It's been kind of slow, Andy said. This idea of yours, to call up people selling their used cars, that hasn't worked worth a shit. Then, remembering, You find Sydney?

No, I said.

I got back behind my desk, unable to think about anything but my daughter. But I'd been able to go through the motions before when she was the only thing on my mind, so I got to it. I dug out my book of recent leads people who'd taken test drives, asked for brochures, made low offers, and walked away. I took a breath and started dialing numbers.

I didn't leave messages when no one picked up. The chances that anyone would return a car salesman's call were about the same as a Prius winning the Indy 500. You had to talk to people directly.

A rich stockbroker from Stamford told me he was still mulling over whether to get the Honda S2000 he'd been in salivating over a few weeks ago. I put him in the call back list. An elderly couple from Derby had changed their minds about getting a car now that the husband had been diagnosed with cataracts.

And then I'd come to Lorna and Dell. The couple who'd looked at just about every car on the market and couldn't reach a decision. They'd come close to driving me mad with their indecision, but some sales you just had to work harder for than others.

I glanced at the clock, saw that it was after four, and took a chance Lorna might be home from her teaching job.

She picked up. Hello?

Hello, Lorna, slipping into my car salesman voice, which is not far off from my regular voice, except that it sounds as though I've just had some cough syrup. Tim Blake from Riverside Honda.

Oh, how are you today?

I'm just great, how about yourself?

We're terrific. We're loving the car.

I almost asked her to repeat herself, but calm prevailed. That's just great, I said. I've been off a few days, you know. Just what did you end up getting?

We bought a Pilot. We spent all this time looking at sedans, and then we thought, maybe we could use a little more room. Are you feeling better?

Evidently I had been ill. Yes, much better, I said. I trust you were well looked after in my absence.

Oh, yes. We came in looking for you, and that nice boy Andy helped us out.

That's great, I said. Be sure to drop by and say hello when you're in for service.

I hung up.

How it's supposed to work is this: If a customer you've been working with for some time finally decides to buy, and he shows up on your day off to make the deal, the salesperson who helps him splits the commission with you. That is, if he's not a scumbucket.

I poked my head around the divider and said to Andy, Hey, you want to go grab a coffee and get some air?

Andy looked up nervously. Now?

Sure, I said. I could use a coffee before I start making any more calls.

We walked over to the communal coffeepot, poured ourselves each a cup, then walked around to the back of the dealership where there was shade from some tall oaks on a neighboring property.

Nice day, Andy said.

Oh yeah, I said, taking a sip of the hot coffee.

Laura's sure been on the warpath, he said. Leaning on everyone to get their numbers up. But sometimes, you know, things are just slow. What are you gonna do, right?

Sure, I said. It happens.

Yeah, he said, like we were two buddies, just shootin' the shit.

So, you gonna tell me? I asked.

Hmm? said Andy.

You going to tell me about the Pilot you sold to Lorna and Dell?

Andy coughed up a nervous laugh. Oh yeah, I was going to.

Were you? I said. You seemed to have forgotten about it when I asked you how things had gone the last few days.

It just kind of slipped my mind, that's all. Don't worry, I'll split that commission down the middle with you.

Let me tell you something, Andy, I said. You're still relatively new, so I'll cut you some slack today, but you ever pull a stunt like that again I'll slam a hood down on your fucking hand.

Sure, you bet, Andy said. Won't ever happen again. You gonna tell Laura on me?

I shook my head. Laura's sales manager. She doesn't give a shit who gets the commissions as long as the cars get sold. She'll just let us sort it out, and that's what I'm doing now. Understand?

You bet.

I tossed my full coffee into an old oil drum and went back inside. There was a guy hanging around my desk. The girl at reception caught my eye as I walked into the showroom and said, That gentleman asked for you.

He was sandy-haired, trim, mid-thirties, smart clothes. I put out my hand as I approached. Tim Blake, I said. You were looking for me?

He nodded and returned the handshake. Eric Downes, he said. I got your name from a guy I work with who bought a car from you a few years ago.

Who was that? I asked.

Dan? he said. I don't even know his last name. He laughed self-consciously. You'd think I'd know a coworker's last name.

No problem, I said. I could recall two or three Dans off the top of my head, but it didn't really matter which one. What can I help you with? I asked.

I've been seriously thinking about a Civic coupe, Eric Downes said.

The regular coupe, or the Si?

Oh, the Si, he said.

Nice vehicle, I said. Six-speed, alloys, 197 horsepower. It really goes, and at the same time, you're going to get respectable gas mileage with it.

Everyone's thinking about that these days, Eric said. I've been reading up on them online, I've looked at other people's, but this is the first I've been into a showroom to look at one. Thing is, I've also been looking at a Mini, and a GTI. The Volkswagen. But I wanted to check the Si first. You have any in stock?

I don't have one on the floor here, I said, but I have one on the lot, a demo.

What I'd really like to do, he said, is take one for a test drive, but like, do I have to put down a deposit first to do something like that?

No, of course not, I said. I can arrange for you to take one out if you'd like. I just need a copy of your driver's license, and it'd be my pleasure to ride along with you to show you the car's features.

Not that Eric would be able to pick up a load of manure with an Si, but I wasn't going to make that mistake again.

Eric glanced at his watch like he had someplace to get to, then shrugged and said, What the hell, let's do it.

While I was arranging to have one of the summer hires bring the red demo we had up to the door, I watched Andy skulk in and slink into his chair. He didn't look over at me, or my customer. He was an okay kid. He just still had a lot to learn. Unless, of course, his ambition was to be a slimy car salesman. If that was the case, he was ahead of the game.

