“Work your phone better then.”

“I’m not either,” said the Yo-Yo. “Must be the armor. Get closer.”

“Do you see how close I am? I’m nearly riding the guy’s tail.”

“Closer!”

Spencer figured the rear doors of the truck might be strengthened. He changed to an inside lane, on Max’s side of the truck, pissing off a couple of other cars in the process, and moved forward. Max’s hand pressed against the glass but surely only for seconds now. Spencer moved in, touched his fender gently against the truck’s running board, trying to keep the contact super light, predicting the slightest movement, so nothing, no sense of their presence was transmitted to the truck, up through its steering wheel and into the hands of its driver.

When it went to turn left and head north on Grand, Spencer saw it coming just in time. They went around like they were glued, the weirdest sight, so weird other drivers did a double take and then discounted it. A gray sedan stalking an armored truck like a sub stalking its Soviet counterpart during the Cold War.

“Motherfucker. Got it. First Union Bank of Detroit on Lafayette Boulevard. Big one.”

“You got the access code too?” asked Spencer, finger on the afterburner.

“Yep. Go!”

The truck took a left on Grand, heading north, up toward Michigan Avenue. Spencer knew Michigan would be slow. He threw a right on Toledo, started blasting through the backstreets, heading down to the Vernor Highway. He planned to come into the financial district from the southwest. He knew all the backstreets and alleys if Vernor was bad and he’d work the hell out of them, just as he was working the hell out of the car.

As they closed on Lafayette, Eddie and the Yo-Yo took off their jackets, exposing blue uniform shirts underneath.

Spencer pulled up almost in front of the bank, a grand old neoclassical building with a fountain outside. The Yo-Yo and Eddie got out and marched across the busy sidewalk toward the revolving glass doors.

The seconds ticked by. Spencer squirmed in his seat. He had no idea how much time he’d bought them. Max’s truck was behind him somewhere, heading for right where they were, ready to send two guys in with the same access code. It was like waiting for the Enola Gay to turn up.

“Gonna have to give you a ticket if you don’t move on, sir.”

Spencer looked up at a female parking enforcement officer.

“I’m waiting for my mother. She can’t walk far.”

“There are disabled spaces around on Eighth, sir.”

Spencer looked at her blankly. This was passing the time.

“Are you gonna move it along, sir?”

“I don’t think I am, ma’am.”

As she started writing a ticket, his rearview mirror filled with the letters MACK. Max and co had arrived. He watched Max and a colleague walk toward the bank entrance.