The Double Vice: The 1st Hidden Gotham Novel Chris Holcombe (top 10 best books of all time .txt) 📖

Joe murmured to Dash, “Will he try to run?”

Gladys paused, staring at them. Joe forced a smile and stared back. The seconds stretched into what felt like half a minute before Gladys broke away her gaze and concentrated on the bottom drawer of Paul’s desk.

Dash murmured back, “Most assuredly.”

“What do we do?”

Gladys said, “What are you two muttering about?”

She shut the bottom drawer with a slam, her head coming up. She folded her hands and leaned forward on the desk. Her expression said she expected an answer.

Fiercely loyal, indeed.

Joe replied, “With all due respect, ma’am, it’s none of your business.”

“I see. If it has anything to do with Mr. Avery, then it is my business. Why are you here? And why have you made that dear man so upset?”

Dash said, “It was unintentional, ma’am.”

She sniffed. “Don’t seem to matter if it was intended or not, the effect is just the same. He’s about to leave on the trip of a lifetime, and you two barge in here—”

Dash held up a finger. “Excuse me, what did you say? About the trip?”

Gladys stiffened. “Not that it’s any of your business, but Mr. Avery was leaving for Paris. He’s always wanted to go, and now he gets that chance. And you two are just ruining—”

“Joe.” Dash looked at his friend, who nodded. “Thank you, Gladys, but I believe we’ll be going.”

He and Joe both stood up. The movement startled Gladys, who said, “What are you two doing?”

Joe said, “Apologies, ma’am.”

He jerked open the office door and the two of them ran through the office at a fast clip with Gladys yelling from behind. The women at the desks gave them concerned looks as they excused their way out. The elevator was going to take too long, so they took the stairs, two at a time, until they hit the lobby. No sign of Paul Avery.

“Hell!” Dash said.

He went to the doorman.

“Excuse me, sir. There was a gentleman in a light blue suit who came down here. Do you know where he went?”

“Certainly. He signed for this package, then said he had an emergency and took off. He gave me the package to hold.”

“Which way did he go?”

“Lemme see. He took a left out of here and not too long ago, too. You might be able to catch him. Say, is it the same emergency as his?”

Dash didn’t give a response. He and Joe took off in pursuit, bursting through the lobby doors and out into the open air. Once on the street, Dash searched the blocks ahead. In the late morning foot traffic, Dash saw flashes of Paul’s blue suit a block and a half uptown.

“There!”

Running up Madison, the two men dodged oncoming pedestrians, some of whom raised their voices and yelled, “Slow down, ya maniacs!” The intersections weren’t timed for their benefit, but they ran into traffic anyway. Dash hoped the oncoming taxis and delivery trucks would stop. Miraculously, they did, though they honked their horns and shouted out curses.

They were soon only a block behind Paul, who gave a nervous look behind him. They were gaining ground, the distance between them shortening.

We’re going to catch him. By God, we’re going to catch him.

Their good luck ended right there, for a thick crowd of people suddenly loomed into view. Thousands—maybe even tens of thousands—clogged the streets and the sidewalks.

“What the hell is that?” Joe called.

Paul’s blue suit disappeared into the throng.

Dash said, “Oh no, no, no!”

They followed him into the mass of people, most of them women and young girls crying. Many were saying, “Oh Rudy! My dear sweet Rudy!”

The Valentino viewing.

The papers had publicized that Rudolph Valentino’s body would be lying in state at Campbell’s Funeral Parlor on Madison and 81st. Only the crowd was so massive, Dash and Joe hadn’t yet reached 81st; they were only at 79th. It looked like half the city had shown up to get a glimpse at the famous actor.

Dash and Joe tried to push their way through, stepping around and, in some cases, shoving aside the grievers. Every once and a while, Dash caught sight of Paul’s blue coattails ahead of them.

A young woman yelled in Dash’s ear, “I need to see him! I need to see him one last time!”

Dash gripped his throbbing ear and looked over the crowd. Where the hell was Paul? There was shouting ahead, then a scream. Suddenly, the crowd surged forward, knocking Dash off balance. He almost fell but regained his footing. What was happening?

A stampede.

By the time Dash registered it, he was caught in the current of people. Police horses stood off to the side. The mounted officers blew their whistles to no avail. Bodies jammed against Dash’s back and front. He was pushed into the small body of a young girl, whose height was perfectly aligned to Dash’s stomach. He felt the wind leave his diaphragm. The pain was sharp, and he couldn’t breathe. Another woman shoved his right shoulder, turning him left. Another shove to his left, turning him right. Something caught his legs and before he could stop it, he went down.

Feet pounded the pavement by his head. He placed his palms on the sidewalk, trying to push himself up, but hard wooden soles stepped on his fingers. He cried out in pain and surprise. He brought his hands underneath his chest to protect them from being broken. He turned his body slightly and looked behind him. Above him was a sea of skirts and dresses. Below him, the mass that had entangled his legs turned out to be a woman who had also fallen.

He shouted, “Stop! Stop! You’ll hurt her!”

A shoe kicked his head. The world slid out of focus. Colors and shapes blurred together. He thought he heard his name being called, but it was hard to tell over the cries of others. He felt hands hook themselves underneath his arms. The sea of legs and shoes changed to that of hats and hair. He turned. Joe