I checked the rearview again, still no Whip. Twenty minutes into my idle, I spotted his gray Hyundai turn the corner and head toward me. I flashed my lights to draw his attention, and then watched as recognition dawned on his face and he glowered through his windshield at me. I rolled my window down when he pulled up alongside.

“What are you doing here? I thought we decided I’d take this.”

“You decided, not me,” I said. “I go in with you, or neither of us goes in. I’ll give you a moment to wrap your head around it.”

“What am I, a child?”

“No, you’re my friend, and I’m going with you.”

He softened. “You look like a cop.”

I gave myself a quick once-over: jeans, T-shirt, Nikes, sunglasses, baseball hat. Work clothes. Whip caught me looking, and pulled a face.

“It’s not your shoes. It’s the eyes, the way you walk, talk, move, like you own the place.”

“Pull over, give me a minute. I’ll leave my car and ride the rest of the way in yours.”

Whip threw up his hands. “Am I talking to myself?”

I rolled my window up and put the car into park. That was my answer. I got out, lost the hat, fluffed my hair, rolled up the bottom of my shirt and tied it into a midriff, then slid the top of my jeans down a bit past my hips. “You have any gum on you?”

Whip stood watching, mouth open. Slowly he reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of Juicy Fruit and handed it to me. I wadded a couple sticks into my mouth, worked it around, then reached into my back pocket and pulled out my earbuds. “Let me see your phone.” He handed it over, but my buds weren’t compatible. Didn’t matter. Who’d check? I stuffed the phone into my back pocket, then stuffed the end of the earbuds in after it. The business end of the buds I stuffed into my ears. “Okay, let’s roll.”

He shook his head, looked a little frightened. “Who are you?”

I slipped my arm in his. “I’m your girlfriend, Brandi. You’re here to see an old pal, ask him a question about a hired car. I could give less than a shit about being here. You promised me breakfast at the White Palace, so I’m going to keep rushing you along. I won’t be listening to your conversation. I’m addicted to music. If anything goes hinky in there, stand behind me.”

Whip yanked his arm away. “Like hell I will. I’m a grown-ass man. I bench-pressed two-fifty in the joint. And you still look too damn smart. Stop looking all tuned in. These are crooks, not CEOs. This is not going to work.”