Oh, dear heaven.
I sent a longing glance at my apartment door. I was wondering if I could somehow sneak back inside when Carmen put a hand to my back and propelled me down the hall.
“Come on,” she said, setting a brisk pace. “I’m driving.”
Chapter
Forty-One
I seriously questioned my sanity minutes later when Carmen took a corner so fast that the back end of her white 1983 Lincoln Continental skidded across the road with a squeal from the tires. If not for my seatbelt, I would have tumbled across the red-velour-covered back seat and right into Leona’s lap.
Judging by the rust around the wheel wells and the black smoke belching out from the exhaust pipe, I suspected that Carmen didn’t own the vehicle because she was a classic car connoisseur. I had a hunch that she’d been driving this thing since the ’80s. Although how it could have survived that long in her possession, I didn’t know. She drove like a maniac. A maniac with a serious case of road rage.
“The light’s green, you moron!” she yelled at the yellow Volkswagen Beetle in front of us as she leaned on the horn. “What are you waiting for? Christmas?”
The other car slowly began moving into the intersection. Carmen stomped on the gas pedal, sending the Lincoln lurching forward and nearly giving me whiplash. She swerved around the Volkswagen, two wheels going up on the sidewalk. A woman laden with shopping bags dove into a recessed shop doorway for safety.
I grabbed onto the edge of my seat when Carmen removed one hand from the steering wheel to give the driver of the Beetle the finger as we zoomed past the smaller car.
“Carmen!” I said, shocked and scandalized.
“He had it coming.” She swerved around a delivery van and screeched to a halt behind a line of traffic backed up at a red light.
“Oh, this is nothing,” Agnes said over her shoulder from the front passenger seat. “You should see her when she’s late for bingo.”
If I survived to have that chance, I’d avoid it at all costs. This ride was hazardous enough for me.
I glanced over at Leona, who, like Agnes, didn’t appear at all fazed by Carmen’s crazy driving. Before leaving the Mirage for the nearby parking garage, Leona had insisted that we stop at her apartment, where she’d grabbed her handbag and donned a gray fedora. She still had the boa and sparkly green dress on, and I detected a slight whiff of alcohol emanating from her. I was probably better off not knowing how many martinis she’d consumed at Bitty’s place.
Again, I questioned my sanity for going along with this plan. When Bodie warned me to take someone with me to Vinny’s Pawnshop, this bunch probably wasn’t what he had in mind.
After a few minutes—each one spent with my heart in my throat—Carmen snagged a coveted parking spot. Stole it, really. Another vehicle was about to back into the space by the curb when Carmen darted into it nose-first. When the driver of the other vehicle shouted some choice words out his window, Carmen lowered hers and did the same.
I slid down in the back seat as she cursed like a sailor.
The other guy drove off, and Carmen parked the Lincoln crookedly, with the bumper kissing the back of the car in front of it. I slipped out of the car and scurried a few feet away, not wanting to be associated with the poorly parked Lincoln or its driver. By the time Carmen reached the sidewalk, she was back to her elegant-looking self. She held her cane in one hand and a handbag in theother. She hooked the bag over her arm, patted down her short gray hair, and led the way down the sidewalk at a lively pace.
We rounded a corner and walked for a block and a half before Carmen pointed out a tiny storefront with bars over the window. The building next door had aFor Leasesign hanging on the metal grille that covered the front door and windows. Graffiti adorned the brick edifices, and a piece of trash tumbled along the sidewalk in the breeze.
Even without going inside Vinny’s Pawnshop, I could see why Bodie had warned me not to come here on my own. The area gave me sketchy vibes, even in broad daylight.
“So, what’s our cover story?” Agnes asked as we approached the door to the pawnshop.
“Pretend you’re shopping for a birthday gift,” I suggested. “You know, on a budget.”
“What should our code names be?” Leona asked.
I was relieved that she wasn’t slurring her words, despite the martini fest at Bitty’s apartment. She did, however, stumble slightly.
I put a hand to her arm to steady her on her high heels. “We don’t need code names.”
She and Agnes looked disappointed.
“But,” I said, hoping to raise their spirits, “if we need to make a quick getaway for any reason, one of us should say the word ‘pizza.’ ”
All three ladies nodded at that suggestion. Leona’s and Agnes’s eyes gleamed with anticipation, and Carmen’s glinted with steely determination. I wondered, not for the first time, if I’d made a mistake by coming with the three ladies. Maybe I should have waited until Jemma was available. Or pushed my pride aside and called Wyatt. But I was here now. There was no point in having second thoughts.
Squaring my shoulders, I led the way into the store. As soon as I stepped inside, I was hit with the smells of old wood, leather, mustiness, and something else. Grease maybe?
