Irrevocable (Evan Arden 5)

“Are you going to keep her around?”

“I plan on it.” He studies me for a moment. “You don’t approve?”

“Does Lele know about her?”

“Of course she does,” Rinaldo says with a snort. “She brought her here from New York.”

“Does she know about her?” I ask again with more emphasis.

Rinaldo leans back against his desk and looks at me for a long moment.

“It’s not what you think,” he says.

I’m completely unconvinced. He looks away from me, no longer meeting my eyes, and I’m certain there’s more to it.

“What is it, then?”

“It’s none of your damn business. That’s what it is!” Rinaldo suddenly yells. “Now you have your assignments. I suggest you go and get prepared for them!”

I blink a couple of times, somewhat in shock. Rinaldo has given me more than my fair share of lectures, but raising his voice to me is new. He has his hands balled into fists as if he would actually hit me. For a moment, I wonder if he will try.

He doesn’t. Instead, he turns away from me, sits at his desk, and rubs his fingers into his temples. He refrains from addressing me again or even looking up.

“Yes, sir,” I say quietly before turning around and heading out of the room.

I don’t know what to think about the encounter. There is something else going on besides a simple affair. Maybe it’s just that; it isn’t a simple affair. It’s a complicated one. Maybe he’s in love with this Felisa woman. Maybe she returns his feelings.

I decide I’m going to have to do a little more investigating.

Jonathan is waiting outside, but instead of beer, he insists on taking me car shopping. I start to argue that the Volvo would be just fine as soon as I replace the battery, but he’s not interested in my arguments. He also hates Volvos and has been giving me shit about it since I got back to Chicago.

Jonathan pulls into a little place that’s known in the community to have a lot of hot cars. It’s one of Rinaldo’s businesses, though a small one, and a lot of his people shop here. There’s a collection of sports cars and high-end sedans out front. Most of them are pretty new, and all purchases include a VIN that can’t be traced. The paperwork is just enough to make your registration look legal if you get pulled over, and all transactions are done in cash.

“I don’t really need another car.” I get out of Jonathan’s pickup and drop to the ground. The snow has been plowed off to the side, but it’s still a little icy in places.

“That piece of crap you scrounged up has to go,” Jonathan tells me. “I don’t know why you even let yourself be seen in it.”

“I try not to let myself be seen at all.”

“Well, that shit only works from rooftops.”

We walk around a bit, but nothing really catches my eye. Jonathan keeps going on about cars not built in America, but I’m only half listening. I walk over to a deep black Beemer near the side of the building, but as soon as I get near it, my eyes are drawn to the parking lot behind the office.

In the back lot, there’s a line of old muscle cars. Most of them are pretty beat up, but there’s one that looks like it’s in good shape. Forgetting the Beemer completely, I walk around the office and to the vehicle that has captured my attention.

It’s a 1969 Camaro Z28. The finish is satin black with grey racing stripes down the center, and it has blacked-out windows. It’s decked out with fat back tires and gunmetal grey wheels. Like many boys, I’d fantasized about such cars as a kid.

“I thought you were all about German engineering,” Jonathan says as he walks up beside me.

“I like this one.”

Jonathan walks around the back and laughs.

“It’s definitely you!” He beams as he points to the back bumper. There’s a little bumper sticker on the back that says Soccer Mom on it.

I grip my hands into fists.

“What motherfucker would put a fucking bumper sticker on this beauty?”