Rachel drove into Simon's Used Car lot with Blake in the passenger seat dressed in his salesman attire, jacket and tie. They noticed a gleaming, pearl-white Cadillac parked next to the office building.

She lowered her sunglasses. "Do you recognize that car?"

"Nope."

James stood outside the office, smoking a cigarette. He waved to Rachel. She wiggled her fingers in response then leaned across the seat and kissed Blake.

He got out of the car, watched her turn the car around, and drive away.

James shook his head, smoke drifting from his nostrils.

"What?" Blake asked as he approached.

"You got a woman like that and you're dragging your sorry ass around?" James inhaled then flicked his cigarette butt. "That girl would put a permanent smile on my face, that's for damn sure."

Blake grinned.

"Heard about the break-in last night?" James asked.

Blake raised his brows. "Here?"

"Nah, down the garage. Can't nobody get a hold of McQuaid."

"Wow. What's Damon say about it?"

"You didn't know about that, either? Your boy was in a bad accident. Real bad."

The color drained from Blake's face. He heard voices emanating from the back room of the office. Before he could inquire, an enormous brute bulled his way down the hallway, looking like a UFC fighter, a tattooed refrigerator with legs. A blocky, buzzcut head sprouted between broad shoulders. He studied Blake with narrow, pitbull eyes.

James retreated a step and leaned against the window.

Uncle Geo shuffled from the back room into the office, his arm around a wispy middle-aged man with an eminently forgettable face.

"Kalispara." Geo waved Blake into the office and then offered his hand. "George Milionis."

Blake straightened his tie. "Blake Gannon."

The man at seventy years old looked like he wouldn't back down from wrestling a bear and the smart money wouldn't be on the bear.

"This is Doolie." Geo patted his shoulder. "He's gonna be running the shop for the time being." The guy said nothing. He barely blinked.

Blake shook Doolie's hand. "Until McQuaid comes back?"

The old man shrugged.

Blake's eyes shifted to the beast standing behind Geo, arms crossed over his broad chest. With him taking up so much space in the room, the ceiling seemed lower.

"Oh, this is Alex," said Geo.

"How ya doin'?" Blake asked. He received only a steely gaze.

"We're going down to the shop to get Doolie situated," the old man said. "You fellas gonna be okay up here?" His subtle smile set off a warning bell in the back of Blake's brain.

"Yes, sir," James replied politely.

Doolie and Uncle Geo exited, approaching the Cadillac. Alex eyeballed Blake, then followed the men to the car. The scowling ape looked like he'd spent his whole life being mean, convinced that smiling was a sign of weakness.

"Who the hell was that?" Blake whispered.

"Ever hear of the Milionis family?" James replied. "The Greeks?"

Blake shook his head.

"People you do not wanna fuck with. Somebody's headed for the slab."

########

When Blake came home after work, Rachel's somber expression conveyed that she'd already heard the bad news. "Damon's at Mercy," she said. "In the ICU. No visitors allowed."

"He's gonna be okay," he said.

"Sounds like he's really in bad shape."

When Blake consoled her with an embrace, he could feel her trembling.

"I feel like it's..." Emotion choked her. "Like it's my fault."

"No, no. Don't say that."

"I wish I didn't have to go to work," she said, dropping into a kitchen chair.

"You need to go."

"I know. I know." She rested her forehead in her hand.

"It's gonna be okay." He kissed her cheek. "We just need to power through."

########

On her way to work, Rachel parked down the street from the brick home. As she approached, dressed in her oversized hoodie, she was relieved that Vince or Vance the neighbor was nowhere in sight. She entered the building and made her way to the basement.

After an hour of opening boxes, shining her phone into crawl spaces, and checking the deepest recesses of the spiderwebbed storage rooms, she stomped up the stairs, exasperated that she wasn't able to locate the canvas bag.

That night at the sports bar, the crowd was unusually raucous.

Drawing a couple of draught beers, Rachel felt an unfamiliar pair of eyes on her. Looking up, she caught the leer of a boisterous guy in a denim shirt and cowboy hat striding past on his way to the restroom, his face puffy with booze. He winked and called out, "Save a horse, ride a cowboy."

She watched him wobble down the hall toward the bathroom, obviously over-served.

Learning to read micro-expressions proved to be one of her most valuable assets. With a remarkably high rate of success, she was often able to predict behavior as though she were a mind reader.

"Hey, Teagan," she called to her coworker.

When Teagan approached, her breasts bouncing with each step, she turned heads at the bar.

"That cowboy," said Rachel. "He's gonna skip out on his check."

"Who?"

"The dude in the cowboy hat. Watch him when he comes out of the bathroom."

Rachel winced when she felt her bra strap snapped.

"When're you gonna leave the bra at home?" She heard Lou cackling behind her. Guys at the bar nodded in agreement. "How's the tips, Teagan?" Lou guffawed.

Teagan blushed.

"Quit being such a creepy little perv," said Rachel.

"Creepy what?" Lou snapped, as though he could be offended.

"You're shallow. You'll get over it." The cowboy quick-stepping toward the exit drew Rachel's attention. "Sir! Hey, mister. Your check."

Teagan intercepted him with his bar tab.

He stopped, caught in the act, cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "Thought I paid that." He reached for his wallet. "Didn't I leave that on the table?"

"You sure didn't," she said, looking up into his face.

Lou clunked his coffee mug down on the bar and said to Rachel, "How 'bout making a fresh pot? I'm falling asleep back here."

Opening a couple of longnecks she said, "I got customers, Lou."

"I'll grab these beers. You get me my coffee."

"Seriously?"

"That's woman's work anyway."

"I don't make any tips making coffee," she growled.

"I got a tip for you." He chortled, cupping his groin, then held his mug out with an outstretched arm.

"Congratulations." She sighed through clenched teeth. "You're officially the most disgusting person I know."

"Can't you take a joke?"

She grabbed his mug, then headed out from behind the bar, her temper banging in her chest. She stopped at the coffeemaker, dumped out the old grounds, added a new filter, coffee, and water, then pressed the button. She heard a familiar voice behind her.

"Hey, Rachel."

She turned. "Oh, hey, Allan."

Narrowing his eyes at Lou, he said, "That guy's a pig. You don't need to put up with his crap, you know. You could file a complaint. Me, Dave, and I'm sure a few other guys would be happy to back you up."

"Thanks. "She flashed a weary smile. "I really should. That's really nice of you."

"Okay. Just wanted to let you know we got your back," he said before heading back to his barstool.

Filing a complaint was out of the question. The last thing Rachel wanted was cops and legal authorities checking her background and work history. She needed to keep trouble at bay. Especially now.

While the coffee brewed, Rachel carried Lou's mug with her into the bathroom. She slipped into a stall, closed the door, struggled to pull down her skin-tight shorts, then squatted above the commode. After she'd relieved herself, she pulled up her pants, then, before she flushed, scooped a half mugful of toilet water with Lou's coffee cup.

She carried it out of the restroom, then topped it off with a splash of hot coffee on her way back to the bar. "Here you go." She grinned at Lou. "A fresh cup. Just for you."

"Get in my belly." He gulped the coffee.