Which could be why my parents bought a house there.

"White girl and a black girl in a car's conspicuous enough."

"It happens."

"Not in Devil's Corner. The car's got to go. They might recognize it. If that lookout sees you again, he'll remember the car." Reheema shook her head, and Vicki suspected she was enjoying this way too much.

"I don't want to sell my car. I love my car."

"Then don't. You got the dough, buy us a new one." Reheema looked out the window. "Now let's go."

A half an hour later, Vicki found them an open dealership, parked beside a pointy mound of freshly plowed snow, and cut the ignition. The peeling sign over the lot entrance read PHILLY PRE-OWNED AUTOS-USED TO EXCELLENCE! SALE OR RENT! Red and white plastic pennants flapped from a sagging string, and fake-gold tinsel glittered in the noonday sun, its ends frayed from twisting in the elements. Old Jeeps, Tauruses, Toyotas, and an ancient Pinto sat in the lot, in obsolete shades of avocado, diluted lemon, and bright blue.

Vicki looked at the dealership with satisfaction. "This is perfect."

Reheema curled her upper lip. "I said, a new car. This is the brokest-ass car lot I ever saw."

"We're supposed to be inconspicuous."

"We can be inconspicuous in a new car. And we can look good doin' it."

"Come on." Vicki slid her keys from the ignition and grabbed her purse, but Reheema stayed put.

"I thought we were cooperating."

"I'm paying, you're cooperating."

"Oh no, you didn't just say that."

Vicki got out of the car, yanked on her mittens, and walked onto the plowed lot, making a beeline for a grimy white Camaro with a dented front end. She skimmed the sign: AS IS, 1984 CHEVY CAMARO, 60,374 MILES, BUY FOR $1250, RENT FOR $50/WEEK. MPFI FUEL-INJECTED, TRANS REBUILT 10,000 MILES AGO. "Sounds good, and the price is right. We'll rent."

Reheema came up behind her, hands shoved deep into the pocket of her pea coat. "What is it with you and white cars?"

"I'm suburban, with a little H." "Crimson, not red." "Correct. Details matter." "Hold on, check this." Reheema went one car over, to a sports car that had been repainted cobalt-blue, with metallic shimmer. "That's what I'm talkin' about!" She read the sign aloud. " ‘1986 Nissan 300ZX, 110,000 miles, Z-bra included.' "

"How much?" "Three grand to buy, a hundred a week to rent." "That's some bra. No." "But it's in great condition." "Too much money." "I would look damn good in this thing." Reheema couldn't stop gazing at the sports car. "You're single, right?" "Yes." But he's not. "Got a boyfriend?" "Not a prayer." "Not for long." Reheema spread her arms wide. "In this." "No," Vicki said, with regret. She shifted over to the next car, a black sedan with a dented fender and a black rubber strip peeling from its side door. She skimmed the sticker out loud. " ‘1995 Pontiac Sunbird, four cylinders, 120,000 miles, $1,500 to buy, $75 a week to rent.' Not bad."

Reheema walked over. "I'm not feelin' it. S'boring." "Exactly." Vicki peeked inside. "Only one problem. It's a gearshift. I don't drive a stick." "Can't you learn, Harvard?" "You know how to drive a stick?" "Sure, I went to a real college. Temple." Vicki was distracted by a short white man in a gray coat, coming out of a one-room building in the middle of the lot, presumably the office. A Fotomat sign was a painted ghost under the building's grimy white. Vicki said under her breath,

"Let me do the talking."

"No, I'll do the talking."

"But I know how to negotiate."

"So do I."

"I'm the lawyer."

"You couldn't get me to plead out."

Ouch.

"And you can't even drive a damn stick."

"Okay, fine. Go get 'em, girlfriend."

Reheema's eyes shifted under her cap. "Black people stopped saying girlfriend a long time ago. We talk just like you white folks now, since you done give us the vote."

"Gimme a break," Vicki said, just as the little salesman came chugging up, his breath puffing in the cold air like a toy locomotive.

"Welcome, ladies!" he sang out. His bald head looked cold and the tip of his nose had already turned red. His blue eyes were bright behind thick glasses and he clapped his gloved hands together, as if to generate excitement. Or heat. "How are you two lovely ladies doing today?"

"Fine," they answered in unison, with equal enthusiasm, which is to say, none.

"Great day to buy a car! You girls have my undivided attention! No waiting, right? Ha ha!"

Reheema stepped forward. "I want me a cheap car that don' look like crap. And don't be rippin' me off. You messin' with the wrong girl."

Huh? Vicki did a double-take at the appearance of Street Reheema, especially after the lecture she'd just received.

"Certainly, certainly." The salesman edged away from Reheema and looked at Vicki. "And, miss, you are?"

"Her life partner."

Reheema burst into startled laughter, and Vicki smiled to herself.

Half an hour later, Reheema was driving the Sunbird off the lot with Vicki in the passenger seat, because they didn't have time for her stick lesson after dropping the Cabrio back at home and going to the bank, where she had withdrawn the cash to rent the car. They had jointly negotiated ten bucks off the price, and the dealer had agreed to "detail" the car, that is, hose it down and spray the interior with Garden in a Can. The Sunbird was a washed-out light blue inside, and its floor was covered with aftermarket shag rugs, somebody's idea of pimp-my-ride. Armor All greased the blue vinyl bucket seats, and there was no cute little H on the rear window, in crimson or even in red.

By noon, the two women were rolling, and one of them was missing her Cabrio very much.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Vicki and Reheema staked out Cater Street, parking the Sunbird behind a tall snowbank made by a city plow when the cross street had been cleared. The tall, triangulated mound hid them from view of the lookout, smoking a cigarette halfway down the block. And both women were in extraordinarily professional disguise; Reheema's knit cap covered her hair and Exxon-station sunglasses hid her eyes, and Vicki wore Dan's Phillies cap and Chanel sunglasses, to fashionably conceal her forbidden whiteness. Even so, she was pretty sure that they looked like two women, one white and one black, driving while blind.

Cars couldn't drive for the snow on Cater, which hadn't been cleared yet because the street was too narrow to fit the conventional wide plows, and only a few row houses had their walks shoveled, but it didn't deter steady foot traffic to the vacant lot. The pace was as brisk as the other day, and addicts braved the elements, showing unusual hardiness. Vicki wondered if watching them bothered Reheema, so soon after her mother's murder.

"You okay?" she asked, looking over at that perfect, if impassive, profile.

"Fine." Reheema nodded, her sunglasses reflecting the snow.

The woman of few words had become the woman of no words. Vicki had been previously unaware that you could be a woman and say so very little. It seemed biologically impossible.

"Is this weird for you, since what happened to your mother? Is it upsetting?"

"I look upset?" Reheema didn't move, just kept gazing out the windshield, and then Vicki gave up and looked, too. A bundled-up couple, a man and a woman, walked in the snow to the vacant lot, arm in arm, like a crack date.

"You recognize them?"

"No."

Vicki had hoped otherwise. This was Phase One of the Master Plan. They'd been here an hour, and Reheema hadn't recognized either of the lookouts or any of the customers. "But they're your neighbors."

"I don't know the neighbors."

Vicki didn't get it. "You lived here, right?"

"Moved here senior year high school, and not since then."