Y ou can’t give me a number? E-mail?” The man from Igor’s label looked desperate.
“I’m moving,” Tito said, watching for Garreth’s van from the second-floor window of the rehearsal space. “I’m in between everything.” He saw the white van.
“You have my card,” the man said, as Tito ran for the door.
“Ramone!” whooped Igor, in farewell, crashing a chord on his guitar. The others cheered.
Downstairs and out the door, he ran across the wet sidewalk and opened the van’s passenger door, climbing in.
“Party?” Garreth asked, pulling away from the curb.
“A band. Rehearsing.”
“You’re in a band already?”
“Sitting in.”
“What do you play?”
“Keyboards. The man from Union Square, he tried to kill me. With a car.”
“I know. We had to call in a local favor to make sure he got out of custody.”
“Out?”
“They only had him for an hour or so. He won’t be charged.” They stopped for a light. Garreth turned to look at him. “His car’s steering failed. An accident. Lucky nobody was hurt.”
“There was another man, a passenger,” Tito said, as the light changed.
“Did you recognize him?”
“No. I saw him walking away.”
“The man who tried to run you over, the one who came after the iPod in the park, was in charge of trying to find us in New York.”
“He put the bug in my room?”
Garreth glanced over at him. “Didn’t know you knew about that.”
“My cousin told me.”
“You have a lot of cousins, don’t you?” Garreth smiled.
“He wanted to kill me,” Tito said.
“Not the steadiest tool in the drawer, our man. We imagine he got so frustrated, in New York, trying to grab you, or us, that when he saw you here, he lost it. Worked up about the box arriving, too. We’ve seen him lose it a few times, over the past year or so, and someone always gets hurt. Tonight it was him. The police report says not so badly, though. A few stitches. Big bruise on his ankle. He can drive.”
“A helicopter came,” Tito said. “I rode a train to where I could see streetlights, an apartment building, beyond a fence. I may have set off motion detectors.”
“Your man called that helicopter in, we think. Some kind of general alert. He’d have done it as soon as he got out of custody. Had them raise security on the port. Because he’d seen you.”
“My protocol was poor,” said Tito.
“Your protocol, Tito,” said Garreth, pulling over in the middle of a featureless block, behind a black car, “is fucking genius.” He pointed at the black car. “Cousin for you.”
“Here?”
“Nowhere else,” said Garreth. “I’ll collect you tomorrow. There’s something himself wants you to see.”
Tito nodded. He got out of the van and walked forward, finding Alejandro behind the wheel of the black Mercedes.
“Cousin,” said Alejandro, as Tito got in.
“I wasn’t expecting you,” said Tito.
“Carlito wants to make certain you’re settled,” said Alejandro, starting the Mercedes and pulling away. “So do I.”
“Settled?”
“Here,” said Alejandro. “Unless you prefer Mexico City.”
“No.”
“It isn’t because they think you’d be so hot in Manhattan,” said Alejandro.
“Protocol,” said Tito.
“Yes, but also real estate.”
“How is that?”
“Carlito bought several apartments here, when it was less expensive. He wants you to live in one, while he explores possibilities here.”
“Possibilities?”
“China,” said Alejandro. “Carlito is interested in China. China, here, is very close.”
“Close?”
“You’ll see,” said Alejandro, turning at an intersection.
“Where are we going?”
“The apartment. We’ll need to furnish it. Something a little less basic than your last place.”
“Okay,” said Tito.
“Your things are there,” said Alejandro. “Computer, television, that piano.”
Tito looked over at him, smiled. “Gracias.”
“De nada,” said Alejandro.