“Matters pertaining to cars.”

“How’s he sound?”

Johnny Boy listened some more, then turned back to McGrath. “Relaxed.”

McGrath nodded. They heard a car door slam and then an engine start.

Johnny Boy looked out the window again. He saw Spencer’s car cruise slowly over to the barrier. Spencer’s arm came out of the window and pressed the button, then dangled, limply. No finger tapping or hand slapping on the door while he waited for the barrier to raise. When it did raise, Spencer’s car rolled slowly forward, stopped at the road, and waited for a while before cautiously pulling out onto Noble.

“Yep, pretty relaxed,” said Johnny Boy.

“Would you say he was peachy keen to tell you about the little narco nigger stopping him?” asked McGrath.

“He definitely hesitated. But I think that might be because he thinks we’re as nervous about the cops as he is.”

McGrath nodded.

Johnny Boy watched the barrier clang down and then stepped down from the toilet.

McGrath took a final puff on the stump of his cigar before running it under the tap and tossing it in the trash. He faced Johnny Boy. Their relationship would always be simple. Johnny Boy would provide McGrath with information and opinion. And then McGrath would decide. The two men looked at each other while this process took place. Two men who could rock a well-cut suit and order up sudden death without qualm.

“Do it,” said McGrath.

Spencer waited until he was out of sight of the depot before putting the hammer down. The Subaru’s tires smoked and spat gravel as he carved a tight turn onto the Lodge Service Drive. A stop sign loomed, but he merely checked his blind spots before blasting through. As he powered over the freeway, he was doing all sorts of things at once. Brain cogs spun crazily as he tried to come up with a plan. And a lie. Sometimes the cogs intermeshed smoothly, and an idea fused into being, one with potential. Sometimes they ground and sparked, blowing gaskets and sending rods through cerebral camshafts.

He maxed and matched his car’s speed to the distance remaining before the next light, turn, or intersection. He wondered whether his show of nonchalance, his controlled excitement at the prospect of being involved in McGrath’s great opportunity, had been convincing enough to buy him some time. All the while he fearfully checked his mirrors. He dreaded seeing the outline of a big man on a motorcycle. Another mental cog whirred stressfully into life.

What the fuck will you do if you see him on your tail?

Drive faster. You could lose him.

Lose a Ducati? Really?

Knock him off? Yes! Knock that big bad killing machine off his damn bike.

He knows where you’re going anyway.