The sofa welcomed my weight with an easy give and a mild sigh from the springs.

She came back in the room five minutes later, hair down, face made up, looking like the siren who had played me last night. She had her dark purse on her shoulder and a long leather coat across her arm. Her perfume had a light scent, the kind that could easily go unnoticed.

She said, “Let’s go for a ride.”

“Where?”

“You want that advance, right?”

She pulled a box filled with garment bags from the other side of the bed. We packed up the fancy outfits, put one in each garment bag. I carried the awkward load. She led the way. I followed. To the elevator. Then to the garage. She hit her remote. The lights on her silver BMW flashed. Doors unlocked. Engine started purring before we made it to the car.

She made a frustrated sound. “Keep hitting the wrong buttons.”

“New toy?”

“Something like that.”

She fumbled with the remote until the trunk opened, crept up nice and easy.

I loaded the merchandise. New car smell perfumed the air.

I envied her ride in silence. A car told you about a person’s character, how they saw themselves, how they wanted the world to see them. Cars weren’t just transportation, they were symbols. All about perpetrating and projecting. L.A. people were attached to their rides. Ugly women and mackless men could hop in a ride like this and let the car do the sweet-talking.

The leather seats were like warm butter, smooth and soft to the touch.

We passed by my ride. That back window shattered.

Arizona drove toward Hollywood, went down Ventura, a strip that had a lot of stores like Gap and Baja Grill, a regular Traffic Light Row. She dug in her purse and took out a small black device, pointed it at the intersection and pushed a button. The traffic light changed back to green, just like it had done for her last night when she left Back Biters.

I asked her, “What’s that device?”

“It’s a MIRT. Mobile Infrared Transmitter.”

I was impressed. “How does it work?”

“You point it and it changes red lights to green lights. It’s the same technology that ambulances use to get to emergencies faster.”

My cellular rang. UNKNOWN CALLER on the ID.

I answered and heard a lot of happy noise in the background, the sounds of people chattering, forks and spoons clanging against plates, soft jazzy music. It sounded like one of those special and discrete Hollywood parties that Rufus and Pasquale went to from time to time.

Lisa said, “Playa, Playa. Watch your back while you’re having fun in the valley.”

She hung up.

I looked around to see who she had on my tail, searching the headlights for trouble, thinking that I’d have to use the .380 before the night was done, wishing I’d brought the .357 along as well. I tried to sit still but I kept moving, checking the rearview off and on.

Cars were an extension of the driver’s personality.

Arizona drove a vehicle built for speed and pleasure.

Lisa drove a vehicle made for battle, the kind used in a war.