It took the Glove a fraction of a second longer to recognize one of the PIs from San Diego. He cursed out loud and yelled at his partner as he began the chase, "Over there!"
The brothers ran out of the building through the door on the opposite side and kept on running, dodging the people all around them. After several blocks, Rick spotted a subway entrance ahead.
"A.J…"
"Subway?"
They took a backward glance to see if the chase was still on, and unfortunately, it was. The pedestrians behind them were scrambling not to be trampled on as the two scary-looking men charged straight ahead stopping for nothing, like a couple of bulls running through the streets of Pamplona.
Rick and A.J. flew down the stairs and heard the unmistakable sound of an oncoming train.
As they reached the subway level, Rick jumped over the turnstile and landed on the platform, but A.J. stopped short of following his brother.
"A.J.!" Rick looked back and yelled. "We don't have time to pay for the tokens, for God's sake!"
The train had already arrived at the station, purging itself of some of its burden. A.J. knew he could not dawdle any longer, jumped over the turnstile and ran towards the nearest door of the train as his brother did.
The moment Rick got into one of the cars its door began to slide close. He stuck his arms out to keep it open for A.J. Together they pushed it until it yielded enough space for A.J. to squeeze through.
When the door finally closed, the Glove and the Baldy were only several steps away. As the train started to leave the station, they angrily pounded on the door window, startling some of the passengers.
The brothers nervously kept moving forward, from one car to the next. They knew that the pair of goons would not be able to get to the next stop fast enough, thanks to the New York City traffic congestion, but it did not mean they could not call their boss to have someone waiting at every stop along the way. They also knew the chance of getting caught would decrease if they got off the train fast.
They purposely stayed in the most crowded car so that they would be able to hide among the commuters and the tourists once they got off. When the train pulled into the next station, they suppressed their urge to sprint and, with their heads down, stayed in the middle of the passengers walking up the stairs to the street level.
Back on the outside, Rick and A.J. resumed running, took a few turns until they saw another subway entrance for a different line and caught another train. By the time they got off at the first stop, they started to relax a little. Rick got out of the repairman's coverall and ditched it in a trashcan. Just in case, they switched to yet another line. They figured being on a crowded subway was better than being exposed out in the streets of the city.
This time, they stayed on the train for several stops, but they were swept away in the waves of passengers getting off at what seemed to be a major transfer station.
"Do you think we lost them?" asked A.J. nervously looking around in the dingy passageway where the people around them were pushing and shoving to make headway.
"They may know which line we got on first, but I'm sure they don't know where we got off and which line we transferred to."
"But where are we? I hope we're not in Harlem."
Someone laughed right behind them, making A.J. jump like a frisky terrier.
"You're not from around here, are ya, kid?"
There was a newspaper stand behind them, and the man in charge of it was still chuckling. "Welcome to New York." He pronounced it Noo Yawk. "We're on the lower level of Penn Station, so don't sweat it."
"What gave you the idea that we're not from around here?" asked Rick. "Do we tawk funny or sump'n?" He asked with a mischievous grin.
The newsstand guy grinned back. "Very funny. Okay, Mr. Outta-Town Wiseguy. Where ya from?"
"San Diego. I'm Rick Simon, and this nervous Nellie here is my brother, A.J."
"Joe Esposito." The New Yorker introduced himself with a nod. "So, what are a coupla California boys doin' in Noo Yawk? You don't look like you're enjoyin' all di attractions our fair city has to offer."
"We're looking for someone from the past." Rick replied vaguely.
"Excuse me." A.J. joined the conversation for the first time. "You seem to be intimately familiar with this city. May I ask you a question?"
"Sure. Shoot. I know da city like da back of my hand."
"Do you happen to know where a jazz club called Alley Cat is located?"
"Yeah…" Joe broke off and took a good look at A.J. "But you don't wanna go dere."
"Why is that?"
Joe sighed and spoke deliberately as if to explain something all too obvious to a three-year-old. "Dere's a soiten neighborhood in Harlem where even da cops are afraid to go after dark." He shook his head. "If you go dere lookin' and tawkin' like dat, you'll get beat up, mugged or woise in five minutes."
"I can dress down to be more discreet." A.J. suggested.
Joe shook his head again. "You'll still look like one of dose rich kids dat have homes on Park Avenue and in Southampton and go to fancy Ivy League colleges and woik on Wall Street or live off deir trust funds."
"What about me?" Rick was just curious.
Joe took a gander at him before the verdict. "You might come off as a southerner wid an attitude da size of Texas. Or, as dey sometimes say in my neighborhood, you look like you got a lotta shit witchoo, pardon my French."
"That can't be good…"
"'fraid not. Da guys in Harlem hate rednecks more dan rich kids, especially da cocky ones."
Collecting some coins from a customer picking up a copy of the Daily News, Joe saw a certain look pass between the odd brothers from California.
"You two must be nuttier dan a fruitcake. You gonna go dere, aren'tcha?"
Rick only shrugged as if to say, 'Well, what else can we do?'
Joe shook his head dumbfounded by their stupidity. Da hot California sun must've fried deir brains permanently, he concluded. "Dis is still a free country, but I'm tellin' ya, it's your funeral."
