Hell's Kitchen (Cullen & Bain Book 3) by Ed James

Author:Ed James [James, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-07-31T16:00:00+00:00

12

Bain

‘I mean…’ I watch New York whizz past. Up ahead, the ambulance weaves in traffic behind Holten’s car, carrying Art Oscar to safety. ‘And who fuckin’ steals a wallet but leaves a phone?’

‘You expecting me to show you some sympathy here?’ Mo’s shaking his head as he drives, but he seems to love this, getting escorted by two of New York’s finest through Downtown Manhattan. ‘You stole my car, man.’

Actually, I’ve no idea what “Downtown” means. Always think I do, then someone fuckin’ bursts it open wide.

‘I did what I had to. You ran off after that tramp and we needed to get laughing boy to hospital.’

In the back, Elvis is looking fucked. Head between his knees, fingers clawing at his hair.

‘Mm.’ Mo pulls out to follow Holten’s motor through a particularly snarled up section. ‘You want to know?’

‘Enlighten me.’

‘Because the cops can track a cellphone. Can’t track a wallet.’

‘I can track mine.’ Elvis is upright and leaning forward. ‘Got a little tracker thing in it.’

‘That only works locally, dumbass.’

I shoot a glower at Mo. ‘You got rage issues or something?’

Mo looks over at us. ‘Like you don’t?’

I just try and shrug it off. ‘What’s “Downtown” mean?’

‘Downtown?’

‘Aye, what’s it mean?’

‘Downtown is… Downtown. It just is what it is.’

‘I know, but where is it?’

‘It’s where… Like the businesses are. And like bus and subway stations. Galleries and the Federal Building and City Hall and—’

‘But that’s all over New York?’

‘Right, but it’s just… Downtown. Where everything is.’

‘You mean the high street?’

‘The what?’

Fuck sake. Two cultures divided by a common language… ‘The city centre?’

Mo grins. ‘I guess.’

‘Why not just say “city centre” then? Why Downtown?’

‘Well, we’ve Midtown and Uptown too. And don’t get me started on Chinatown and The Village.’

‘Some people say it’s from Boston.’ Elvis is back between us, got his phone out. His seems to have escaped being smashed by twats. ‘But Wikipedia says it comes from this fine city. Early nineteenth century, there was a town at the southern edge of the island of Manhattan.’ He thumbs behind us, but I don’t think south’s that way. ‘That’s where all the business stuff was at the time. Only way to grow was north, or up if you’re looking at a map. And that was all houses.’

‘Huh.’ Mo shrugs. ‘Never knew that.’

‘And Elvis here knows bugger all except how to use that phone of his.’

‘You’re lucky you’ve got me, Bri.’

Judging by the signs and stuff, we’re like a block away from the hospital. Not that it’s that much different from back the way. Just more Starbucks and better-looking delis. And one of those tunnel things over the pavement you see on films too, but it’s for a bar rather than a swanky hotel. Probably a smoking shelter. Fuckin’ Irish pub, too. I mean, I like the Irish as much as the next man, but Guinness is an average beer at best. Much better stouts out there.

‘You’re lucky I’m not pressing charges.’

‘I’m not lucky, I’ve just got a new buddy in the NYPD. And you’re lucky you’re not getting done for attempted murder.

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