“You got it,” said Giselle. She pulled up a plastic seat from the next table and sat down.

Bayliss looked around the restaurant and yelled, “The food here sucks!” at the top of her lungs, then turned quickly back to the table and ducked her head, trying to make herself small and inconspicuous.

After a moment, Giselle said, “You okay over there?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Good. Because scrunched down like that, you look like a turtle having a nervous breakdown.”

When no one looked her way, Bayliss reached across the table and moved Nelson’s cup of horchata to her side. He reached for where it had been, cupped empty air, and brought it to his mouth, drinking nothing.

“This is wild,” said Bayliss. “I could do this all day.”

“Apparently,” said Giselle.

“Right. Sorry. Wait. How did you know where we’d be? Did you follow us here?”

“Sort of,” she said, taking the horchata and sliding it across the table to where Nelson could get it. “I was in the backseat of Nelson’s car on the ride over.”

“You’ve been here this whole time? Why?”

Giselle looked around and took a paper tray of fried plantain chips off a table occupied by a dreadlocked skate punk. He didn’t bat an eye. “I like to get to know who I might be working with.”

Bayliss nodded. “You wanted a look at Sir Pukesalot over there. I don’t blame you. He must have some kind of rep in the department by now.”

“Nelson I know,” said Giselle. “I was spying on you.”

“Wait. I thought you said you already checked me out.”

Giselle bit into a plantain chip, holding up a finger until she’d crunched the thing up enough to swallow. “I’d seen enough of you to know you weren’t Mata Hari. But I wanted to see how you were in a partner situation.”

Bayliss crossed her arms and sat back in her chair. “Yeah? So, how did I do?”

Giselle pushed the chips forward until Bayliss could reach them. She said, “You haven’t shot Nelson yet, so I’d say you were doing fine.”

Bayliss took a chip, stopped, and dropped her hand on the table. “But I think about it every day. Does that count?”

“Only if you kill him. A leg or an arm wound, I think everyone would understand.”

Bayliss wanted a drink. She picked up Nelson’s horchata and took a sip, setting it down in front of her. Again, Giselle moved it back across the table to where it had been.

“It might be better if he didn’t know I was here today, so let’s keep things close to how they were. Okay?”

“Right,” said Bayliss. “Don’t want him having a stroke when he comes to his senses. Well, I do, but he’s my ride, so maybe not today.”