Spencer knew he was shit out of doors. But Chris’s door was going to be knocked on by some guy with a handful of court orders any day now.

“I’ve always been able to make deals, Spencer. Started from nothing, right here in this part of town. I been other places of course, been in the army. But you know what? I took my skill everywhere. Never stopped making my own deals. I’d have been stupid to stop. You’ve got a skill, Spencer. I’ve seen it. And you’re hardly using it.”

“Driving.”

“Correctamundo. You’ve got something we can’t get here. You guys get brought up driving roads that are unpredictable. Corners, narrow roads, overtakes, that kind of shit. You drive cars that are, well, they’re responsive, like a rodeo horse: fast, powerful, but they’ll put you on your ass if you don’t know what you’re doin’. Our whole car heritage is different: big V-8s, soft shocks for our long, straight trips across the desert.”

He crossed to the window, cracked the blinds with his finger, looked out and then back at Spencer. A shaft of sunlight pierced the gap. Dust motes eddied. The beam lit McGrath’s blue-gray eyes, focused and serious now, no twinkle, just evaluating.

“I want you to drive for me. For my operation, I mean. Drive here like they drive in London or Rome. See, I know you know what I mean by that, but faster and without being seen.”

An unexpected calmness had laid hold of Spencer, the calmness born of inevitability. He looked again at the map with its changeable grid reference system, something that would be digitized in a normal office. He thought of Sheila quietly working a half dozen cell phones on a desk with no landline and of Max Petrovsky, the nervous blue-collar guy who absolutely didn’t want to be seen there. He couldn’t work out exactly when he’d known he was in a place where things were hidden. It had just kind of crept up on him.

“It’s not quite legal, is it, Dom, what you do here?”

McGrath let go of the blinds, cutting off the sun, and sat back down.

“It used to be illegal to drink in this country. Use the wrong light bulb and you’re breaking some law. There’s laws and there’s laws, Spencer. We aren’t raping or killing here. Just working a system that plenty of other folks are working. We just do it better, with less fuss, guns, or bumping heads.” McGrath leaned back. “It has its advantages for you right now: I pay cash. I don’t wanna pay your creditors any more than you do.”

He opened a drawer in his desk, rummaged around, and found a phone. He put it in front of Spencer.