“If you make a joke about ‘doing’ me, or say anything sexual,” I say, “I will rip your tongue out of your mouth and beat you to death with it. Now what do you do?”

He rolls his eyes to try to take in my expression, but he’s so close all he can see is my own dark eyes burning into his. I can smell fried pork and scallions on his breath. He’s got blackheads on his nose.

“Numbers,” he manages. “I’m a numbers guy.”

I narrow my eyes. “Math or accounting?”

“Yes. I mean, both.”

I let go of him and he staggers back a step. Before he can get his balance, I jab him with questions. “You work for Peaches?”

“Who’s Peaches?”

“The nice man with the Hawks cap who gave you to me.”

“No, I don’t know him.”

“You know Gavin Lester?”

“No. That your uncle?”

“How do you know he’s my uncle?”

“The nice man with the Hawks cap said he was supposed to deliver me to your uncle. Like I’m a UPS package. You don’t look like the kind of person who calls her uncle Peaches, so when you asked me about Gavin Lester, I guessed that’s your uncle.”

“Who you don’t know.”

“Lady, I don’t know who you are.”

“I’m Gavin Lester’s niece.”

“Thanks, that’s very helpful.”

I’d like to continue this talk, maybe with the help of a knife to scare Tane Kamakawiwo’ole so he’ll stop dancing and just tell me what I want to know. But suddenly I’m aware that we are standing alone in the middle of a street at night, in a part of town where no one who doesn’t live here should be. There are no other lights on in Mrs. Daniels’s house, but I’m pretty sure Billy is glaring at me from behind a curtain, begging for a chance to come at me again. And there’s no telling who is hiding in the abandoned house across the street. But I can feel their eyes on me.

“We’re leaving,” I say. “You get on behind me and hold me by my waist. Move your hands around or try and touch me anywhere else and you’ll lose an eye, you got it?”

Tane nods, jerkily. Still, he says, “Do all your threats have to do with maiming?”

Annoying, but gutsy. I’m reluctantly impressed. “I just like being clear. Maiming tends to make an impression.” I take my helmet out from the storage compartment and put it on, then throw one leg over the seat and mount the bike. “Climb on, Tane Kamakawiwo’ole.”

He does, exactly the way someone who has never been on a motorcycle would. “So,” he says against the back of my head, his voice vibrating through my helmet, “what about a burger?”