Vicki hit the gas, barely able to move in a jacket, white cotton turtleneck, fisherman's sweater, and flannel-lined jeans. She had dressed for the weather this time, and whatever might come. So much was unknown about what had happened and what was going to happen that she couldn't help feeling nervous. She hadn't taken risks like this before in her career, much less her life, but she wasn't going to do anything crazy. Just a little legwork that the cops couldn't do, or weren't doing fast enough. She turned onto Lincoln and had barely cruised toward the curb in front of the house when Reheema, on the sidewalk, flagged her to a stop and opened the car door.
"You didn't have to wait outside," Vicki said, surprised. "It's cold."
Reheema didn't reply, but climbed into the car, letting in a chilling burst of air. She slammed the door behind her and folded herself into the passenger seat, her legs so long that her knees ended up at chest level. "Gotta get a new car."
"Your seat adjusts. The lever's on the side near the door."
"That's not the problem." Reheema reached down and slid the seat back anyway, stretching her legs out. She had on her navy pea coat with her black knit watch cap pulled down so low it grazed her naturally long eyelashes, drawing attention to dark, lovely brown eyes, if only by accident. It would have been a fetching look, if Reheema had been smiling instead of frowning. "This car won't work."
"What do you mean?" Vicki was about to start the engine, but she held off. "This car works great." "Not for what you're talkin' about. It won't do. Unh-uh." "You mean, for our plan?" Vicki got finally up to speed.
Reheema was a woman of so few words, it was like playing connect-the-dots. "For your plan. I'm just along for the ride." "Not really." "Yes, really." "You said on the phone you'd cooperate." "Cooperate means snitch," Reheema shot back, and Vicki bit her tongue. She had suspected their relationship wasn't going to be roses, but she had to make it work if they were going to do the job.
"That's not what I meant." "That's what you said." "Okay, poor choice of words. Sue me." "I am." Oops. Vicki had almost forgotten. The lawsuit that Melendez had told Bale about. "You're still going through with that?" "Sure." "Even though you said you'd help me? That you'd work with me?"
"I am workin' with you. You oughta see me when I'm not." "I have," Vicki said, her tone harsher than prudent for someone Trying to Make Friends. "When?" "The Beretta, remember? The lethal weapon part? The aimed-at-me part?" Vicki managed a smile, which she thought was big of her, but Reheema's eyes flared in ready anger.
"What? You started it, at the conference. That's why Melendez is gonna file. You pulled me across the desk! I was in handcuffs, I couldn't even defend myself!"
Okay, besides that. "At least I was unarmed."
"Unarmed? No United States Attorney is unarmed." Reheema scoffed. "A U.S. Attorney is armed with guns you can't see."
Assistant U.S. Attorney. Common mistake.
"You have guns that put people away. Guns that put me away!" "Hold on. You did buy two very real guns, ones you can see."
"And you couldn't prove I resold them, so I shoulda been free." Reheema pointed in her black wool gloves. "You had me brought up to a conference when you knew that."
Okay. Vicki gritted her teeth and bit an imaginary bullet. "I'm sorry." She paused, waiting, but there was no response. "You sorry, too?"
"For what?" "For pointing a gun at my favorite heart." "No." "Reheema, we're trying to clear the air here." "My air is clear." "I said I was sorry. You can say you're sorry." "Why?" "That's how it works." "Go to hell." Or not. "Fine." Vicki gave up, faced front, and squeezed the steering wheel. It was hard to look tough in J. Crew red mittens, but she was trying. Reheema cleared her throat and faced front, too. "We need a new car. This car is too conspicuous. You said so yourself." "I was joking." "You were right. For once." Reheema smiled in spite of her self, which Vicki took as an apology. She looked over. "Why is it conspicuous? Because it's white?" "Where you from?" "Philly." "You were not raised in Philly, girl." "Well, specifically, I grew up in Devon, but I consider it-" Reheema's eyes narrowed. "That where they have that horse show?" "Yes, the Devon Horse Show." "You ride horses?" "When I was little, I had lessons." Vicki was tired of being defensive. Especially on her salary. "What's this have to do with my car?" "It's suburban." "What's suburban about a Cabrio?" Reheema snorted. "Convertible's suburban, automatically.
You keep this car in the hood, the homes slit the rag top. Take the CD changer, air bag, all gone. Wouldn't last an hour." Oh. "And that little red H on the back window? That doesn't help, either, Harvard." "It's crimson, not red." But never mind. "Black people go to
Harvard, too, you know." "But not to Avalon." "What?" "Your bumper sticker-‘Avalon, Cooler by a Mile'? Black folks don't go to Avalon, New Jersey."
Which could be why my parents bought a house there.
"White girl and a black girl in a car's conspicuous enough."
"It happens."
"Not in Devil's Corner. The car's got to go. They might recognize it. If that lookout sees you again, he'll remember the car." Reheema shook her head, and Vicki suspected she was enjoying this way too much.
"I don't want to sell my car. I love my car."
"Then don't. You got the dough, buy us a new one." Reheema looked out the window. "Now let's go."
A half an hour later, Vicki found them an open dealership, parked beside a pointy mound of freshly plowed snow, and cut the ignition. The peeling sign over the lot entrance read PHILLY PRE-OWNED AUTOS-USED TO EXCELLENCE! SALE OR RENT! Red and white plastic pennants flapped from a sagging string, and fake-gold tinsel glittered in the noonday sun, its ends frayed from twisting in the elements. Old Jeeps, Tauruses, Toyotas, and an ancient Pinto sat in the lot, in obsolete shades of avocado, diluted lemon, and bright blue.
Vicki looked at the dealership with satisfaction. "This is perfect."
Reheema curled her upper lip. "I said, a new car. This is the brokest-ass car lot I ever saw."
"We're supposed to be inconspicuous."
"We can be inconspicuous in a new car. And we can look good doin' it."
"Come on." Vicki slid her keys from the ignition and grabbed her purse, but Reheema stayed put.
"I thought we were cooperating."
"I'm paying, you're cooperating."
"Oh no, you didn't just say that."
Vicki got out of the car, yanked on her mittens, and walked onto the plowed lot, making a beeline for a grimy white Camaro with a dented front end. She skimmed the sign: AS IS, 1984 CHEVY CAMARO, 60,374 MILES, BUY FOR $1250, RENT FOR $50/WEEK. MPFI FUEL-INJECTED, TRANS REBUILT 10,000 MILES AGO. "Sounds good, and the price is right. We'll rent."
Reheema came up behind her, hands shoved deep into the pocket of her pea coat. "What is it with you and white cars?"
"I'm suburban, with a little H." "Crimson, not red." "Correct. Details matter." "Hold on, check this." Reheema went one car over, to a sports car that had been repainted cobalt-blue, with metallic shimmer. "That's what I'm talkin' about!" She read the sign aloud. " ‘1986 Nissan 300ZX, 110,000 miles, Z-bra included.' "
"How much?" "Three grand to buy, a hundred a week to rent." "That's some bra. No." "But it's in great condition." "Too much money." "I would look damn good in this thing." Reheema couldn't stop gazing at the sports car. "You're single, right?" "Yes." But he's not. "Got a boyfriend?" "Not a prayer." "Not for long." Reheema spread her arms wide. "In this." "No," Vicki said, with regret. She shifted over to the next car, a black sedan with a dented fender and a black rubber strip peeling from its side door. She skimmed the sticker out loud. " ‘1995 Pontiac Sunbird, four cylinders, 120,000 miles, $1,500 to buy, $75 a week to rent.' Not bad."