Owl and the City of Angels by Kristi Charish Read Free Book Online Page B

left at the mosque, and I’d almost be home free.
    I heard screaming behind me, pitched enough to indicate fights breaking out. A quick glance over my shoulder told me exactly what the problem was; more people were flooding into the street and causing a traffic jam. That didn’t bode well.
    Someone fell into my back, catapulting me over a man who’d tripped ahead of me. Captain shrieked—out of fear or indignation, I couldn’t tell. I was too busy getting my feet to land under me and ducking a bottle as it soared overhead—striking a woman a few feet ahead wearing a bright blue scarf. She disappeared, whether trampled or escaping to the side I couldn’t be sure as two more bottles shot overhead.
    So much for riding the mob in a Zen state . . .
    I dove under a picked-over and abandoned date cart. The wood of the cart creaked as people climbed over it, but it didn’t upend.
    I realized my pocket was buzzing. I answered to a tirade of Russian cursing from the other end.
    “Nadya?” I said, plugging my ear.
    “Yes, Alix, I’m here—” I heard something crash on Nadya’s end, followed by more Russian cursing.
    “Nadya?” The crowd was thinning now, so I watched for a good spot to make an exit.
    Through the crowd of feet I picked out the black pants and leather shoes of two IAA agents. Damn it . . . I placed the phone back to my ear and heard more screaming in Russian. “Nadya, what the hell is happening on your end?” I whispered as loud as I dared. “And where the hell are you?” I asked when the yelling didn’t stop.
    “I’m hiding in a bar, and me and the management have come to an agreement.” I didn’t miss the threat heavy in Nadya’s voice. Now I knew what the shouting had been about.
    “How the hell did I end up in the riot and you in the bar?” I said, keeping track of the IAA’s feet.
    “Because unlike you, I’m capable of planning ahead,” Nadya replied.
    “Oh come on! I could hardly have predicted a riot and IAA—”
    “Alix, move or you won’t make it. I have an out, but it is time sensitive—a half hour only. Call me when you reach the docks—I’ll keep my eye out for you,” she said, and hung up.
    Damn it, barely any time at all. I set my stopwatch for thirty minutes and hoped I didn’t screw it up.
    I picked out a third pair of black IAA-issue shoes on the other side of the cart. The only way he could have gotten in was through the other end of the alley . . . Son of a bitch, I hate playing cat and mouse—especially when I’m the mouse. On top of the IAA closing in, the crowd was filling back in again fast. I needed to move now, or I’d be boxed in. And I had no illusions about my chances up against three agents.
    Well, there’s one advantage to me being shorter than most people: I’m harder to shoot in a crowd.
    The cart I was hiding under had been picked over, but it still carried dates. Let’s hope enough to cause a commotion in an already volatile environment. “Time to change the game the IAA’s playing, Captain,” I said, and checked that he was still secure in my backpack. I grabbed the handles and pushed the cart up and over, spilling the dates into the crowd.
    There were a few indignant yells—some for the dates, but mostly for the fact that the wooden cart had pushed an already volatile crowd into a nonexistent corner. Already short tempers flared at the loss of even more personal space, and one by one they turned on each other—including the IAA agents.
    While someone threw a punch at large agent number one, I shot out from behind the cart and vaulted over it. I kept Captain closely clutched to my stomach—though I’m the first to admit there’s comedic value to the idea of some hapless Egyptian lifting my backpack and being rewarded with a face full of claws.
    I pushed past two more mob goers/protestors and climbed over another food cart, toppling it over to get myself more than an arm’s length away from the fray.
    I checked for the IAA