“Looks like we can help each other out here,” he said. “I’m guessing, given that you don’t seem all that surprised to be hearing from me, that you’ve had a chance for that young lad to bring you up to speed.”

“I just got here, yeah. He’s been filling me in. And he’s hurt. His head is bleeding.”

“Gee, that’s awful. If you could get me his name and address, I’ll send him a card. I’m guessing he told you that calling the police would be a big mistake. Did he tell you that?”

“Yes.”

“And it looks to me like you took his advice, am I right?”

How could he know that, I wondered, unless it was true? That he did have contacts in the police?

“That’s right,” I said. “We don’t need to involve the police in this. Not if it means you’ll let go of my daughter.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Cooperation. It’s what makes the world go round. So, you know what it is we want?”

“You want the car.”

“That’s right. That’s one shitty car, I have to say. We could have been spared all this trouble if the fucking thing had only started.”

“It does that sometimes. I thought it was fixed.”

“You should have bought from a dealer. You’da got a warranty. Buying from these auctions, it’s not the way to go.”

“Evidently not.” So he was the guy. From the auction. And, I was willing to bet, the guy who had slammed Stan Wannaker’s head with a car door.

“If there hadn’t been so many people gawking from their balconies, maybe we could have figured out a way to tow the thing, or get a truck, but people, they’re awfully nosy, you know?”

“Sure. Can I talk to Angie?”

“Uh, no. You heard her a minute ago, you know she’s fine. And as long as you do what I ask, and don’t call the police—” he made a sickening throat-clearing noise that sounded like a toilet flushing “—she’ll stay that way.”

“What do you want with this car? I’m guessing it’s more than the gas mileage.”

“Hey, that’s funny. That’s good. Yeah, you’re right, that’s not the reason. Let’s say it’s carrying a shipment that we’d like to have. Shit, once we remove it, you can keep the fucking car. Only a candyass faggot would drive something like that around anyway.” He laughed, and then there was some other laughing in the background, and then he lapsed into a coughing fit.

“Hang on,” he said, almost apologetically. “I need a sip of something.” I heard him smack his lips. “I got kind of a tickly throat.”

I said, “Once I get the car started, where do you want me to bring it?”