“And you're okay after last night?”
“How do you know about last night?”
“It's in the paper.”
Terrific.
I gave Tank a little finger wave and drove away. I got to Hamilton and turned right. I drove several blocks and turned into the Burg. I had no intention of destroying another black car. I parked at my parents' house and went inside to get the garage keys.
“You made the paper again,” Grandma said. “And the phone's been ringing off the hook. Your mother's in the kitchen, ironing.”
My mother always irons during times of disaster. Some people drink, some take drugs. My mother irons.
“How's Dad?” I asked.
“He's out at the store.”
“No problems left over from the stun gun?”
“Well, he isn't the happiest person I ever saw, but aside from that he's doing okay. Looks like you got another car.”
“It's a loaner. I have a job as a chauffeur. I'm going to leave the black car here and take the Buick. I feel safer in the Buick.”
My mother came out of the kitchen. “What's this about being a chauffeur?”
“It's nothing,” I said. “I'm driving a man to the airport.”
“Good,” my mother said. “Take your grandmother.”
“I can't do that!”
My mother pulled me into the kitchen and lowered her voice. “I don't care if you're driving the Pope, your grandmother is going with you. If she says the wrong thing to your father when he gets home, he'll go after her with a steak knife. So unless you want more bloodshed on your hands, you will fulfill your obligation as a granddaughter and get your grandmother out of this house for a few hours until things calm down. This is all your fault anyway.” My mother snapped a shirt onto the ironing board and snatched at the iron. “And what kind of a daughter has shootouts on her fire escape? The phone's been ringing all morning. What am I supposed to say to people? How can I explain these things?”
“Just tell people I was looking for Uncle Fred, and things got complicated.”
My mother shook the iron at me. “If that man isn't dead I'm going to kill him myself.”
Hmm. Mom appeared to be a little stressed. “Okay,” I said, “I guess I can take Grandma with me.” Might not be a bad idea anyway. I didn't think the pervert sheik
would be so fast to flash his johnson with Grandma on board.
“It's a shame we can't take that nice black car,” Grandma said. “It looks more like a chauffeur car.”
“I'm not taking any chances,” I told her. “I don't want anything to happen to the black car. It's getting locked up nice and safe in the garage.”
I loaded Grandma into the Buick, backed it out the driveway, and parked it on the street. Then I carefully eased the Lincoln into the garage and secured the doors.
In exactly thirty-?five minutes I was at the address Tank had given me. It was in a neighborhood of expensive houses on two- and three-?acre lots. Most houses were behind gated drives, tucked into yards filled with mature trees and professionally landscaped shrubs. I pushed the button on the call box and gave my name. The gates opened, and I drove up to the house.
“I guess this is pretty,” Grandma said, “but they aren't gonna get many trick-?or-?treaters up here. I bet Halloween is a big bust.”
I told Grandma to stay put and went to the door.
The door opened, and Ahmed looked out at me and frowned. “You!” he said. “What are you doing here?”
“Surprise,” I said. “I'm your driver.”
He looked over at the car. “And what's that supposed to be?”