Spirits in the Park Read Online Free PDF Page B

like a Roman candle.
    And then the figure appeared, shrouded in a hooded sweatshirt, leaping through the crowd to dive into the fire.
    Through the smoke, onlookers could see the figure yanking at the door to the car that held the mother and daughter prisoner. They peered in intently, trying to catch a glimpse of a face. But the smoke was too thick, enveloping the figure in secrecy.
    Suddenly, to everyone’s shock, the figure somehow tore the car door off its hinges entirely. Reaching in, the figure helped pull the mother and daughter out of the car, carrying them through the fire to safety, where they collapsed into each other’s arms. Then the figure was gone, disappearing into the cloud of smoke. No one had caught a good look at the rescuer; but some of the folks on the edges of the crowd thought they heard a voice as the figure raced by.
    â€œI’d like to see Barbie do that!”

    McCool’s proved to be a small wooden structure nestled in the midst of towering skyscrapers. Smoke wafted from a rusted iron pipe in the roof, and the sound of animated conversation drifted out from inside. Rory had just reached his relieved mother on her cell via pay phone and he’d promised to meet her at home; she was slowly making her way up Broadway and he’d much rather be walking north with her than entering into this broken-down shack. But acknowledging that he did not know everything that was going on, he bit his tongue and followed Sergeant Kiffer inside.
    The interior made good on the exterior’s promises; this place was a dive. Dimly lit by oil lamps on the wall, the old tavern was filled with shoddy, broken-down tables and chairs and dominated by one long bar that looked as if it hadn’t been cleaned since the War of 1812. Behind the bar, manned by a large fellow with red hair and redder cheeks, sat barrels of whiskey with tubes coming out of the spigots. These tubes carried the whiskey directly into the mouths of the customers at the bar. Why waste money on glasses, Sergeant Kiffer explained, when they’d only get thrown at the bartender anyway.
    Every seat in the place was filled, and then some, by the most disreputable spirits in all of Mannahatta. Nineteenth-century gang members in top hats and dirty jackets, members of the fire brigades of two centuries earlier, notorious for fighting among themselves for the right to fight the fire, while the buildings in jeapordy merrily burned down around them, and shady sailors on shore leave from the clippers that sailed into the mist beyond the harbor. They all turned to watch as Rory entered, throwing him evil, calculating looks before returning to their conversations.
    â€œFriendly place?” Rory muttered to Kiffer. “This place couldn’t be any seedier if it sold orphans.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” Sergeant Kiffer scoffed. “These are my boys! Big Mickey!”
    The bartender, whom Kiffer introduced as Big Mickey Connolly, owner of McCool’s, gave Kiffer a nod of welcome.
    â€œNeed anything, just holler,” Big Mickey told Rory before moving down the bar to tend to his customers. He stopped to speak to a group of brightly dressed sailors led by a short man whose deep brown skin was covered in colorful tattoos. The tattooed man noticed Rory watching him and gave him a knowing wink and a smile. Rory quickly looked away, disturbed.
    â€œI think we should go,” Rory whispered to Kiffer.
    â€œI already sent word to Fritz that we’d wait here, so we’re gonna sit tight till he shows up,” Kiffer said, yanking on his helmet. “Stupid helmet must have been dented in the fight this morning. Ah! There we are!”
    Sergeant Kiffer finally managed to free his helmet, lifting it off with a relieved sigh. Rory had seen this before, but he still had to stifle a laugh. Though Kiffer’s armor was giant, the roach inside was actually no bigger than any other battle roach. The small human