“Pete, I hope you told me the truth. Don’t make me do something I don’t want to do.” I didn’t know exactly what I meant by that, but I knew I meant it.

He got to his feet, brushing his pants off, moving slowly, and we both walked to our cars in silence.

I don’t remember much of the drive home. The streets were nearly empty. Deserted auto-body shops and used tire places stood silent. I didn’t really know where I was, but I kept the skyscrapers of downtown in front of me so that I was heading west. I curved down Brooklyn onto Mission, then I found the freeway.

I felt like a truck had hit me. My legs were shaky and tired where I’d been gripping Pete Manzo like a runaway horse. My jaw was throbbing. My right hand was sore, bruised a little. Maybe I had hit him. My mind wouldn’t stop racing, reviewing what had happened. I had been followed by a man. In time-honored tradition I followed the man. At first I had thought he was sent by Monica Fullbright. Or that he was after Monica Fullbright and using me. He was a junkie—unreliable by definition. Erratic. Probably dangerous. I had gone too far. I couldn’t trust him to be gentle with me if he found me again.

I crawled up the stairs to the sweatbox apartment. It was dark. The door was closed, but the big window in the living room was open. I hadn’t left it that way. I held my purse tighter to my chest and got the mace out again. The can was almost empty. I threw the door open so hard it bounced against the wall.

“I was wondering when you’d get back.” Lupe was curled up on the couch in the dark. The TV was on with the sound off.

I charged into the living room feeling territorial. “What are you doing here?”

“You look messed up. What’s that shit all over your skirt?”

“I am messed up. I just had a run-in with Cathy Vega’s boyfriend, the one in the VW who was following me. He’s a junkie and a drug dealer. I’m beat. I need a bath. I need you out of here.”

“Rough day, huh?”

“What are you doing here?” This is called the broken-record technique. It’s supposed to get answers to questions.

“Want me to get you a drink? There’s some beers in the refrigerator.”

“Of course there are some beers in the refrigerator. They’re my beers. This is my house. What are you doing here? You were supposed to be gone this morning.”