like a bee sting.
Jesus… what was that?
I leapt down the stairs three at a time, knocking over a Hispanic woman who called me horrible names. No time for apologies.
I slowed down as I entered the station, reached for my wallet. Jumping the turnstile would draw unwanted attention. The station manager would see me, call the transit cops. Finally my slippery fingers ripped the MetroCard out and ran it through the scanner.
“Please swipe card again.”
Oh, God. Not now.
I swiped it again, and a beep confirmed the fare was paid.
Breathing hard, I walked quickly to the end of the platform, trying to stay inconspicuous to strangers buried in newspapers and paperback books.
I went to the far end of the platform and ducked behind a column, my lungs heaving. I leaned over the yellow line and peered into the dark tunnel. Two bright lights were visible, and they were drawing closer. The train couldn’t get here fast enough. I looked at my thigh, saw the hole in my jeans, my blood reddening the blue cloth. There was no pain, as though my nervous system had shut down. Oh, God…
Please let it get here before they do. Just give me more time.
Glancing at the turnstiles, my heart sank as I saw the two cops run onto the platform, their eyes darting back and forth. I plastered my body against a grimy pillar, trying to slow down my breathing. I couldn’t hear any footsteps; the train was too close, the screeching of metal drowning out all other noise.
The first car of the giant metal snake rushed past, the air around me shattered in an instant, damp hair plastered against my forehead.
Come on!
Then the train began to slow down. Brakes grinding against the tracks, the wind subsiding.
When the train came to a halt and the doors slid open, I waited for the passengers to exit then slid inside the last car. I took a seat next to a young woman in a navy pinstripe suit wearing headphones, her head bobbing to a silent rhythm. A man across the aisle was reading a folded newspaper. Neither of them looked at me. I took slow breaths, my heart rate mercifully dropping.
I exhaled as the doors began to close. I knew exactly where to go next. It would only be a short few minutes before I got there.
Then right before the doors sealed shut, they sputtered open. Someone was trying to enter the train at the last second. Nobody in my car was holding the doors, so I stood up and peered through the windowpane into the adjacent car.
No.
Two pairs of arms were prying the door open like spiders caught in a Venus flytrap. I recognized the glint of a badge, then saw the faces through the window. The cops were coming inside.
Trying to act casual, I stood up and inched toward the opposite end of the car.
The conductor’s scratchy voice came over the loudspeaker.
“Let’s go, people! There’s another train right behind us!”
I had no time to think. When the doors opened again, right as the cops entered the train, I bolted back out onto the platform. I sprinted toward the subway entrance, noticed a gun barrel jammed between another set of doors. The cops had seen me leave and were trying to pry their way back out into the station. The conductor’s irritated voice echoed once more as the subway doors again flung open, the cops spilling back out onto the platform. Less than twenty feet away from me.
Run.
I followed the exodus of people who’d gotten off the train at 116th, ducking between two men, then sidestepping a woman lifting a baby carriage. I ran up a flight of steps to the upper platform. The musty smell of spilled coffee and extinguished cigarettes coated my nostrils with every sharp breath. The entrance to the street loomed just past the turnstiles, but I wouldn’t make it outside. The cops had surely called for help. Any minute now they’d be circling the station like sharks aching for blood. In this situation, evasion was better than confrontation.
I ducked into a newspaper kiosk and grabbed the nearest magazine.
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