"They didn't like the welcome they got," the carpenter said.
I looked the carpenter flatly in the face. Don't crowd them, bud, I thought.
"Catch you later," he said to me, and walked back toward the barn where he had been working.
The driver of the convertible was a muscular, handsome man, with smooth skin and black hair that he combed straight back. He wore a bright yellow golf shirt, and when he had drawn his car abreast of me, he said, "You got a problem, too?"
"No, I don't think so," I replied.
"Your truck's in the road," he said.
"Just pull around on the grass," I said.
"Why you looking at me like that?" he said.
"You're Nicki Molinari."
"You know me from somewhere?"
"I used to work for the G. Your picture would float across my desk from time to time."
"Sorry the recognition isn't mutual. Now please move your fucking truck out of the fucking road."
"What's your business with Cleo, Nicki?"
"Where you get off calling me by my first name?"
"You're a famous guy. No offense meant. I heard you were doing a nickel in Terminal Island."
The man in the passenger seat started to get out. But Nicki Molinari raised his hand.
"Here's your lesson for the day, whatever your name is," he said. "If that broad is your regular pump, I feel sorry for you. Second of all, I'd better not see you again."
He eased his transmission out of park and drove around my truck, across the cattle guard, and onto the county road. When I pulled into Cleo's yard, she walked down the steps toward me, but her eyes were still on the convertible that was now disappearing over a rise.
"What's with the greaseballs?" I said.
"You know them?"
"Every DEA agent in the country knows who Nicki Molinari is. You didn't answer my question. Why are they here?"
"They claim my husband owed them money,"
"What did you tell them?"
"To get out."
"Why would your husband owe them money?"
"I don't care and I don't want to know."
"These aren't guys you just run off."
"I just did. I stuck a gun in his face. He looked bad in front of his men, so he tried to give Eric a hard time. You want to come in or not?"
"I thought you might want to go to lunch,"
"I can fix something if you're hungry," she said, her voice flat, disinterested, her eyes lingering on the dust cloud left by Nicki Molinari's convertible.