“I no can eat with the faja.”

“‘Faja’ is the belt,” Dad told me.

I said, “You’ll eat when you get home. In the meantime, you can smell it.”

To me, the odor was greasy and nauseating. It was especially sickening because it took us over an hour to make it back to Pepe’s apartment. Traffic was in full swing: bumper to bumper, chrome reflecting in the sunlight, exhaust clogging up the air, and it wasn’t even afternoon rush hour yet. Finally, by one-thirty in the afternoon, we were back where we started, Renaldes delivered in one piece, a chastened man. I undid the wrist restraints and he picked up the bag of food. He took out some French fries and stuffed them into his mouth before we got to the door of his apartment. As soon as my father inserted Renaldes’s key in the lock, the dog went nuts. When he opened the door, I could smell feces and urine. Someone had shown displeasure in a very primal way.

Pepe didn’t seem to notice. He was already unwrapping his hamburger. Before he made his escape, I grabbed his arm and glowered at him. “You say anything about this visit, I tell Angus. And don’t even think about leaving town. I got eyes in the back of my head. Comprende?”

He regarded my face, then looked at my hand around his arm. Slowly, I let it go.

“Pistola?” Renaldes said. “Este es un mundo muy peligroso.”

That much I could understand. I said, “If it’s clean, you’ll get it back.” I slapped his cheek. “Stay out of trouble.”

We walked back to Dad’s Porsche. It felt wonderful to sit in a normal seat. I didn’t realize how raw and tender my back muscles had become by my contortions in the backseat. I gave my legs a long stretch.

I said, “Think Angus is reliable?”

“No,” Dad answered. “But we know where to find him if he isn’t. Where’s your car?”

“At home.”

Decker got back on the freeway. Within minutes, my eyelids closed. By the time we arrived at my apartment, I had napped over forty minutes. I woke up, tired and groggy.

“I’ll walk you to the door,” Decker told me.

“You don’t have to—”

But he was already out of the car. He opened my door, and I leaned on him as we climbed the stairs to my unit. Behind the wall, I could hear my phone ringing. I managed to unlock my door and grab the receiver before the caller hung up. Dad followed me inside.

“Where’ve you been?” the voice asked me.

Shit! It was Lieutenant Stone. I had forgotten to call in at noon. It was almost three.

“Sleeping.” It was the truth. “I’m so sorry, Lieutenant.”

“Stone?” my dad mouthed.

I nodded.

“Shit,” he mouthed back. “Sorry.”

I waved him off. “What’s up, sir? Any new gunshot-wound victims show up in any hospital since I left the station house?”

“Not yet.”

“Well, that’s good.”