Page 432

Briggs points at her. “Milwaukee understands efficiency.”

We carry our coffee outside.

Cold air bites through my coat while shoppers move along the sidewalk beneath the soft fall of snow. Briggs narrates the block with the confidence of a tour guide who has never been licensed or requested. He points out the restaurant where Ryan orders tacos after late games, the bookstore that calls whenever a first edition arrives, and the glass studio where my sculpture was made.

Then a man in a blue coat smacks the side of a parking meter.

“I paid you,” he tells it. “Don’t act like you don’t know me.”

Briggs lifts one hand. “Marco.”

The man turns. His attention moves from Briggs to me before suspicion narrows his eyes.

“Who’s the blonde?”

Briggs answers in Spanish. “La mujer de Decker. Compórtate.”

I understood enough to strike his arm. “I’m not Ryan’s wife.”

“Not with that attitude,” Marco says.

Briggs makes a strangled sound beside me before bending forward with laughter.

“I like him,” I decide.

Marco points at Briggs. “He owes me twenty dollars.”

“I bought you breakfast yesterday.”

“That was food. This is money.”

“For what?”

Marco gestures toward the parking meter. “Legal expenses.”

“The meter isn’t pressing charges.”

“It will when the city learns what happened.”

“What happened?” I ask.

“Entrapment.”

Briggs hands him a five-dollar bill. “This is for coffee. No attorneys, no parking meters, and no purchasing electronics from Spider.”

Marco accepts the money. “Spider has a television.”

“Spider always has a television. None of them belong to him.”

Marco’s attention returns to me. “Decker know you’re here?”

“He’s driving back.”

“Good.” He nods as though Ryan returning settles something important. “He’s been meaner since the pretty girl disappeared.”

“Ryan is always mean,” Briggs says.

“He was mean with purpose before. After her, he was mean recreationally.”