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on. “You pay your money up front, then whatever you make’s your own.”
    â€œAnybody here speak Hindi?” Gloria’s voice echoed off the cinder-block walls. I don’t know how she gets that kind of volume without raising her pitch.
    An excited murmur erupted from the mechanics’ pit.
    Gloria said, “Got a lost cabbie out in Waban. Need somebody to talk him in, but I’m not making it in English.”
    A grease-spattered man proudly took to the microphone, spoke for an eternity, and then informed us, in triumphantly halting English, that he’d advised his colleague to “head for the rising sun.”
    â€œOr the Citgo Sign,” somebody chimed in.
    â€œTell him to stop when he hits the harbor,” mumbled one of the Geezers in a rare show of concern.
    This is the kind of conversation someone wants to record for posterity ? I thought.
    â€œI hear you had a great time leasing,” I said to Ralph.
    â€œSome deal,” Ralph said. “No health, no bennies, no gas, no repairs. You bring your cab back to the garage three friggin’ minutes late, they dock you. The medallion owners rake in their dough, no matter if you have the lousiest night on record. I couldn’t make my nut. No way, no how.”
    â€œIt’s an immigrant-eating machine,” Jerome said, scowling and crossing his arms over his narrow chest. “Nothing but a legal scam. Six months driving a leased cab, working eight hours before they put a buck in their own pocket, they’re back to the shores of whatever godforsaken place they left, grateful to get out alive.”
    â€œSo why do you drive, Jerry?” I asked with a smile.
    â€œWhy do you?”
    â€œOh,” I said, “the lure of the open road. The incredible sense of adventure. My grocery bill.”
    â€œYeah, me too,” he said wryly. “And there’s always the threat of violence. I really eat that up.” Peering nearsightedly from behind wire-rimmed spectacles, he didn’t look like an eager fighter.
    â€œIt’s been crazy out there lately,” I said. “On the crime front.”
    â€œYeah,” he said noncommitally.
    â€œYou know anybody who’s been hit?” I asked quietly, hoping to steer the conversation to Lee’s unreported assaults.
    â€œShhh,” Jerome said. “You’ll bring the evil eye.”
    â€œ Keyn eyn-ore zol nit zayn !” I muttered automatically, spitting quickly over my left shoulder. Habits die hard.
    â€œA landsman ?” Jerome said, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “With that hair?”
    â€œSo you’re not researching a scholarly article?” I asked as if there’d been no evil-eye interruption. I rarely respond to comments about religion, hair, or height: I’m half-Jewish; it’s red; I’m tall.
    â€œThink I could find a topic here at the garage?” Jerome asked.
    â€œHell, half a dozen,” I said.
    â€œCarlotta?”
    Sam’s voice, unmistakable. I was disturbed to discover that he’d approached without my sensing his presence, smelling his aftershave, feeling a jolt of electricity pulse through my veins.
    â€œBe seeing you.” Jerome backed off quickly. “Drive carefully.”
    â€œGloria said I’d find you.” Was it me, or did Sam’s tone sound lazy and self-satisfied? The master’s voice.
    â€œAnd where’ve you been?” My words came out sharper than intended.
    He was so close I could feel his breath on my hair. I didn’t need to turn. I have Sam memorized from his unruly dark curls to the soles of his feet. All the good parts in between too.
    He said, “You drove graveyard?” Resting his big hands on my shoulders, he started massaging the stiffness away with practiced fingers.
    â€œThat bother you?” I craned my neck, arching it slowly left and right. God, it felt good; the man knew where to rub.
    He stayed silent for a