He reached out, touched it, turned it over gingerly, ready to discover that it was, in fact, just a similar watch, not the watch, not the watch that Marielle had laid next to on their bed, wearing only the shirt she slept in, one of his old shirts but fully unbuttoned.

Time for your real birthday present . . .

But he saw the scratch on the bracelet lock, the inscription on the back. He checked the time—still working. His fingers closed around it. He shut his eyes for a moment. Exhaled.

“The Yo-Yo went and got it for you. From a pawnshop, so don’t worry. Like I was saying, it’s not often like the other night.”

Spencer put the watch on.

“I said it could be like a little family here. Always good to have friends in a city like this.”

Spencer felt an enormous surge of gratitude. Almost immediately, this was swamped by a feeling of dire awkwardness. He was leaving. He was going to Toledo, and he was going to sell Zaid-call-me-Zed’s cars. He didn’t want to work for people who could kill him and set his body on fire without breaking a sweat.

“What did you have to pay the pawnshop? Let me at least cover that?”

“It’s not always about the money,” said McGrath.

Spencer searched for the words that might allow him to complete his extrication without looking like a douchebag, a taker, and nothing but.

“Then you guys need to let me buy you dinner. Not just food, but a proper night. Beers, shots, hell, strippers too. And then come to me for your cars. I’ll undercut whatever you’ve been quoted.”

Spencer pulled away. He felt pretty bad, but that would pass soon enough.

As he waited for the depot barrier to rise, he was already feeling a little euphoric. But the barrier stayed put.

Suddenly McGrath jumped in beside him. Johnny Boy got in the back.

“We just remembered something,” said McGrath.

This was like forgetting to say goodbye to a Ouija board.

“Let’s go for a drive.”

Spencer found the self-assured way in which it was said unsettling.

“Pull over here,” said McGrath. “Twenty-Fifth Street. Lived here as a kid. First crew I ran with was the Twenty-Fifth Street Boys. Now look at this place. Beautiful buildings and them demolition boys just knock them down. Soon Detroit’s going to be just one big fucking nature reserve. A dead heart surrounded by suburbs.”

Johnny Boy sat forward and handed his phone to Spencer. “Hit Play.”

Spencer was treated to a video of himself damaging the cars he used to own. Johnny Boy sat back and spoke mildly.