She nods back toward the stairs and you turn, but there’s no one following her. Before you can ask, she says, “Where’s your chit?”
You slip a hand into your pocket and palm the chit protectively. You don’t know who this chick is, why she wants your boy, what’s going on and where the hell is Vito?
“Come on, kid,” she says, like she’s not just a few years older than you. “I ain’t gonna steal it. Vito said you’d be stopping by.”
“Where is he?”
Reluctantly, you hand over the chit and it’s snatched away, shoved into the console, authorized and slammed back on the counter like it’s nothing more than a piece of plastic. Doesn’t she know what he means to you?
“With the tech,” she says, speaking slowly like you’re not all there, and you realize she answered you before, when she first came up t
