looked like a pissed-off terrier.
Nick scrunched up his forehead trying to quell the agonizing pain throbbing behind his eyes. He put his head against the cold concrete. Dirt and grit stuck to the film of blood and sweat of his face.
He flinched when he heard someone whispering behind him. Lowering his head, he turned and saw the padlocked cellar door. No one. When he faced the yard again, Sully turned toward him, spotted the open storm doors and started toward the house. The other cop came running into the yard. "Two streets over," he said breathlessly. "They've got a suspect."
Sully stared at the cellar a moment longer, then followed his partner out of the yard.
Nick listened as the doors of the cruiser slammed, then waited. When his breathing came easier, he wiped blood off himself and went out to the street, working his way down, staying close to the side in case he had to run.
Keeping to back streets, he made his way to Ashmont Station and caught the subway to Shawmut. As the train rattled through the tunnel, he kept looking behind him, his head jerking each time he heard a flurry of whispers that sounded like butterflies with sandpaper wings.