Secrets & Lies Read Online Free

window, climbedto the roof, and ran across the tops of the buildings on 2nd Street, as I always do. The wind
was
strong and cold. I had the fleeting thought that maybe I should turn around and go back to the warmth of my room, but my stubbornness won that battle.
    Down the telephone pole and on the street, I noticed the lack of humanity, and it was only 9:00 or so. Smart people. They weren’t stupid enough to be out in the arctic wasteland like the Black Stiletto was. Nevertheless, I went on patrol and ran around the streets more for the exercise and to keep warm rather than to find crimes in progress. I didn’t see anything but a few hapless souls all bundled up and hurrying for home. After nearly an hour, I’d had enough. Even though my heavy leather winter outfit blocked the worst effects of the cold wind, I still felt like an icicle. I was near Washington Square Park, so I turned east along 4th Street to head home. As I neared Broadway, I saw three guys outside a furrier’s shop. One of them stooped and started working on the steel pull-down grate that covered the entrance. The other two appeared nervous, looking up and down the street. A white van idled directly in front of the storefront. I ducked into an alcove and watched them. I was sure they hadn’t seen me; I tend to blend in with the night. Steamy breath issued from their mouths. I heard one of the standing men say, “Hurry!” and the crouching guy reply, “I got it.” The three of them raised the grate and then loudly smashed the plate glass window on the ground floor. No alarm went off.
    The three men stepped through the broken window. A fourth man sat in the van while his buddies did the dirty work. I emerged from my hiding place, sprinted toward the back of the vehicle, ducked, and slithered along the driver’s side. When I was directly below his window, I reached up and opened the door. Boy, was
he
surprised! I grabbed him before he could honk the horn or issue a warning to his friends, and I pulled him out to the street. I then used one of my invented
wushu
maneuvers that was a combination of what I learned in Chinatown and the
karate
I learned from Soichiro. I suppose it was a modified
Mawashi-geri
—roundhouse kick—followedby circular punches. The fellow went down for the count. I left him there and moved around the van to face the building. The burglars had flashlights; the beams jerked here and there in the darkness inside. Otherwise, I couldn’t see anything but dark shapes.
    Maybe it was because I was cold. Perhaps I was out of practice and just wasn’t thinking. It could be because I’m headstrong and impulsive. Whatever the reason, I barged in there without a plan of action. Dumb idea.
    My vision is better than most people’s, so I got used to the darkness pretty quickly. Only then did I comprehend how crowded it was in the shop. Racks of fur coats were on either side of me, blocking easy access to the sides of the place. “Hey!” one of them shouted. Flashlight beams swung in my direction and temporarily blinded me. My brain should have registered that there weren’t only two. The duo was directly in front of me, but I didn’t realize the third guy was off to the side, out of sight. I rushed toward the brightness as one burglar shouted, “The Black Stiletto!” Feeling cocky, I blurted, “No applause, please!” as I slammed into him and knocked him over. Not very elegant, but it worked. He dropped the flashlight and it skittered across the floor. I turned my attention to the other beam of light and struck the dark oval shape above it with my fist. The man yelped in pain as my knuckles crushed the cartilage in his nose. He, too, dropped his torch and curled up, holding his face. A swift kick to his chin sent him to Dreamsville. By then, the first guy had gotten to his feet, but he ran past me toward the broken window. I turned to chase him, but—
bam
!