An English Boy in New York by T. S. Easton

Author:T. S. Easton
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781471401503
Publisher: Hot Key Books
Published: 2014-08-06T16:00:00+00:00

Another message from Brandi’s ex. I deleted it and scrolled back through the log until I found Keith’s number. I hit call but it just went straight to voicemail.

It seemed to take forever to reach the address. Jersey looks close on the map, but even at this hour there was plenty of traffic around and a lot of the streets were single lane. People were walking on the road, some making threatening-looking gestures at the car as it went by.

Eventually Trey pulled over. ‘We’re here,’ he said, peering out of the window at the shop front and sagging canopy. It looked like a restaurant. The windows were heavily draped and a tarnished single pole stood outside, a frayed velvet rope trailing from it forlornly. The place looked deserted. A faulty street light flickered on and off overhead, adding to the Day of the Dead atmosphere.

He’s in too deep! Keith had said. I checked my phone again but there was no message. Even Brandi’s ex had given up for the time being.

‘Whatever we find in there, we stick together, right?’ Trey said, sounding like Russell Crowe in Gladiator.

‘OK.’ I nodded. I’ve never felt the need to breathe into a paper bag to control my anxiety until that moment. I was absolutely petrified.

Trey waited until the street was clear then he got out and, after taking a deep breath, I followed. Trey walked to the door and found a buzzer, which he pressed.

There was a long pause and he was just about to press it again when a voice crackled out.

‘Who are you?’

‘Taxi. Here to collect a couple of guys.’

‘Who?’

‘Keith and Gex,’ Trey said coolly.

There was another pause, then a buzzer sounded and the door clicked unlocked. As we entered, a drunk walked past behind us cackling softly to himself. I shivered. Inside was a restaurant with the chairs up on the tables. It looked like it might have been cosy during the day, when everyone was slurping down spaghetti vongole, chins greasy, wine sloshing in old-fashioned glasses. But right now, in the small hours, dimly lit, it looked like the sort of place where good guys got whacked.

A short fat man poked his head out of a door at the back.

‘Through here, Tony wants to see you.’

Trey and I looked at each other nervously and followed the man.

It was a large room with a round table in the centre. Around it sat six men, including Gex and Keith, who were looking up at us, with terror on their faces, mixed with relief. I was immensely relieved to see that Gex was apparently unharmed. A pack of cards lay on the table along with poker chips. Everyone had a stack of chips except for Gex. Another man stood at the back of the room with his hand inside his jacket. Everyone was watching us except for one man who was shuffling the pack.

‘Tony,’ the fat man said to the shuffling man. ‘These are the guys.’

‘Taxi,’ Trey said.

‘Why are there two of you?’ said Tony without looking up.

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