I started to sweat. “Pull in right here.” I pointed to a no-name tire shop. Mexicans inside hard at work, long after dark, finishing up their twelve-hour day, with four cars up on lifts, a couple still in queue waiting. He didn’t question, but pulled right over, anxious to get rid of me. I opened the door and hesitated. “Don’t you want to say goodbye to your son?” “Ya, ya, bye, kid, doan you worry none. I’ll git yo sorry ass back.” I found it difficult to stifle a smile. “Don’t forget, tell Jumbo, no cops. And keep that woman in enough dope she doesn’t cause a problem. You hear?” I got out. He gunned it before the door closed, pulled right out in traffic without looking. A Bimbo bread truck slammed into the side of his perfectly kept Caddy with enough force to slew it sideways over the curb and into a power pole. The crash startled Tommy who jumped. He rose up like a prairie dog over the vee at the top of the jacket. “Wow.” I walked down along the side of the tire shop, Tommy in one arm, the bag slung over my shoulder.
