Read Online The Bridge by Solomon Jones - Free Book Online Page B

slippery in her hands, so she squeezed the butt and hoped she wouldn’t drop it.
    Her breath began to come faster as Lynch stopped the car. Both of them got out, pointing their guns at a pile of trash in back of the abandoned car.
    There was a sudden movement. Someone stood up and ran toward them. Wilson tightened her finger on the trigger. It was almost too late by the time Lynch realized what was happening.

    â€œStop!” he said sharply.
    Daneen pulled up short as she saw the guns pointed in her direction. Wilson let out a heavy sigh as she lowered her gun to her side. All of them looked at each other and tried not to think of what could have been.
    Daneen was the first to speak.
    â€œWhere y’all been?” she said, feigning calm as she reached for the door handle. “I been waitin’ for twenty minutes. Anything coulda happened to Kenya while y’all got me out here wastin’ time. I ain’t—”
    â€œShut up, Daneen,” Lynch said, reaching for his car door. “I probably care more about Kenya than you do, and I hardly know her.”
    Daneen got in the car and closed the door. “You don’t know me either, Kevin,” she said quietly. “Not anymore.”
    As they got into the car, Lynch and Daneen locked eyes as Wilson watched them both. When Lynch’s glance turned into a stare, and Daneen turned away red-faced, he quickly dropped his eyes to the floor. For a moment, nothing moved except their thoughts.
    Then something flew toward the curb, ahead and to their left. They swung around to see what it was, and a green Mustang darted out in front of them, its tires screaming against the asphalt.
    Lynch gripped the steering wheel tightly. Then he pounded the pedal into the floor.
    And with that, the chase began.
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    Sonny looked in his rearview mirror at the blue Chrysler and instinctively reached for the bag of money he had taken from the roof. Nothing mattered more at that moment than the money. Nothing, that is, except escaping.
    When he looked up from the bag and saw a police car screeching to a halt in front of him, Sonny swerved and skidded, slamming against a parked car. Then he spun the steering wheel furiously, the
tires of the Mustang kicking up white smoke as he drove north on Eleventh Street.
    He was going ninety miles per hour as he passed through a neighborhood called Yorktown, with its neat homes and striped awnings welcoming him into its midst. When he looked back again, the Chrysler was closing fast, flying through the residential streets with abandon.
    Sonny didn’t know his pursuer, but he was going to test him. Because catching Sonny would cost at least one life. And Sonny didn’t care to whom that life belonged.
    He spun the wheel suddenly, turning right on Oxford and plunging head-on into the street’s one-way traffic. He dodged one car, then clipped another, causing it to spin out of control. The Chrysler didn’t stop, but stayed close behind Sonny, plunging in and out of the traffic like a needle threading a seam.
    At Tenth, Sonny turned left, barely avoiding an oncoming police car. When he looked back again, the Chrysler was upon him, banging against his bumper, pushing him toward the parked cars along the side of the street in an effort to make him stop.
    Sonny didn’t plan to stop. He found a space between the parked cars, jerked the steering wheel, and took to the sidewalk, skidding to avoid a child on a bike as he approached Montgomery Avenue. He made a hard left there, slammed the accelerator to the floor, and entered yet another of Philadelphia’s one-way streets.
    He looked in his rearview mirror again. The Chrysler was losing ground. He tore his gaze away from the mirror and peered through the windshield. There was a building to his right—Temple University’s police station. He raced past it and onto the dormant campus.
    As he approached Broad Street, a police car skidded to a halt