They were both pretty wired themselves, on tiredness and anticipation. They’d had little time to organize things. Neither had expected such a big mistake from McGrath.

As Spencer drove, Cal and McGrath yakked about which areas in the suburbs were busy and whether the Yo-Yo’s rediscovered love of motorcycles would kill him.

“Something has to because no human will,” said McGrath before taking Cal into an exchange of manpinions on how badly the Pistons were doing.

It seemed to Spencer that Cal was so wrapped up in being a hard-ass that it adversely affected his conversational ability. Still, he was like a ray of sunshine that morning compared to how he was when McGrath wasn’t around. McGrath appeared to recognize it for what it was and then simply wore it out of him with open-ended questions and bonne humeur. At times, Spencer thought there was an edge to the way he did it, like he was steamrolling Cal into conversation and ignoring his hard-man persona in a way that almost challenged it.

“How do we know the money they’ve got is clean?” asked Scott.

They were driving north on the twenty-four now.

“Why would McGrath and Cal risk going out with dirty money? That’s Spencer’s job. They must be on their way to exchange it. Otherwise, he’d be driving tactically.”

“So why would they go with him?”

“Maybe because it’s a large sum. Maybe they’re keeping an eye on him.”

The radio cut through their conversation. “They’re heading east on the fifty-nine.”

“There you go. Probably got a couple of fat new customers in Pontiac.”

But Spencer didn’t stop in Pontiac.

Their radio hissed again.

“Four zero minutes flight time remaining.”

“Nice out this way,” said McGrath, sipping a coffee.

Spencer looked around. They were sitting in a gas station just behind the freeway somewhere in Utica. Cal was still in the car, asleep.

McGrath finished his coffee and looked at his watch. “Let’s get back on the road.”

Scott and Batiste held their breath as they waited for the radio to respond.

“Sorry guys, we’re gonna be on fumes by the time we get back to Lansing as it is. They’re on the ninety-six again, heading back into Detroit.” The radio fell silent.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” said Batiste.

“We’re five minutes behind them,” said Scott. “I figure that was a detour. Now they’re going where they’re going. We’ll just have to do this the old-fashioned way. What’s the worst that can happen here?”

“We’re using risks and favors,” said Batiste. “Other peoples’ risks and favors.”

“No one’s going to die if we don’t catch him this time, Evan.”

They were rolling through Livonia when Spencer felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Several hundred yards back he’d glimpsed a maroon sedan that seemed familiar.