“Don’t lose sight of the van,” Ranger shouted, sprinting back to the Bronco. “I’ll be right behind you.”

I slammed the Buick into drive and pressed my foot to the floor. I shot out of the alley as the van roared past, and realized too late that the van was being pursued by another car. There was a lot of screeching tires and cussing on my part, and the car in pursuit bounced off the Buick with a good solid whump. A little red flasher popped off the roof of the car and sailed away into the night like a shooting star. I’d hardly felt the impact, but the other car, which I assumed was a cop car, had been propelled a good fifteen feet.

I saw the van’s taillights disappearing down the street and debated following. Probably not a good idea, I decided. Might not look good to leave the scene after trashing one of Trenton’s finest unmarked.

I was fishing in my pocketbook, looking for my driver’s license, when the door was opened and I was yanked out and onto my feet by none other than Joe Morelli. We stared at each other in openmouthed astonishment for a beat, barely able to believe our eyes.

“I don’t believe this,” Morelli yelled. “I don’t fucking believe this. What do you do, sit in bed at night and think about ways to fuck up my life?”

“Don’t flatter yourself.”

“You almost killed me!”

“You’re overreacting. And it wasn’t personal. I didn’t even know that was your car.” If I’d known I wouldn’t have hung around. “Besides, you don’t hear me whining and complaining because you got in my way. I would have caught him if it hadn’t been for you.”

Morelli passed a hand over his eyes. “I should have moved out of state when I had the chance. I should have stayed in the navy.”

I looked over at his car. Part of the rear quarter panel had been ripped away, and the back bumper lay on the ground. “It’s not so bad,” I said. “Probably you can still drive it.”

We both turned our attention to Big Blue. There wasn’t so much as a scratch on it.

“It’s a Buick,” I said, by way of apology. “It’s a loaner.”

Morelli looked off into space. “Shit.”

A patrol car pulled up behind Morelli. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Wonderful.” Morelli said. “I’m fucking fine.”

The patrol car left.

“A Buick,” Morelli said. “Just like old times.”

When I was eighteen I’d sort of run over Morelli with a similar car.

Morelli looked beyond me. “I suppose that’s Ranger in the black Bronco.”

I cut my eyes to the alley. Ranger was still there, doubled over the steering wheel, shaking with laughter.

“You want me to file an accident report?” I asked Morelli.

“I wouldn’t dignify this with an accident report.”

“Did you get a look at the guy in the van? Do you think it was Kenny?”

“Same height as Kenny, but he seemed slimmer.”