Page 109 of Dead Serious: Case 3 Mr Bruce Reyes

“That can’t be good,” Dusty mutters in worry. “How much do you want to bet that eye is right over Whitechapel?”

“Tristan,” Bruce says heavily, glancing at the box in my arms. “We need to get to the bookshop.”

“Okay,” Sam interjects. “Less talking. To the Batmobile!”

Danny sends him a wry look. “How long have you wanted to say that?” Sam just grins and set off toward the car park.

The “Batmobile” in this instance happens to be a slightly dented blue Honda Jazz. Admittedly, it’s a bit of a letdown—not exactly a 1967 Chevy Impala, is it?—but we work with what we’ve got.

We all pile into the car. Danny’s in the front passenger seat and I’m in the back with Dusty and Bruce, clutching for dear life onto a box of bones, as Sam peels out of the car park.

T-Minus 1 Hour, 15 minutes…

“I told you to head towards Holborn not Farringdon!” Danny shouts.

“I can’t go through Holborn,” Sam snaps back. “It’s flooded. We have to go through Farringdon and then Spitalfields.”

“Spitalfields has roadworks, it’s diverted traffic.”

“Oh my god.” Dusty watches the two of them bicker like an old married couple. “Are we really the world’s best chance?”

“Apparently,” I mutter, drumming my fingertips impatiently against the lid of the box on my lap.

“Tristan.” Bruce gives a pained wince. “Do you mind? That’s vibrating right through my bones.”

“Oh sorry.” I shift and wrap my arms around the box instead.

“Take the A-40, then the A-1211,” Danny insists.

“There’s tolls on that road.” Sam scowls. “We should take the A-3211…”

T-Minus 1 Hour, 5 minutes…

“Well, that was unexpected,” Sam says as we all stare down at his car, which now has two flat tires and a caved-in bumper from the lamppost he just clipped.

Danny purses his lips thoughtfully. “Do you get the feeling something doesn’t want us to get to Whitechapel?”

Sam snorts. “No shit, Sherlock.”

I roll my eyes and turn my head to see a familiar type of vehicle heading down the road. Sticking my fingers in my mouth, I let out a shrill whistle and then lift my hand.

The black cab swings to a stop beside us. I open the door and help Danny in, watching as he flops into the seat with a grunt. Next, I pile in with Sam behind me, along with Dusty and Bruce.

“Whitechapel, please,” I tell the driver as I close the door and settle back in the seat with the box once again on my lap. “Do you know the road at the end of the alley where the occult bookshop is?”

“Certainly do,” the driver says jovially and the cab jolts as he pulls away from the curb.

“I’m going to end up with a ticket,” Sam laments with a frown, watching his car disappear from sight.

“I thought you liked breaking the law,” Danny says pointedly.

“Will you two give it a rest?” I sigh. “Were you like this when you worked together?”

Their twin grins, just like misbehaving toddlers, is my answer.

“Nice to see the rain has let up a bit,” the taxi driver says conversationally. “You off to do a bit of shopping? Might be better off in Spitalfields.”

“We live in Whitechapel,” I say politely.