Zed finished his call. “We get a lot of people like that from the country club, Spencer, which is where you come in, my friend. They talk to you and they’re going to be thinking European sophistication, precision.”

“Precision is what I’m about, Zed. I raced. If you do that without getting the concept of precision, well, let’s just say I wouldn’t be here talking to you.”

“But you knocked the shit out of your face by falling down the stairs?”

“I, uh, yes that’s right. But those stairs were . . . still being built. Should have been roped off. Jay offered to sue their asses but I just like to work hard to make my money.”

And when he walked out of Fairlane’s sliding glass doors, he damn well knew that Zaid-call-me-Zed wanted him.

“I was just thinking about going back into sales is all, Dom.” He managed to say it with a little sangfroid, as if this were simply a natural progression. But, in truth, he knew he was in great danger. His heart felt fit to bust its way out and join them both in McGrath’s office. There was a comfortable chair ready for it right next to him.

Spencer had wanted McGrath to be busy, like Schwarzkopf’s command tent. The hope seemed reasonable now that Spencer knew it was a war out there. But things were quiet.

McGrath went to sit down, hesitated, crossed to the air-­conditioner and flipped its switch a couple times. Nothing. He punched its side. The unit whirred to life but with a grating sound. He waited a moment before hitting it again. It ran smoothly. He sat down and lit a cigar.

Spencer’s mind drifted back to Toledo. Zed had said he could start as soon as he liked. He’d need an apartment if things went well. And things were going to go well. And he’d walk in the door of the Common Ground down there where some clever guy would tell him how to stop doing what he did. But that couldn’t happen if he left here in the trunk of a car.

McGrath eyed him through curling smoke.

“What type of car did you say you’d have bought if I’d given you more money? Four-wheel drive or something?”

Spencer resolved to stay engaged with whatever whim seemed to be preoccupying his old employer. Hell, if he played this right, he might make a sale.

No harm in selling to a guy who watches a few kids get wasted and torched just like he’s watching a slow game on ESPN, right?

“All-wheel drive. Less chance of skidding. Something like a Subaru WRX. Powered-up engine, upgraded suspension, rally heritage.”

“So for driving the streets real fast but still be able to fit your buddies in and not turn too many heads, that would be your number-one choice?”