Chapter 2

Nico gave me little cause to worry at first. For two months he was outside my building five minutes early, the Cadillac was spotless, and he knew to leave the radio off when I went over the crew receipts. Owen used to keep a spare pen handy because I was always losing mine. Nico never thought that far ahead, but he got me where I needed to be.

Then, at the start of his third month, I came downstairs and found a woman touching up her red lipstick in the visor mirror.

Nico got out before I reached the car. He shut his door and came around to mine.

“Ms. Bellandi, that’s my girlfriend, Cara Fox,” he said quietly. “She works at the coffee shop two blocks from the club. Do you mind if we drop her off?”

I had a nine o’clock with a bookmaker whose figures had come up short two weeks running. We had time to stop for Cara.

“Sure,” I said, and got in.

By the end of the week, she was already in the car every morning when Nico pulled up. At first, she mostly took pictures. She’d lean across the console to get the Cadillac badge in the shot, then film herself stepping out at the coffee shop. Once, I heard her tell the camera she could get used to being driven to work like this.

She was young. I could live with a little showing off.

It was the way she looked at me that I couldn’t figure out. She’d turn when I opened the door, give my coat and shoes a slow once-over, then face forward without saying hello.

One morning, as soon as I buckled in, she pulled a bottle of perfume from her bag and sprayed it over her shoulder. The mist hit the back of my throat.

“Jesus,” she said. “How does a car this expensive always smell so cheap?”

I figured she’d picked up on something I hadn’t. I sent Nico to get the car detailed. The next morning it smelled faintly of leather cleaner. Even so, when I stepped out to pick up an envelope on the way to the coffee shop, I glanced back and saw Cara spraying disinfectant on the seat I’d just left.

A few days later, I opened the door to find a disposable seat cover stretched over my side of the back seat.

“Nico,” I said. “A word.”

He followed me onto the sidewalk.

“She’s worried something might get on your clothes,” he said. “That’s all. She’s particular about keeping things clean.”

“She put it on my seat.”

“I know. She was trying to be considerate.”

Through the window, I could see Cara checking her lipstick.

Inside the club, three men were waiting to explain why the money in their envelopes didn’t match the numbers they’d given me. I had to hear them out, count the cash again, and decide which of them was lying. I let Nico’s answer stand and went to work.

The note had finally made sense of the perfume, the disinfectant, and the plastic over the leather.

Cara thought I was the one getting a free ride.

When I called 911, I’d meant to make both of them answer for driving off in my car.

Now, on the sidewalk, one of the officers reached for his notebook. Nico dropped to his knees.

“I’ll tell her the truth today,” he said. “She’ll never ride in your car again. I swear.”

I could see one of the officers watching him.

“Please, Ms. Bellandi. My dad’s sick. For his sake. Just this once.”

I looked down at him. Owen had asked me to give his son a chance. In all those years he’d worked for us, that was the one thing he’d ever wanted from me.

I sighed and turned to the officer. “I have my car back. I won’t be pursuing it.”

Nico stayed quiet until the patrol car pulled away. Then he let out a long breath and thanked me three times on the short walk back to the Cadillac. He opened my door and stood there waiting.

“Take me to the club,” I said.

Over the next two weeks, the passenger seat was empty every morning. Nico had the car cleaned again, right down to the little patch of adhesive the note had left on the leather. He drove as smoothly as ever.

He just couldn’t seem to get there on time.

The first time, an accident had backed up traffic. The next time, his alarm hadn’t gone off. Then a pipe burst in his apartment, and he’d had to talk to the neighbors downstairs about water coming through their ceiling.

Every excuse got a little more elaborate. He always got out, opened my door, and apologized before I could ask what had happened.

I had my doubts. For the time being, I let it slide.