I let 'em go and went back to the sidewalk. I know where that woods lets out; it leads right back to Central Park West, and it's the long way around. I can easy beat 'em by goin' up the sidewalk.
And I do. I'm already waitin' outside when Queerpants comes hoppin' out with the whole mob runnin' after him. Looks like they picked up lots more people on the way, cuz now there's hundreds followin' him.
I damn near chokes when Queerpants jumps the red light. But traffic just stops dead for him, brakes jammin' up and down the street for about a mile.
He's headin' straight crosstown towards the river, it looks like, and I'm thinkin', damn, this I gotta see. But I can't figger no way to catch up with 'em.
Then I see the traffic on the other side of the street is startin' to turn right in after the tail-end o' the mob. And the same thing starts on my side, ev'rybody tryin' to go down that side street at the same time. And ev'rybody punchin' their horns like crazy.
About four cars down from where I'm standin', there's a taxi in the line. So, neat as you please, I goes down, opens his door and climbs in.
The cabby don't even see me. In his mirror, I can see his face is red as a beet, and he's yellin' and cussin' and beatin' on his hornbutton.
Well, I pulls the door shut and make myself comfy. Then, all of a sudden, we start movin'. As we cut around the corner, I see how we got our break—there's two cars locked bumpers in the other lane, holdin' up the whole line.
Now we're goin' straight crosstown at a pretty good clip. At Amsterdam, we swing uptown, up a big hill, and when we get to the top, I can see the crowd still racing along like mad.
Way uptown, somewhere near a Hundred and Twenty-fifth, we turn west, run down under the Express Highway, and end up in front of a beat-up old dock.