“Is it because you’re finding it too much to… carry?” the woman asked, then cracked herself up.

“Never heard that before,” Cary said cheerfully, clearly lying.

“I’ll get the deliveries,” she said, getting up and walking toward the back.

As the woman walked away, I let myself really take in the place. The Maverick theme was not, I was thrilled to note, just confined to the name and the outfits the employees were required to wear. There was a large sign on the wall that read WHEN YOU FEEL THE NEED… THE NEED FOR SPEED-Y DRY CLEANING! There was a box by the door with wire hangers piled high in it that read HIGHWAY TO THE HANGER ZONE (RECYCLING). A sign behind the register advertised ICEMAN COLD STORAGE for furs, and on the register was a handwritten note that read Don’t write checks that your bank can’t cash. But best of all was the small TV up in the corner that was playing—and this shouldn’t have surprised me—Top Gun.

“This place is amazing,” I said, looking around. I was pretty sure the beach volleyball scene was coming up, and I was hoping we’d be here long enough to see it.

“It’s not so bad,” Cary said, looking around himself. “And it works out with my schedule, since most people want their stuff delivered in the evenings. Especially if they don’t have a doorman—they want to make sure it’s a time when they’ll be home.”

“Okay,” the woman said, returning from the back, now sounding out of breath as she hauled two huge bags with her. They were square, almost like oversized duffels, with tags stapled to the outside. “Here you go.” She then pushed a button and the dry cleaning, on motorized racks behind her, started to spin. It stopped, and she pulled off three separate plastic-wrapped bags, each with a number of hangers in them twist-tied together, also with tags stapled to the front of the plastic.

“Do you take all this on the bike?” I asked, looking at the duffels and the dry cleaning, wondering how Cary could possibly drive the scooter and hold everything at the same time.

“Something much cooler than that,” Cary said as the woman behind the counter handed over what looked almost like a folded-up stroller. Cary unfolded it, and I saw it was a wheeled cart. He gave it a spin. “See?”

“Much cooler,” I agreed.

“Leon Russo called, wanted to make sure we were bringing his soon,” she said, flipping though some papers on the desk. “Apparently he’s got a date tonight.” She arched an eyebrow.

“Gotcha,” Cary said. “We’ll go there first.” He stacked the bags in the cart, picked up the dry cleaning, and smiled at me. “Ready to go?”

I nodded and walked out the door he held open for me. “So it looks like I’m your wingman.” Cary groaned, which I took as a compliment. He started pulling the cart behind him while also carrying the dry cleaning—which seemed like a lot for one person to do. “You’re going to let me help, right?”