He took off without a goodbye, but Eddie had learned not to care about that.

Batiste and Scott watched Rosso’s body bag glide by on a gurney.

“Expert work,” said Scott. “All around. The nurse and Hess will make good recoveries. Rosso—he probably wanted to die halfway through. Made him wait.”

“To see if he’d talked. McGrath’s diversifying and he’s showing real discipline about who he lets in. Rosso must’ve known something.”

“Well, he took it with him. The captain isn’t happy. Says it’s already hit the internet; a patient here was tortured to death right in front of a police guard.”

“At least it didn’t say the cop watched it happen.”

“No, there’s that, I guess. But he’s had a call from the mayor’s office. I mean he really isn’t happy, Evan.”

“He’d be even less happy if he knew McGrath’s started bypassing his own talent pool.”

If the afternoon heat outside Cal’s car was inhospitable, inside was barely survivable. They headed northwest then north. Spencer had come down from his high but hadn’t regained full perspective on matters.

“Cal, if you really care about this car, you should slow up before you cross McNichols.”

Cal ignored him, his fingers fidgeting on the wheel. Two of his fingers hurt. They’d been stung by the Porsche’s sassy little rear spoiler when Spencer had taken off.

Just before the intersection, the car hit a vicious dip in the road and bottomed out with a grinding clunk.

Cal’s jaw clenched and he breathed through his nose. Ahead, some kids laughed at them from the back of a school bus. Cal flipped them the bird as he accelerated past.

After another fifteen minutes of silence, Cal pulled into a disabled space in front of a mall. He turned to Spencer.

“How much will this car be?”

“Dom said I could have ten thousand.”

“You’re fucking kidding me? He said you deal in cars, so you get ’em cheap.”

“That’s right. That price is the trade price for what I think would be good.”

“Oh, well, new news. I’m the guy who decides how much is good.”

He opened the door and got out. Spencer took another shot at entente cordiale.

“Hey man, I’m sorry for what I said about your car. I was just busting your balls. I actually like—”

“Stay here.” The door slammed.

“Boxsters.”

After two minutes with no air he was feeling the heat. He opened the door wide.

“You gonna move this?”

Shielding his eyes from the sun, Spencer looked up to see the silhouette of a parking officer.