Erica Orloff - The Golden Girl

When John and Madison got to the park, they aimlessly wandered down paths, talking. When they got to the Wolman Skating Rink, Madison stopped still when she spied the Russian from the night at the warehouse—the one who’d shot his partner. He was with a new partner now, a shorter, squat man with a black overcoat. Whereas everyone else seemed focused on their kids, or on people watching, the two men’s only focus appeared to be Madison—and now John. Fear gripped her throat, and Madison leaned into John.

“Where’d you park your motorcycle?”

“Not too far from here…found a spot on the street. Must be my lucky day.”

Not if these guys get ahold of us, it won’t be, Maddie thought. “I was wondering…what if we changed plans and took that drive upstate? It’s a really pretty day.”

He looked at her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You going to be warm enough in this sweater? Maybe we should drop by your place and pick up a jacket.”

“No, that’s okay, really. I’m always warm.”

“All right, let’s go then. You know, I think I have a sweatshirt in my saddlebag. It won’t match your outfit, but for the ride, it’ll be fine, if you don’t mind, and will give you another layer.”

“Great!” Maddie smiled up at him, and he pulled her against him and kissed her on the mouth.

“I just had to do that,” he growled.

Despite really preferring to go find a bench and kiss him all afternoon, Maddie knew she had to get them out of the park and out of the city. Now. “Come on,” she purred, hoping he would be anxious to get on the motorcycle together.

“All right,” he said reluctantly. Arm around her shoulder, he steered her out of the park and toward his bike. Looking over her shoulder, Maddie saw the Russian and his pal following them. The Russian had a square jaw and eyes the color of a pale blue glacier. They were only a few yards back. She quickened her pace, and John instinctively kept step with her.

They reached his motorcycle, and he handed her his sweatshirt—a black one with the Harley insignia on it. If my peers could see me now, she mused. She donned the warm sweatshirt and the shiny black helmet he had and climbed on the bike in back of him.

Within minutes, they were roaring through Manhattan. At a couple of lights, she looked over her shoulder. No one appeared to be following her and John, and she felt herself relax and actually enjoy the ride. She assumed that the two mobsters had decided that a scene in broad daylight—when she was with a well-built, tough-looking guy herself—was not in their best interest.

Eventually, they drove up the Palisades Parkway, which snaked up along the Hudson River all the way to Bear Mountain and West Point. The farther north they got, the more traffic there was—which was the opposite of normal—when closer to the city usually meant more traffic. But Madison remembered the morning newscaster rating the day as one of the top choices for fall foliage. She did marvel at the hues of gold and burnished reds. She felt, as they drove on into the mountains, the colder air as it hit her face. She buried her right cheek against John’s back. She was amazed at how much just touching him on the motorcycle gave her feelings she frankly had never thought she’d have. She was too controlled, too much like her father, too much a woman who had to play with the big boys and never let them see her break a sweat.

He slowed the Harley as they came to the circle near West Point.

“You cold?” he shouted over the roar of the motorcycle.

“Just a little.”

“We’ll stop in a little bit for some coffee. I know a roadside diner.”

As they completed the circle, she saw John look in his side-view mirrors and felt him stiffen.

“What?” she shouted.

“Some asshole is creeping up on my tail.”

Maddie glanced behind them and saw a black Mercedes sedan with black-tinted windows speeding up on them.

John revved the bike and leaned forward a bit. But the more he sped up, the more the black car kept up with them. “What the hell…” John shouted against the wind.

Maddie instinctively leaned against him, almost as if she willed him to go faster. She could handle the speed.

“Hang on!” he yelled. Suddenly, the motorcycle’s full capabilities were on display. John had the bike going ninety-five miles an hour, and he zipped in front of two slower cars, trying to put some distance between them and the Mercedes sedan.

However, Maddie could glimpse the sedan in his side-view mirrors. The driver of the car—and she assumed it was the Russian or his sidekick—had no respect for the law—or safety. The car pulled out into the no-passing lane and gained on them.

John urged the motorcycle faster, and they raced along the winding turns of the upper Palisades Parkway as other cars leisurely drove, taking in the sights of the fall trees in all their glory.

“I have an idea,” he yelled back at her.

Maddie gripped him tighter, moving her lips in an involuntary prayer of the Our Father, though she hadn’t been to church in years.

John sped along the parkway, slowed slightly, and made a turn into the Bear Mountain Park. He exited the park almost as soon as he entered it, by making a 360-degree turn in the parking lot, leaning the bike way down, almost on its side. Maddie leaned with him, trying to meld their bodies as one so there was no resistance. The sedan spun around, too, and followed them as John drove back the way they had come. Soon they arrived back at the West Point circle, only this time, he headed right toward the West Point campus. Slowing, they arrived at the entry gate, where soldiers manned a sentry post.

West Point, aside from being an officer-training school, was also a huge tourist attraction. It had a beautiful view of the Hudson, not to mention incredible historical significance, and a museum. John paid to park, acting as if they were tourists, after telling the guard on duty they were there to sightsee.

As John pulled the bike onto the campus, Maddie marveled at all the gray-uniformed cadets, walking ramrod straight, eyes forward, cap bills pulled down. John was brilliant, she decided. There was no way, in this political climate, that the two guys in the Mercedes would try anything on the campus. She felt John relax—and so did she.

They found a parking spot and climbed off the bike and removed their helmets.

“Who were those guys?” John asked.

Maddie shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe some random weirdos.”

He stared at her. “Maddie…random weirdos in a hundred-fifty-thousand-dollar cars don’t decide to run people off the road in broad daylight. Did you get a look at their faces?”

“No. I was too busy holding on for dear life.”

“Look, is there something you’re not telling me?” His voice was filled with worry.

“Like what?” Maddie opened her eyes wide, feigning innocence.

“I don’t know…forget it. Maybe they were just screwing around with me because of the Harley. A testosterone thing. Speaking of…” He pulled her to him and kissed her. “As long as we’re here, want to take a walk around?”

She nodded. Anything to get his mind off the motorcycle ride. “First I need to use the ladies’ room.”

He craned his head, saw some signs, and they made their way to the museum, where she went into the ladies’ room while he waited outside. Once she was in a stall, she dialed Troy.

“Agent Carter here.”

“Troy, it’s Madison…listen, I don’t have a lot of time. I was out on a date when the Russian and a stocky pal saw me in Central Park—they were obviously following me. Long story but my date drove me out the city. Then the Russian and his friend nearly ran me—us—off the road.”