Operation Hell Gate - Marc Cerasini [51]
The older man closed the wallet, returned it to Jack.
"I am sorry for the rough treatment, Mr. Lynch. We had to be sure you are who you say you are."
* * *
5:35:23 A.M. EDT
Brooklyn Underground
Liam jerked awake, glanced at his watch. He'd been dozing for nearly thirty minutes. At Times Square there'd been a long delay because of bollixed-up track work. He'd waited forever to transfer from the Number 7 to the 2. Now the subway ride to Brooklyn was moving slower than bottled shite. He sat on a dead-still train in a dark tunnel between two stations. Which stations? He couldn't be sure since he couldn't remember when he'd fallen asleep.
Hugging the metal case in his lap, he sat up in the orange plastic seat and stretched his jeans-covered legs. The train started up again, rumbling toward the next station. He rubbed his tired eyes, fighting fatigue. For a long time during the seemingly endless underground journey, Liam had kept himself awake by visualizing all the stuff he was going to buy with the money Shamus was paying him.
New tackies first, he'd decided — not the gacky no-name brand from the discount store. Maybe a pair of Air Jordans, black with blue stripes. And a pair of new shoes for Caitlin, too. She was always complaining about how much her feet ached after working twelve hours in the boozer.
Liam's biggest dream was to own one of those new MP3 players. Two of his friends from St. Sebastian's had them, and they were downloading free music from their computers all the time. Liam thought that was bleedin' deadly. Of course, he didn't even own a computer so for now, having an MP3 would only work if he used his friends' machines. But if Shamus let him work the summer in his store, who knows? He might be able to afford a used PC and an MP3 before school started in the fall. That would be bloody brilliant.
Soon the train began to slow; the metal-on-metal screech of the brakes drowned out the garbled station announcement that simultaneously crackled over the intercom. Liam sat up, gazing through the window to see which station they were pulling into. Finally he saw the platform, the dirty beige ceramic tiles lining the walls. Then a strip of black tiles spelling out the name of the stop: Hoyt Street.
The train slowed as the conductor's voice crackled over the intercom.
"Attention passengers, attention passengers. This train is going out of service. Hoyt Street is the last stop on this train. Anyone wishing to continue on to Atlantic Avenue, exit here and wait for the next available train. We are sorry for the inconvenience."
Bloody hell, thought Liam. One stop away and I gotta change trains.
Liam stood, still groggy. Clutching the overhead rail, he moved to the door as the train squealed to a stop. The doors slid aside and Liam stepped onto the concrete platform. No one else exited the train, and he saw no one else on the platform. He discovered he was far from the nearest exit — two or three subway car lengths, at least.
The doors closed again. With a hiss the brakes were released and the train lumbered forward, gaining speed as it moved into the tunnel. Finally it disappeared, a steady blast of air in its wake. When the noise of the subway receded, Liam heard footsteps behind him.
As he began to turn, a hand snatched the case swinging at Liam's side. A powerful tug nearly yanked him off his feet. Liam quickly shifted his weight and pivoted to face the mugger. There were three. Black kids. Maybe two years older than he, one chubby, two lean. They wore oversized, dark blue jogging clothes, sneakers, baseball hats. Their eyes were focused on the metal case. But Liam refused to let it go. Gripping it with both hands, he began a tugging match with the fat git who'd grabbed it. For the moment, the two skinny