Brian winced as he listened to the steel drum rattle of a passing 6 on the elevated track overhead.
What the hell would happen next? he wondered as Marvin suddenly got out of the car with a small duffel bag.
Brian immediately bolted out of the restaurant and crossed the street, tailing Marvin north under the El toward the intersection of St. Lawrence. As he got to the corner, he watched as Marvin made a beeline toward a tenement on the north side of the street. The run-down structure had an NYPD SAFE HALLWAYS sign above its main door that even Brian knew meant it was a hard-core drug building. Just then, three people—two jacked gangster-looking black guys and a tough-seeming, probably Hispanic chick with cornrows—came out of the building’s front door and sat on its stoop. The girl lit a cigarette, and then one of the cold-eyed black guys snatched it out of her mouth as the other guy laughed.
Brian ran up as Marvin was about to cross the street.
“Marvin! Yo, Marvin!” he cried.
“Brian?!” Marvin said, staring at him in shock. “What the hell are you doing? Following me? You shouldn’t be here, man. What are you doing? Didn’t I tell you to leave me alone?”
“What am I doing?” Brian cried. “What are you doing? You have to stop all this crazy stuff, Marvin. I saw you in that car with that crazy dude. Are you out of your frickin’ mind? You’re gonna get arrested or killed. Why are you throwing your life away?”
Instead of answering, Marvin turned and watched over Brian’s shoulder as a car passed by back on Westchester Avenue. It was a beat-up maroon Chevy. It slowed and stopped on the corner. The three street toughs on the tenement stoop immediately scattered as some chubby white guys climbed out of the car.
“Oh, damn! It’s cops! C’mon!” Marvin said, tugging at Brian’s jacket.
Before he could stop and think about it, Brian was moving quickly with Marvin down St. Lawrence. They took a left on an even worse disaster of a street called Gleason and started running. They hooked another left on a street called Beach. Halfway down Beach, Brian watched as Marvin threw the duffel bag over a graffiti-covered wood fence into an abandoned lot. Then they ran all the way back to the elevated subway station on Westchester.
“C’mon, Marvin. Let’s just get the hell out of here,” said Brian as they huffed and puffed on the stairs for the El. Brian looked over by PETEY’S DISCOUNT LIQUORS, but the Merc was gone.
Marvin shook his head.
“No, man. We just need to wait a few minutes. I have to go back.”
“Go back?” Brian said, disbelieving.
“I have to go back for that bag,” Marvin said.
“Why? What the hell is in it, anyway?”
Marvin gave him a fierce look.
“Don’t you worry about that. Just wait here,” Marvin said, pointing at him. “I’ll be ten minutes, tops, okay? Just wait.”
Brian’s phone went off again as he helplessly watched Marvin run back across the street the way they’d come.
Where the hell are you guys? Dad wanted to know. I’m not kidding, Brian. You should have been here an hour ago. Where the hell are you? Tell me now.
Brian looked around as another train arrived above, its violent, industrial rattle like a death metal drum solo.
As if I know, he thought.
Sorry, Dad. We were stuck in a tunnel. Just got out. Train’s stuck again though, Brian lied, typing quickly. But we should be on our way any minute.
If we’re both still alive, Brian thought, shaking his head again as he hit Send.
Part Three
Catch Me if You Can
Chapter 52
Paul Ernenwein and I were called to a surprise lunch meeting with Secret Service special agent in charge Margaret Foley, at the famous Bull and Bear Prime Steakhouse at the Waldorf Astoria.
We found Agent Foley at a black leather banquette in the corner, sitting with a boyish dark-haired fortysomething gentleman in a tailored navy suit.
“Guys, I’d like you to meet Mark Evrard,” she said. “Mark’s with the DSS.”