Felicity scuttled over to the doorman, who blew grandly on his whistle. The lead car in the taxi line pulled forward.

“Back off? From what?”

“Don’t play the naive fool with me. I have you pretty well pegged by now. Come on, Felicity. Are you waiting for the Second Coming?”

“Poor Felicity,” I said. “If her mama knew she’d be working for you, Sandy, maybe she would have named her Anxiety instead.”

“And you know damned well that regardless of what my mama called me, my name is Alex—Vicki.” On that shot Alex threw herself into the car, Felicity handed the doorman a dollar, and the two of them took off.

I stood in the drive, watching the street long after the cab’s taillights had disappeared. I know I’m not right about everything, but she’d made it sound like something specific. Was it the same as the egg Murray was going to smear all over my smug face?

I was too tired and too sore to figure it out this evening. The doorman who’d taken in my letter to Lacey was urging me out of the drive and into a cab. I followed him meekly, although it was the fifth driver he whistled up who agreed to take me—when the first four heard the address I wanted, they shook their heads, willing to lose their place in line to avoid Humboldt Park. I didn’t blame them, exactly, but I could understand why people on the West Side get so frustrated at being denied service. The guy who finally took me to my car barely waited for my feet to touch the street before screeching into a U–turn and heading back to the Gold Coast.

The Rustmobile fit into the neighborhood so perfectly that no one had removed the tires in the two days I’d left it there. The roar from the exhaust blended in with the vibrating low–riders. Definitely a better car for me than a Jaguar convertible or some other high–rent import. No one looked at me as I went back down Grand. I stopped in front of Special–T’s front door. No lights shone tonight, but I wasn’t going in for another look—I wasn’t in shape to escape a second trap.

I parked several blocks from my apartment. Now that Alex could tell Lemour I’d surfaced, I needed to watch out for ambushes. No one was lying in wait so far; I stopped to chat with Mr. Contreras and the dogs. My neighbor had received the LifeStory report on Lucian Frenada that I’d mailed Saturday afternoon. I’d forgotten to tell him about it, but I explained its importance to him now.

“You want me to keep it for you, doll, I’ll be glad to.”