Shannon, at reception, made a copy of Eric Downes's license, gave the original back to me, and I handed it over to him while he inspected other new cars on the lot. A couple of minutes later, the red Civic Si rolled up.

What are you driving now? I asked Eric.

I've got a Mazda, he said. I've had good luck with it, but I feel like a change.

You'd be looking to trade it in? I asked.

I'm actually at the end of a lease, he said.

They call this Rallye Red, I said, pointing out some of the Honda's exterior features for Eric. The rear spoiler, the Si badging. I opened the door for him to get behind the wheel, then joined him on the other side.

Nice, he said, running his hands over the leather-wrapped steering wheel. I directed his attention to the navigation and audio systems, the side bolsters on the racing-style bucket seats.

Start 'er up, I said.

Eric turned the engine over, gave the accelerator a couple of light taps to hear the revs, pushed in the clutch and worked the gearshift around, getting an idea where all the gears were.

Can I smoke in here? Eric asked, about to reach into his jacket.

Once you own it, I said, smiling. But for now, no, if you don't mind.

No problem, he said.

Let's go out that way, I said, pointing right. Then we'll head up to the turnpike, get an idea how it performs on the highway. I got the navigation screen set up so we could keep track of our movements. You ever had a car with one of these built into the dash? I asked.

Yup, said Eric. He didn't seem particularly impressed.

While Eric waited for a break in traffic, I happened to look across the street at the vacant lot there. It's usually totally empty, which probably explains why the dark blue Chrysler van with tinted windows sitting there caught my eye. I didn't give it another thought after that. There are a few thousand of those on the road in Milford alone.

Eric put the Civic into first, eased up on the clutch, and took us out onto Route 1. But instead of turning right, as I had suggested, he went left, front tires squealing. This is one of the first things you learn in the car-selling business: test-drive routes have as few left turns as possible. You don't want someone unfamiliar with the car making turns in front of traffic. That goes double when the car has a stick instead of an automatic.

I said, No, I thought we'd head I want to go this way, he said.

Eric tromped on the gas, the engine pushing the car up through the gears until we were cruising in sixth, weaving from lane to lane, zooming past motorists with more conventional driving habits. I glanced over at the digital readout on the dash, saw that the car was topping out at more than sixty.

Eric, I know the car goes like stink and it doesn't feel like you're going as fast as you are, but I think you might want to let up a bit on the pedal there before we get a ticket or something worse.

Eric glanced over and flashed me a grin, but there was nothing friendly about it.

Why don't you just sit back and enjoy the ride, he said, and tell me where the fuck your daughter is.

Chapter THREE.

WHEN I DIDN'T IMMEDIATELY SAY SOMETHING I was too stunned to respond for several seconds Eric said, It's got good handling, I'll grant you that. You don't really think of that with a Civic, at least I never have. I like the road feel. Comes right through the steering wheel. Some cars, they're all mushy, you know? I like a car where you feel connected, you get what I'm saying?

He glanced over. Huh? he prodded. You know what I mean?

Who are you? I finally managed to say, my hand gripped tightly around the brushed-aluminum passenger door handle. My heart, which had already started pounding when Eric Downes hit the gas, was going like a trip-hammer now.

He flashed that grin again. I'm Eric.

What's happened to Sydney?

Hello? Timmy, my man, did you hear what I asked you a second ago? I asked you to tell me where your daughter is.

I don't know where she is.

You know what? I tend to believe that. We've seen your website, we know you've been looking for her. We've been watching you, watching your wife's place, haven't seen your daughter. Not one titty tit tit. But I figured, hey, I had to ask, you know? Give you a chance to tell us where she was before we consider other courses of action.

Who's we'? I asked.

Eric downshifted, turned hard left at a yellow light that was in the process of turning red, and gunned it up a residential side street. We were still doing sixty, but now we were doing it in a thirty. You know what kind of suspension this baby's got? he asked.

What kind of trouble is Sydney in? I asked.

She's in a whole fuck of a lot of trouble, Eric said. She's got her tit one hundred percent caught in the wringer, you know what I'm saying?

Tell me what it is, I said. Tell me what the problem is. If I can solve it, make you happy, then my daughter will come home and we can forget all about this. If it's about money, just tell me how much and I'll make it right.

You want to make me one satisfied customer, is that the idea? I tell you what your daughter's done, and you'll throw in free rust-proofing?

Eric chuckled, swerved sharply to avoid a parked car. I tightened my grip on the door handle and pressed my right foot reflexively to the firewall, as though I had a brake pedal of my own. Glancing over, I caught a glimpse of a gun butt in his inside left jacket pocket.

Do you know if Sydney's okay? I asked. Has she been in touch with you?

Eric came to another side street, hit the brakes, turned right, let the front-wheel drive pull the car so the back end hardly fishtailed. Every few seconds he'd glance over at me, but most of the time he had his eyes on the road.

I still don't think you're getting it, he said. We haven't heard from her. If we had, maybe we could have worked something out with her, come to some kind of an arrangement, you know? And if you're not able to tell me where she is, it's going to make that very difficult. Because we'd have liked nothing better than to put all this business behind us.

What business?

Eric sighed. You know what I think? I think you never tried hard enough. If she was my daughter, I'd have been out there looking for her four/seven, not sitting around being Mr. Car Salesman, slicking back my hair, wearing my plaid jacket, adjusting my white belt, trying to sell Jap cars. What was with the past tense? Why was he talking like I was done searching? What the hell kind of father you been, anyway?