“I thought you said you were going to get something else,” Shaw said as they reached the Grand Caravan. He yanked on the latch meaningfully—the door only opened from inside. “I thought you told me you and Tucker were looking last weekend.”

North climbed into the driver’s seat, reached across, and opened the door. “Tucker was busy with work.”

“Tucker’s always busy with work.”

Let it go, North told himself. Let it slide. But he didn’t. He said, “Anyway, this is fine for now.”

“You hate this car.”

“No, I don’t.”

“It smells like there was a murder in here. And like wet dog. Oh. It smells like someone murdered a wet dog in here.”

“Roll your window down.”

Shaw did, and he made an assholishly exaggerated effort at cranking the manual window. When he’d finished, he slumped back in the seat, panting.

North pushed on the gas a little harder than he should have. The Grand Caravan lurched forward, gurgled, and stalled halfway into the street.

“Don’t say anything,” North growled.

Shaw just lay there, panting and fanning himself like he’d been building the pyramids.

With another gurgle, the minivan came back to life, and North urged it north toward Gravois. “It’s those toothpick arms you’ve got. You’ve got as much muscle as a chicken bone.”

“Chickens have muscles. They’re fast. Have you ever tried to catch one?”

“I said chicken bone, not chicken. And you wouldn’t have so much trouble with the window if you ever picked up anything heavier than a yoga mat.”

Shaw grinned. “Why would I do that when I have you around? Big, steel-toe, boot-wearing, floor-stomping, hard-hat, blue-collar guy like you? Fight all day and fuck all night, right?”

“Not since Tuck turned thirty,” North muttered.

Shaw’s hazel eyes were bright, and something worked its way over the sharp features of his face. It was his typical attempt at restraining himself whenever Tucker came up in conversation. All he said was, “I think you could get a decent auto loan if you wanted. I could go with you. To look at cars, I mean.”

Thumbing his wedding band, North grunted and focused on the road, taking them away from Benton Park and toward the luxury of the Central West End. Shaw’s words stung when North knew they hadn’t been meant that way. They stung because North had thought the exact same thing: take out a loan, buy something semi decent. Not something like the Chevelle. But something that hadn’t witnessed what smelled like the equivalent of eight stray cats giving live birth in the backseat. Tucker had said no.

And Tucker had every right to say no. After all, Tucker had stuck by North through the worst of it. Tucker had stuck around when most guys would have pulled up stakes, filed for divorce, and run for the hills. Tucker had stuck when the bills had piled up, when the attorneys ran up ungodly hours, when court dates got pushed back, when it came to the appeal.