"Yup. And the wheels–"
"Don't tell me," she teased. "Also bullet-proof?"
"Not exactly. But close."
"Oh c'mon. How can something be sort of bullet-proof?"
"It's the way they're constructed," I explained. "Even if they're punctured, they'll keep going, at least long enough."
"How?"
"Polymer rings."
"What's that?" She paused. "Oh never mind. You're just messing with me."
No. I wasn't messing with her. And, once we got going, things would get a lot more serious. I glanced over at her and asked, "How good are you at keeping secrets?"
"Pretty good."
"Glad to hear it," I said. "Because I'm counting on that."
Chapter 26
We'd been driving for a few miles when she asked, "Is this where you tell me where we're going?"
We were going to Hell, or at least some version of it. But I didn't want her to worry, so all I said was "Call it a trip down memory lane."
"C'mon," she said, "give me a hint."
I'd give her more than a hint. I pulled onto I-75 and eased into the fast lane, heading South. There was a road-sign up ahead.Detroit, 20 miles.
I gestured toward the sign. "You haven't guessed?"
Her voice grew wary. "Detroit?"
"Yup."
She hesitated. "Which part?"
From the look on her face, she knew which part, so I kept on driving, letting the question slide into the background as traffic ebbed and flowed around us.
I was a car buff. Maybe it was the Motor City connection, or maybe it was the fact that growing up, decent transportation was hard to come by. During the whole reality show thing, I'd spent a lot of time in L.A., where foreign cars were the norm, not the exception.
Not so here. And not in my own garages, come to think of it.
In the shadow of Motor City, American cars still ruled the roads. But the roads were pitted, and too many of the cars riding on them were old, beat up, or covered in rust.
In a weird twist of fate, these old beaters were the cars that no one messed with, either because there was nothing on them worth stealing, or because their owners had nothing left to lose.
In my own beat-up sedan, I might be confused for one of those guys. But that was the whole point, wasn't it? I wanted to blend, not draw attention to myself, or even worse, to Chloe.
When I pulled off at the usual exit, I tried to see the city through a stranger's eyes. Some parts weren't so bad, but others, well, they weren't the kinds of places you wanted to be found after dark, or shit, during the day under the wrong circumstances.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Chloe taking it all in. Silently, she reached for the door lock and gave it a push. Funny, it was already locked. She pushed it again, probably not even realizing what she was doing.
It wasn't surprising. A rich girl like Chloe, what wouldsheknow about the deep parts of the city, where door locks wouldn't save you if your car broke down.
I had a loaded gun in the glove compartment and another one under the seat. But she didn't need to know that, because it would only get her thinking, and not in ways that would do me any favors.
