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coming.”
    “He was standing there in the driveway next to the limo.”
    “Really?” Chase said. “So why didn't he get in?”
    “He was waiting for you to open the door for him.”
    “Oh, right, I'm supposed to do that. I thought he was just seeing you off.”
    Her top leg began to bounce slightly and she held the glass against her bottom lip, rolling it, the ice clicking in time with the shoop- shoops on the radio. He could feel the depth of her concentration, the way she pored over him now. It ignited him somehow, made him perk up in the seat.
    She took off the Jacqueline O's.
    He met her eyes in the rearview. They were hot and calculating and full of education and traces of the dead. That was her strength. Crippled and crushed boys scattered down the years in her wake, starting when she was about thirteen. A few maimed but alive enough to limp along in the world, deformed but still thinking about her, maybe even loving her. She'd never been struck with a pinprick of conscience. That was the tragedy she'd never feel. He'd seen a few like her before.
    The road rolled in and out. He could feel her trying to assess the situation, wondering if he was working with one of the other outfits and making a grab. Or if he might be a feeb fucking around with her. Or just another dumb member of the crew overstepping his bounds, perhaps looking to nail the boss's daughter. She kept her purse close. He knew she must be packing. Probably a little lady's snub .25, something that would do real damage if she got close enough to put it to a guy's head. The bullet whipping around in there turning everything to cream.
    But she had her cell phone and Chase hadn't made any overt moves, and they were still on their way to the bank. Not like he was hijacking her to Atlantic City or the Poconos. He liked the way she showed no alarm, sure of herself, on top of the action.
    After a moment she said, “No. You're not one of us.” She finished her drink, grabbed her purse, slid up directly behind him, and spoke through the partition. He heard her digging around past her lipstick and hairbrush. “There's something not right about you.”
    A mob princess putting him in his place. Chase felt oddly insulted. He said, “Hey now, is that a nice thing to say?”
    “Let's keep focused, shall we? All right, driver, so are you actually such a moron that you left my brother behind by accident, or is this some kind of a shakedown? Are you abducting me? And please be quick in answering, I do have a .38 pointed at the back of your head. The partition glass isn't bulletproof though the windshield is.”
    He glanced in the mirror again. It wasn't a small, lady's snub, but a nice pearl- handled revolver. No chance of jamming, she went in for practicality.
    Sherry Langan was like nearly every other woman he'd met in the bent life. Hard, calm, and a lot smarter, tougher, and more on the ball than most guys. You could never call her beautiful, or even pretty really, but there was something abouther that made you look twice. And not just at the legs.
    Maybe it was self- assurance or icy composure, the way she held herself above and out of reach. Or maybe it was the inherent understanding that some guys liked that sort of woman. Chase was a little afraid he might be one of them.
    He'd been right. Jackie wasn't in the boss's chair. And the real power behind the family since Lenny had taken to living under a plastic tent wasn't Moe Irvine either, it was Sherry. Moe really did care about ties.
    Chase thought it was pretty ballsy, her just coming out and asking, Are you abducting me? Like you'd have an honest enough abductor to tell you flat out, Yeah, I am.
    “I didn't abduct you, and you know it. If you really thought so, you'd stick that thing in my ear.”
    She stuck the revolver in his ear and said, “I planned on doing that anyway.”
    “If you ace me, you'll have a long walk to Pietro's.”
    They entered the tunnel and crossed over toward Manhattan. In the