Ghosts of Manhattan Read Online Free PDF

lenses slowly away from the bridge of his nose. Everything took on a red sheen. Targeting circles floated, disembodied, before his vision. He cranked the lenses once again, tiny cogs whirring inside the device, and the view suddenly magnified, becoming sharp and bright. He could see the sidewalk five stories below as if he were only a few feet away.
    The sound came to him again, a stifled cry. The Ghost tracked along the sidewalk toward where he thought it had originated. There, by the mouth of an alleyway, was a large armored car, thick iron plates cladding its sides to form a tank-like vehicle, the windshield just a slit in the otherwise impenetrable metal sheeting. The engine was running, and the exhaust chimney was belching oily black smoke as it burned coal at a furious rate. Behind this, in the alleyway itself, he sensed movement. He decided to investigate.
    The Ghost flicked a switch on the side of his goggles and the lenses snapped back into place, returning his vision to normal. He glanced along the edge of the building, looking for the quickest route down to street level. Just a few feet away, a steel fire-escape ladder was fixed to the outside of the building. Shrugging to loosen his shoulders, the Ghost pulled himself up onto the stone lip of the building, ran sure-footed but carefully along the top of it, and dropped easily onto the metal platform below. His heavy boots rang out into the quiet night. Then, gripping the railings with his gloved fists, he used his weight to slide down from platform to platform, hitting the sidewalk a matter of moments later.
    The alleyway was only a hundred or so yards away. At street level, the sound of the car engine was a constant background growl. He'd use that to his advantage, muffling his footsteps as he crept closer to the mouth of the alleyway. He liked having the element of surprise on his side; it usually meant he avoided getting shot.

    The Ghost drew opposite the parked vehicle, trying to ascertain whether there was anybody inside. He guessed the driver would be waiting behind the wheel, keeping the engine running, ready for the others to make their getaway when they were done.
    Whatever was going down, he knew it involved the mob. Only the Roman's men could afford an armored car like the one across the street from him, and only the Roman's men would ever have a use for it. The thought rankled him. Dealing with the Roman's lackeys was like dealing with the symptoms of an infection. Sooner or later, he'd need to root out the cause of the infection itself. For now, though, it sounded like someone needed his help.
    The Ghost crossed silently toward the car, as graceful as a cat sneaking up on a bird. Careful to avoid any of the viewing slots that had been cut into the armor plating, he peered over the roof of the vehicle at the scene unfolding on the other side.
    A middle-aged man in a shopkeeper's apron was on the ground. He twitched unconsciously as two men in black suits carried on with their indiscriminate assault, kicking him viciously in the face, chest, and stomach. Their victim had long since lost the will to defend himself and now his arms and legs were splayed out on the damp flagstones as he silently accepted each blow. The two men in black suits were laughing with each other as they went about their business. It was clear to the Ghost almost immediately what was happening. He'd heard from others that the Roman had started a protection racket, and either this man had bravely refused to pay up, or else he couldn't afford to meet his payment.
    Whatever the case, he didn't deserve the kind of treatment he was receiving at the hands of the two goons.
    He stood back from the car, flexing his gloved fingers and stretching his neck muscles. He could feel the tension in his shoulders as he prepared himself for a fight. In and out. He didn't plan to linger. He'd take down the two stooges and then be gone with the unconscious shopkeeper before the driver had chance even