—Have you got the keys?
But Paco turned to Townhouse.
—We’ve got them, said Townhouse. But there’s something else you need to know.
Before Townhouse could explain, an angry shout came from the other side of the garage.
—What the fuck is this!
Emmett assumed it must be Mr. Gonzalez, annoyed that his sons weren’t at work, but when he turned he saw the one called Maurice marching toward them.
—What the fuck is this, Maurice repeated, though more slowly, punching every other word.
After muttering to Emmett that this was his cousin, Townhouse waited for Maurice to reach them before he deigned to reply.
—What the fuck is what, Maurice?
—Otis said you were going to hand over the keys, and I couldn’t believe it.
—Well, now you can.
—But it’s my car.
—There’s nothing yours about it.
Maurice looked at Townhouse with an expression of amazement.
—You were right there when that nutjob gave me the keys.
—Maurice, said Townhouse, you’ve been climbing my tree all week and I’ve had just about enough of it. So, why don’t you mind your own business before I mind it for you.
Clamping his teeth shut, Maurice stared at Townhouse for a moment, then he turned and marched away.
Townhouse shook his head. As a final slight to his cousin, he adopted the expression of one who was trying to remember the important shit he’d been saying before he was so needlessly interrupted.
—You were gonna tell him about the car, Paco prompted.
With a nod of remembrance, Townhouse turned back to Emmett.
—When I told the cops last night that I hadn’t seen Duchess, they must not have believed me. Because this morning they were back, asking questions up and down the block. Like whether anyone had seen a couple of white boys hanging out on my stoop, or driving around the neighborhood—in a light-blue Studebaker . . .
Emmett closed his eyes.
—That’s right, said Townhouse. Whatever trouble Duchess has gotten himself into, it looks like he was in your car when he got into it. And if your car was involved, the cops will eventually get around to thinking that you’re involved too. That’s one of the reasons I stashed it here instead of leaving it on the street. But the other reason is that when it comes to paint jobs, the Gonzalez brothers are artistes. Ain’t that right, boys?
—Los Picassos, replied Pico, speaking for the first time.
—After we’re through with her, said Paco, even her own mother wouldn’t recognize her.
The two brothers began laughing, but stopped when they saw that neither Emmett nor Townhouse had joined in.
—How long would it take? asked Emmett.
The brothers looked at each other, then Paco shrugged.
—If we get started tomorrow and make good headway, we could have her ready by . . . Monday morning?
—Sí, said Pico nodding in agreement. El lunes.
Another delay, thought Emmett. But since the envelope was missing, he couldn’t leave New York until he found Duchess anyway. And Townhouse was right about the car. If the police were actively looking for a light-blue Studebaker, there was no point in driving one.
—Monday morning it is, said Emmett. And thanks to you both.
Outside the garage, Townhouse offered to walk Emmett back to the subway, but Emmett wanted to know something first.
—When we were at your stoop and I asked where Duchess was going, you hesitated—like someone who knows something that he doesn’t want to admit to knowing. If Duchess told you where he was headed, I need you to tell me.
Townhouse blew some air.
—Look, he said, I know you like Duchess, Emmett. So do I. He’s a loyal friend in his own crazy way, and he’s one of the most entertaining shit slingers whom I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet. But he is also like one of those guys who are born with no peripheral vision. He can see everything that’s right in front of him, see it more clearly than most, but the second that something is pushed an inch to the left or right, he doesn’t even know it’s there. And that can lead to all kinds of trouble. For him, and for anyone within spitting distance. All I’m saying, Emmett, is now that you’ve got your car, maybe you should let Duchess be.
—Nothing would make me happier than to let Duchess be, said Emmett, but it’s not so simple. Four days ago, just as Billy and I were about to head to California, he took off with Woolly in the Studebaker, which was problem enough. But before my father died, he put an envelope with three thousand dollars in the trunk of the car. It was there when Duchess drove off, and now it’s gone.