Addis tapped on the floor. “See you down below,” he said and shut the door. He heard her descend. He kept his eye on the door to the storage area. He listened to the music. The dumbwaiter came back, and he crawled in. It was a tight fit. He had to bend one leg and tuck it under his chin. He folded the other leg beneath his butt. He ducked his head and felt a spasm in his neck. He closed the door, pounded on the floor, and was lowered smoothly to the basement. The nephews helped him out. Lancette stood there. Her blouse was covered with grime.

“I’d be dazed if we had the time,” she said.

Addis thanked the young men, and rushed to the back door. He opened it. The Honda was there. The engine was running. The parking attendant was standing next to the car. Lancette came up behind Addis.

“Shit,” he said. “It’s pointed in the wrong direction. I don’t want to drive by the front … . Damnit … let’s go.”

They ran out of the basement and to the car.

“You can back out,” Lancette said, as they climbed in.

Headlights—high beams—lit up the inside of the car from behind. The rear way was blocked. Addis had no choice. He threw his car into gear and punched the accelerator. “Put on your seat belt,” he said to her.

He sped out of the alley and turned right and then made a quick left. He kept his speed up as he went downhill. “My house,” he said, halfway down the street. “On the left. Is Eric in the window?”

“Can’t tell.” Lancette was struggling with the seat belt.

“It sticks,” Addis said. “Force it in.”

Shit, he thought, my driving glasses.

He ignored the one-way sign at the bottom of the street, made a right—the tires screeched—and went through a red light. A motorcyclist swerved to miss him and nearly collided with a bus. The Honda skidded across the road. He gripped the wheel tightly and turned left on to the Duke Ellington Bridge.

“Where to?” he asked.

“Wherever you want,” she said. “How about some place real quiet.”

Yes, yes, yes.

He checked the rearview mirror. A Trailblazer was running a red light at the end of the bridge.

“Shit,” he said. “Hold on.”

Addis made the first turn he could. A hard right. Lancette was thrown to the left. Her bag flew out of her hand and landed on the floor. The Honda banged over a series of potholes.

“I bet he’s pretty good at this car-chase stuff,” he said.

“They usually are,” Lancette replied.