The Patriots Club Read Free

one.” He hugged Jenny. The two of them laughed, and he laughed louder when he saw that the men were no longer behind them. So much for his sixth sense.
    Holding hands, they walked up the street to Broadway. It was a night to celebrate. A night to cherish with the woman he loved. It wasn’t a night to allow distrust, worry, and suspicion—the dependable, hard-earned habits of his youth—to ruin. Jenny was right. It was a night to bury his past once and for all.
    “Taxi,” he yelled, because he was feeling happy and full of himself, even though there wasn’t a yellow cab in sight. “Where should we go?”
    “Let’s go dancing,” Jenny suggested.
    “Dancing it is!”
    Spotting a cab, he put his fingers in the corners of his mouth and whistled. It was a five-alarm whistle, capable of spooking visiting sluggers from the upper deck at Yankee Stadium. Bolden stepped into the street to hail the cab. The taxi flashed its brights and slid over a lane. Turning, he stretched out an arm to Jenny.
    It was then that he saw them. At first, they were a blur. Figures moving fast, approaching aggressively along the sidewalk. Two men running. He recognized them at once. The two that had followed them from the hotel. He rushed toward Jenny, jumping onto the sidewalk to shield her with his body. “Get back!” he shouted.
    “Tommy, what is it?”
    “Watch it! Run!” Before he could get the words out, the larger of the two men collided with him, a shoulder to the sternum knocking him into the street. Bolden’s head struck the concrete. Stunned, he looked up to see the taxi bearing down on him. It braked hard, tires squealing as he rolled toward the curb.
    The other man grabbed Jenny.
    “Stop it,” she screamed, flailing her arms at her attacker’s head. She caught him with a roundhouse to the jaw and the man stumbled. She stepped forward, swinging wildly. The man blocked the punch, then slugged her in the stomach. Jenny bent double and he held her from behind, locking her arms to her sides.
    Woozy, Bolden forced himself to a knee. His vision was mixed up, clouded.
    The man who had knocked him down grabbed Jenny’s wrist and turned it upright, so the new watch buckle pointed at the sky. Bolden saw his hand rise. He was holding something gray, angular. The hand descended. Blood spurted as the knife cut her forearm and sliced through the strap of the wristwatch. Jennifer cried out, clutching her arm. The bigger man pocketed the watch and ran. With a shove, the other man released her, stooping to snatch the silver plate. Then they were gone, charging down the sidewalk.
    Bolden ordered himself to his feet. Head reeling, he hurried to her side. “Are you all right?” he asked.
    Jenny stood with her right hand clamped over her wrist. Blood seeped between her fingers, dripping to the sidewalk. “It hurts.”
    “Let me see.” He peeled back her fingers and examined the wound. The gash was four inches long and deep. “Stay here.”
    “No, it’s just a watch. It’s not worth it.”
    “It’s not about the watch,” he said, and something about his tone caused her eyes to open in fright. He handed her his phone. “Call a cop. Have him take you to NYU Emergency. I’ll find you there.”
    “No, Thomas, stay here . . . you’re finished with all that.”
    Bolden hesitated a moment, caught between past and present.
    Then he ran.

2
    The men crossed Fulton against the light, slowing to dodge an oncoming car. Bolden followed a few seconds later, sprinting blindly through the crosswalk. Somewhere, brakes howled. Tires locked up. A driver leaned on his horn. Maybe he even shouted something out the window. Bolden heard none of it. His head throbbed with a single thought.
Catch them.
It beat like a tom-tom, drumming out every other sound.
    The thieves weaved through the pedestrians as if they were pylons on a driving course. They had half a block on him, maybe seventy feet at most. They moved fast, but they weren’t sprinters and he