The Merchant of Death Read Online Free Page A

report about some nasty crime that had just gone down. Once we shot off the Cross Bronx Expressway we were smackin the middle of the badlands. Burned-out buildings were everywhere. Nobody walked on the streets. It all looked empty and desolate, yet I had the eerie feeling that many sets of eyes were locked on us from the dark windows of the derelict buildings as we cruised by. And of course, it was nighttime dark.
    Was I scared? Well, judging by the fact that I wanted to puke and I held on to Uncle Press so hard I expected to hear one of his ribs crack, I’d say yeah, I was scared. Uncle Press guided the motorcycle toward one of those old-fashioned kiosks that marked the stairs leading down to the subway. We bounced up onto the curb and he killed the engine. As we glided to a stop, suddenly everything became quiet. Granted, I’d been riding on the back of a motorcycle for the past half hour and after that anything would seem quiet. But this was really quiet, like a ghost town. Or a ghost city.
    â€œThis is it,” he announced and jumped off the bike. I jumped off too and gratefully removed my helmet. Finally, I could hear again. Uncle Press left his helmet on the bike and headed for the subway entrance.
    â€œWhoa, hold on, we’re going to leave the bike and the helmets?” I asked with surprise. I couldn’t believe it. He didn’t even take the keys out of the ignition. I’m no expert on crime, but I could pretty much predict that if we left this gear here, it would be gone before we blinked.
    â€œWe don’t need it anymore,” he said quickly and started down the subway stairs.
    â€œWhy are we taking the subway?” I asked. “Why don’t we just stay on the bike?”
    â€œBecause we can’t take the bike where we’re going,” he answered with a matter-of-fact tone. He turned and headed down a few more steps.
    I didn’t move. I wanted answers, and I wasn’t takinganother step until I got some. Uncle Press sensed that I wasn’t following him, so he stopped and looked back at me.
    â€œWhat?” he asked, with a little bit of frustration.
    â€œI just blew off the most important game of my life, my team is going to crucify me tomorrow, and you want me to follow you into the subway in the worst part of New York City? I think I deserve to know what’s going on!” This had gone far enough and if I didn’t get some answers, I was walking. Of course I wasn’t exactly sure of where I would go if Uncle Press left me there and went on alone. I figured it was a safe risk, though. After all, he was my uncle.
    Uncle Press softened. For a moment I saw the face of the guy I’d known all my life. “You’re right, Bobby. I’ve asked you to do a lot on faith. But if we stop for me to explain everything, we may be too late.”
    â€œToo late for what?”
    â€œThere’s a group of people who are in trouble. They’re relying on me to help them, and I’m relying on you to help me.”
    I was flattered and freaked at the same time. “Really? What kind of trouble?”
    â€œThat’s what would take me forever to explain. I’d rather show you.”
    I didn’t know what to do. Even if I wanted to run away, I had no clue of how to get out of there. And here was this guy, my uncle, staring me straight in the eye and saying he needed me. There weren’t a whole lot of options. I finally decided to divulge the single overriding thought in my head.
    â€œI’m scared.” There, I said it.
    â€œI know. But please believe me, Bobby, as long as it’s in my power, I won’t let anything happen to you.” He said this with such sincerity, it actually made me feel better . . . for about a second.
    â€œWhat happens when it’s not in your power?” I asked.
    Uncle Press smiled, and said, “That won’t be for a while. Are you with me?”
    They say that just before