“WHAT’S FUNNY?” LAMONT asks.

“Nothing,” I say, keeping my eyes locked on the road. “It’s just…” I lower my voice and imitate his imitation. “Who knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men?”

“What about it?” says Lamont. “It’s not funny—it’s true. There’s no telling how deep evil can go. I mean, look around! I’m seeing nothing but evil!”

I can’t tell if Lamont’s putting me on. He seems sincere, really troubled about the state of the city. On the other hand, he’s had a weird brew of drugs circulating through his body for a long time. Who knows what that might’ve done to his brain?

“So, are you a fan of the Shadow?” I ask. “I mean, from the radio show? That was on during the 1930s, right?”

Lamont is staring out the window. Nobody I know has the slightest interest in an obscure comic book hero from the past century. But there’s something about the Shadow that always appealed to me—especially his power of invisibility. I mean, how cool would that be?

“Wait!” I have another thought. “Are you an actor?” That might explain the fancy tux and the handsome face. “Were you on the radio? Did you play the Shadow? Were you the Shadow?”

“An actor?” Lamont says. “You think I’m some kind of fake?”

“I just figured…maybe that’s why you picked the name.”

“My name is my name!” he says. And then,“Watch out!”

A car is veering toward us. I make a hard left onto Fifty-Seventh Street, missing the other guy by inches.

“Sorry!” I say. “I’ll pay attention.”

But it’s just a good thing I turned west when I did. Any higher and we’d be getting close to Central Park, which is one place on the island I did not want to be.

We’re coming up to Fifth Avenue. One block away. As we pass Madison, Lamont starts looking anxious. He whips his head from side to side, checking out various buildings, back and forth. Suddenly he sits right up in his seat, so fast that his head almost hits the roof panel of the sedan. He points straight ahead.

“That’s it! Right there! That’s my house!”

I slow down and pull the car over to the curb. I look up the street to where he’s pointing.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“Of course not!” says Lamont. “That’s it! I live right there! I should know—I designed every inch of it!”

I recognize the building. Who wouldn’t. But there’s no way we’re getting anywhere near it.

Because it’s the official residence of the world president.