The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1) Brad Magnarella (ink book reader txt) 📖

mayor’s distinct voice rose above the others—the sound of it, anyway. I couldn’t make out any words, but it told me Caroline was at City Hall. I tried to repeat my name, but the more I forced it, the more jumbled it came out.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m ending the call.”

“Whu-ait!” My mind scrambled for some way I could get her to understand me.

“Look, sir. I don’t recognize your number, and I’m in the middle of something.”

“Sub!” I blurted out. The old joke between us for all the times she used to cover my classes.

A silence followed. “Everson?”

“Y-ysh!” If Ed had tear ducts, I’m pretty sure they would have wept with joy.

The voices around her diminished as though she were walking into another room. “Thank God,” she breathed. “What’s wrong? Where are you?”

Okay, she knew it was me, but how was I going to get her to understand a single thing I said. The situation was too complex to grunt out in monosyllables over a phone. If I was going to warn her, I needed a face-to-face.

“M-meet,” I managed.

“You want to meet? Where?” No hesitation.

I thought for a moment. The streets around City Hall were probably closed. The checkpoints would be a nightmare. I came up with a place about halfway between us and within walking distance.

“Clum-ba Pa,” I said.

“I didn’t get that, Everson.”

I balled up my fists and tried again. “Clum-ba-ba Pa.”

Pretzel pulled the phone from my ear. “I think he’s trying to say Columbus Park, lady.”

I nodded fervently.

“He’s saying yes,” Pretzel said. He stuck the phone back against my ear and bounced his eyebrows. “She sounds fiiine.”

“Columbus Park,” Caroline repeated. “All right. I’m heading there now. I’ll meet you at the pavilion.” She ended the call before I could attempt to thank her. Probably just as well.

Wavering on his feet, Pretzel slid me a wasted grin.

“Need a wingman?” he asked.

31

Our staggering journey took us down Chinatown’s narrow streets. The amulet’s energy flagged and surged like a dying electrical appliance, and I had to lean on Pretzel for support several times. Thankfully, the sidewalks were empty, the shops closed—the thundering concussions from the battle that afternoon likely having driven everyone inside.

Almost everyone.

At the next intersection, a gang of young men in white suits appeared. I recognized them as White Hand enforcers, employees of Bashi. They patrolled the street in a V formation.

Crap.

I searched around for a place to hide. The gang spotted us and veered our way.

Double crap.

I didn’t have time to be interrogated. The amulet fueling me was already in the red, and if the White Hand decided to remove it, Ed would collapse into a mound of clay, and I’d land back in the vault. I lowered my head, hoping the gang would allow a pair of common vagrants to shuffle past. But Pretzel chose that moment to pick up his business pitch.

“The thing with soft pretzels, man, is they don’t discriminate. They’re for everyone, you know? Race, age, creed—none of that shit matters. Come one, come all. The only thing might change is what’s put on ’em. Some like mustard, others like that horseradish.”

The members of the White Hand surrounded us.

“Oh, hey,” my partner said. “What do you guys like on your pretzels? Sweet and sour sauce?”

Oh, Christ.

The man in the lead position stared down at him. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re goin’ on a date,” Pretzel answered proudly.

“With each other?”

The other gang members laughed. Not realizing we were the butt of the joke, Pretzel laughed along with them. The leader’s mouth didn’t budge. He had the deadened eyes of a killer. They cut over to me. “What’s the matter with your boyfriend?” he asked Pretzel. “Someone shoot off his tongue?”

“Aw, he don’t say much,” Pretzel explained. “But when he does, pure genius, man.”

“Is that right?” The leader drew a black Beretta from his waist band. “Let’s hear some of that genius, tùzi.”

I looked past him. The park was only a block and a half away.

“Hey,” he snapped. “I’m talking to you.” He flipped my bill and the Mets cap tumbled off my head.

When the leader drew back, I raised an arm in anticipation of being pistol whipped, but his eyes were large and startled. Amid muttered swears, the others in the gang eased back too. The leader recomposed himself, his eyes going dead again. “Get out of our neighborhood,” he said to Pretzel. “I never want to see that deformed piece of shit around here again.”

Pretzel gave his lazy smile. “Yeah, man, he’s cool.”

I retrieved my hat as the gang moved on, their members peering back with unsettled looks. I leaned toward my reflection in a car window and understood. Out in the summer heat, and with the amulet flagging, Ed’s face had started to melt. One eye was a good two inches below the other, and what remained of his nose had skewed to the left of his lips. It was a disturbing sight. With a stab of self-consciousness, I replaced the hat and pulled the bill as low as it would go.

Caroline was already at the pavilion when Pretzel and I shambled up. She must have sensed my presence in the pile of clay, because she hurried toward us. “Everson?” she asked.

I nodded and gestured to my body. Just a loaner, I tried to say, but it came out a clumpy moan. Speech gone. Power spent. The park around us was beginning to feel insubstantial too, like a fading dream. For a moment, I felt the cold floor of the vault beneath me.

No…

Pretzel stumbled in front of Caroline. “I spoke to you on the phone, lady. I’m his business partner.”

His voice brought me snapping back. As Caroline accepted Pretzel’s hand, I pawed at my chest. Her head tilted in momentary question before nodding. She could see the energy that emanated from the amulet to power my form, could sense its weakening field.

Pulling her hand from Pretzel’s, she stepped in close and pressed her palm to the amulet. Maybe it was seeing Caroline