A rusted-out Ford Tempo rol ed past us, slowed opposite Tyree’s Lexus, then accelerated and disappeared around the far corner.

“Think we’ve been noticed?” I asked.

Woolsey shrugged, then reached out and jacked up the AC. Cold air blasted from the blower.

Time check. Eight minutes since I’d disconnected with Slidel .

A group of black teens, al with baggy pants, back-turned visors, and gangsta struts rounded the corner and moved up the sidewalk in our direction.

Spotting Woolsey’s car, one elbowed another, and the group formed a scrum. Seconds later, they performed handshake acrobatics, then continued in our direction.

Reaching us, two of the teens hopped onto the hood, leaned back on their elbows, and crossed ankles ending in designer Nikes. A third circled to Woolsey’s door, a fourth to mine.

I noticed Woolsey’s hands drop from the wheel. Her right arm stayed lightly cocked, hand tense beside her right hip.

I glanced at the gangsta who’d stationed himself on my side. He looked about fifteen and slightly larger than a pet ferret.

The ferret indicated I should lower my window. I ignored him.

The ferret spread his feet, folded his arms, and gave me a hard sunglasses stare. I held the stare a ful five seconds, then turned away.

Ten minutes.

The ferret’s counterpart was older and accessorized with enough gold to refinance WorldCom. He tapped the knuckle of an index finger on Woolsey’s window.

“Wassup?” His voice sounded muted inside the closed-up car.

Woolsey and I ignored him.

The kid draped a forearm crossways on Woolsey’s window, bent, and leaned his forehead on it.

“Yo, white sisters. You lookin’ to do some bidness?”

When the kid spoke, only the right half of his face rode along, as though the left suffered from Bel ’s palsy, or had sustained an injury that deactivated the nerves on that side.

“You lookin’ fine, pretty mamas. Lower the glass so’s I can talk wit’ chew.”

Woolsey flipped him the bird.

The kid pushed upright with both palms.

Woolsey made a shooing motion with her left hand.

The kid took one step back and gave Woolsey the ghetto glare.

Woolsey glared back.

Eleven minutes.

Bracing his feet, the kid wrapped both hands around Woolsey’s side mirror and turned to her. One half of his mouth smiled. His eyes did not.

I’l never know if Woolsey was reaching for a gun or reaching for a badge. At that moment Slidel ’s Taurus rounded the corner, pul ed over, and lurched to a stop behind us.

Though not on the upper end of the IQ curve, the little creeps harassing us could make a cop car a hundred yards off. As the doors of the Taurus flew open, the point men slid from Woolsey’s hood and started moving up the block. Throwing me one last up-yours glance, the ferret joined them.