“I don’t think I know how to work it,” the girl said. She had lighted a cigarette less than a minute before; now she stubbed it out in the ashtray.

“You don’t know how to do much of anything,” Alvin Guy said to the rear-view mirror. He saw the light change to green and moved straight ahead at a normal speed, watching the headlights reflected in the mirror as he crossed Eight Mile and entered John R again, in Detroit now, and said to the headlights, “Out of Hazel Park now, stupid. You don’t know it, but you’re going downtown-assault with a deadly weapon.”

“He hasn’t really done anything,” the girl said, holding the phone and looking through the windshield at the empty street that was lighted by a row of lampposts but seemed dismal, the storefronts dark. She felt the jolt and the car lurch forward as she heard metal bang against metal and Alvin Guy say, “Son of a bitch-” She heard the operator’s voice in the telephone receiver. She heard Alvin Guy yelling at the operator or at her, “Nine eleven, nine eleven!” And felt the car struck from behind again and lurch forward, picking up speed.

Clement held his front bumper pressed against the Mark, accelerating, feeling it as a physical effort, as though he were using his own strength. The Mark tried to dig out and run but Clement stayed tight and kept pushing. The Mark tried to brake, tentatively, and Clement bounced off its bumper a few times. The Mark edged over into the right lane, the street empty ahead. Clement was ready, knowing the guy was about to try something. There was a cross-street coming up.

But the guy made his move before reaching the intersection: cut a hard, abrupt left to whip the car off his tail, shot into a parking lot-no doubt to scoot through the alley in some tricky jig move-and Clement said, “You dumb shit,” as headlights lit up the cyclone fence and the Mark nosed to a hard, gravel-skidding stop. Clement coasted in past the red sign on the yellow building that said American La France Fire Equipment. A spot beamed down from the side of the building, lighting the Lincoln Mark VI like a new model on display.