Grave Phantoms (Roaring Twenties #3)(43)

Lines of headlights jammed the street. During a small break in that line, she peeled away from the curb and zipped across both lanes of traffic, turning sharply onto California Street.

“Chinatown is the other way,” Bo said.

“Dammit. I’ve never driven at night.”

She felt Bo’s eyes on her. “Please tell me you’re joking. Whoa!”

The car seemed to fly over the pavement when she pulled it into a sharp U-turn to get them turned back around. For a moment, she was terrified she’d lost control of it, and the horrible squealing noise was disconcerting, but the wheels finally obeyed her insistent yank on the steering wheel and she got traction.

“Oh my,” she said breathlessly. “How in the world did I do that? Rats. I can’t see!”

He reached out, groaned, and turned a knob. The Buick’s wipers began swinging back and forth over the top of the windshield. “Much better, thank you. I don’t think I’ve ever driven in the rain, either.”

“Buddha, Osiris, and Jehovah,” Bo mumbled as he braced a hand on the dash. “I’ve changed my mind; pull over. Just let me die.”

Not happening. In the cramped air of the car, she could smell coppery blood and a mild tang of sweat, and that doubled her panic.

“No, no—it’s flooding down there,” Bo said. “Turn here, now!”

She spun the wheel, plowed over the curb, and barely righted the Buick in time to avoid a parked Tin Lizzie. “Sorry!”

He was either angry or in a lot of pain, because he didn’t even shout at her for the near miss. The windows were fogging up, and he shook his head like a wet dog, as if he were trying to stay awake. A slash of light from the street fell over a spot of bright red on the front seat, and Astrid realized with a start that it was Bo’s blood.

“We’re going to make it, I promise. Just stay awake, all right?”

“How could anyone sleep through your driving?” he grumbled. “Stay on this street!”

“It’s not my fault that I don’t know where we’re going!” she shouted. “And if you pass out and die before you have a chance to kiss me again, I’m going to be furious.”

He laughed. Laughed! Stubborn man’s liver was probably hanging open inside his body and all he could do was laugh. “It was that good, huh? Just north of Grant.”

“Yes, it was that good, and I wish we’d been doing that today instead of running around shooting people and getting stabbed, so I’m pretty mad at you right now, if you want to know the truth.” She rubbed her hand across the fogging windshield. “How the hell can I tell which one is Grant in the dark?”

“Just look for the dragon streetlamps. Up there, on the right. The building with the balcony. If you can park the Buick without killing us both, I promise to do more than kiss you before the night’s over.”

Stars. She nearly ran off the road. “Will that be before or after you’ve bled out?” she said, braking hard at Grant while she impatiently waited for traffic to pass. “Are you still putting pressure on it?”

“I’m running out of dry clothes. Maybe you should let me borrow something of yours to stanch the blood.” Was he serious? Alarmed, she gave him a quick look. He was smiling at her with half-lidded eyes. “How about patching me up with one of those five-dollar stockings?”

“How about I strangle you with them instead?”

“This date is not going well.”

“This is not a date!”

“Then I just ruined my best wool overcoat for nothing.”

“Pressure!” she reminded him.

Following Bo’s instruction, she crossed Grant and swung into a tight space between two four-story buildings—

And slammed into a wrought-iron fence with a sharp bang!

“Shit,” Astrid said, gritting her teeth. The front bumper was dented, that much she knew; they both winced as she backed up a few inches, only to hear the disconcerting squeal of metal on metal. “Where did that fence come from?”

Bo gaped above the dash at the headlights’ screwy angle. Then he closed his eyes tightly. “You . . .”

“Got you here in one piece,” she reminded him. “You can thank me later. Stay there and I’ll come around, then you can tell me on which floor we’ll find this doctor of yours.”

SIXTEEN

Grant Avenue was quiet. Chinatown’s distinctive painted lamps with their golden intertwining dragons stood sentry over a handful of tourists crowded in restaurant entrances, waiting for streetcars. The occasional umbrella darted beneath strings of rain-drenched red lanterns and blazing signs advertising CHOP SUEY and IMPORTED GOODS FROM THE ORIENT.

In other words, it was a good time to be bleeding freely on the sidewalk without attracting unwanted attention.

With Bo leaning on her shoulders, Astrid helped him through the rain and inside a white building with blue metal balconies. The inner stairwell was dim and a little dingy, but she was more concerned with how to get an injured bootlegger with a body as heavy as a sack of rocks up two flights of stairs. They took it slowly, but it wasn’t easy. He was solid muscle, slick with sweat, and his gun poked into her ribs. But as they climbed, his head dropped against hers and he murmured, “You’re doing great. Only five more steps.”