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They needed both transportation and anonymity. A phone call, a ten-minute wait, and Mohammed pulled up in front of Gallagher’s. Lester and Ted hustled across the sidewalk and jumped into the car.

“How’s it goin’, boss?” Mohammed said.

“Your English is really coming along,” Ted said.

“Not English. American,” Mohammed answered. “Where to?”

“American,” Ted agreed. “For starters, how about you drive? Random. Anywhere. I want to see if anyone is following us.”

“Now you’re speaking.”

“Talking,” Ted said. “Now you’re talking.”

Lester rolled his eyes.

“How are you holding up?” Ted asked him.

“Doin’ just fine for the moment, but I’m going to take one of these pain pills in a while, and then I’m going to want to sleep.”

Ted kept watch out the rear window as Mohammed made a series of right turns, accelerating and braking in a fashion that earned him more than a few angry salutes from other drivers. He had a knack for squeezing through gaps in traffic. Lester closed his eyes and mumbled to himself. The only time Ted felt his heart stop was when they cut off a Q18 bus as it pulled away from the curb. Mohammed gunned it, only to discover a woman with a baby stroller in the crosswalk on the other side. He swerved and the car bounced over the curb, missing woman, stroller, bus, and the dark-eyed girl selling single roses on the corner.

“Do you see anyone following us?” Lester asked.

“No. I think we’re okay,” Ted said.

“Then you can tell our man up front to go easy on the women and children,” Lester said.

“And us.”

“For a moment there, I forgot that I was in pain.”

“Mohammed. Take us to Ridgewood.”

“I’m down with Ridgewood,” Mohammed said. “You got an address?”

“Not yet,” Ted said. “Head down Forest Avenue until I tell you different.”

“Where we going?” Lester asked.

“We need a place to hole up for the night,” Ted said. “McKenzie Zielinski. The protest lady. No one will connect us, so they won’t be looking for us there. She’s got friends. I’m hoping they can hide us.”

“You got a number for her?”

“No.”

“You took her to lunch and couldn’t get a phone number?” Lester formed a thumb and forefinger into an L.

“It was a business lunch,” Ted said.

“How about an address?”

“No.”

“Oh. Good to see you’ve got this all planned out.”

“Her last name is Zielinski. How many can there be in Ridgewood?”

“In Ridgewood? Legions?”

Quick Fix Repair was located in a storefront on Fresh Pond Road, next door to a deli that advertised stuffed cabbage—saturday only in large block letters across the front window.