CHAPTER SEVEN
ELISA
I like Luke’s battered pickup truck. I’m not sure why, but I do. I suppose, like Luke himself, it’s unpretentious. I like a man who can wolf down tacos or burgers, drop ketchup on his shirt, shrug, and go on with life. He doesn’t sweat the small stuff, which is so refreshing.
“So, uh, where are we going?” I ask as we cross the city limits, heading out into the suburbs with no sign of moving toward exits. “Can you give me any insight into this friend you need me to meet?”
“His name is Ravi.”
“Oh.” It’s not much to go on, so I ask, “Is he Indian?”
“I don’t believe so, though it’s not something we’ve ever talked about,” Luke replies, eyes on the road. He looks tense today. “Based on his looks and his accent, I’d guess a Mexican heritage. He had some… trouble a while
