CARL RAN OUT OF THE RESTAURANT AS THE RAV WAS MAKING A U-TURN. HE LOOKED AT the other cars in the street and at the space that was where he had left a car. Then he saw the RAV moving away. There was a parking space where his rental car had been. He’d seen the RAV moving from the restaurant window. It didn’t add up. Then it did. “They stole … someone’s taking … that’s my car,” Carl said, almost to himself.
“THAT’S MY CAR!!!” he shouted.
The RAV sped toward the corner as Carl walked into and then out of the parking spot where it had been.
Levin came through the door of the restaurant, smashing the bells together as he jerked the door open.
“THAT’S MY CAR!” Carl shouted again. “He stole my car!” He started to run after the RAV, which was now at the stop light, but the RAV didn’t stop—it screeched around to the right.
“POLICE! Call the police!” Carl shouted.
“Fuck the police. They’re useless. Which car?” Levin said.
Levin ripped off the duct tape holding the door of his banged-up Subaru, threw himself inside, jammed the key into the ignition, gunned the engine, and spun the car around. “The red car. At the corner.”
“Get in. This one’s mine. We’ll run that motherfucker down,” Levin said.
Carl was running down the street in the direction of the RAV, which had just turned the corner. Levin hit the gas, reached over as he drove, and threw the passenger side door open.
Carl looked at the open door and at the red RAV disappearing down Cranston Street. He caught the roof of the Subaru with his right hand and swung himself into the car as Levin hit the gas and turned the corner. Carl slammed his door shut at the same time as Levin’s door swung closed, pulled closed by the force of the right turn.
The traffic light at the next corner went yellow just as the RAV went through it. Levin hit the gas again. They sped through the intersection but they didn’t get any closer to the RAV, which also sped up as it hit a stretch of road that ran next to a baseball field where there were no traffic lights.
“They hit this car a couple of months ago,” Levin said. “I should have dumped it. But you can’t buy a used four-wheel drive in Rhode Island anymore. They’re all getting bought up and shipped to Africa. That bastard. He doesn’t know we’re here. I’ll catch that sucker. He won’t ever steal a car again.”
The RAV turned left.
“He turned,” Carl said.
“I’m on it,” Levin said.
They went through another yellow light and swung onto a broad but quiet street lined by big trees and low brick garden apartments.
It was summer and hot. People sat on lawn chairs next to the street or on the hoods of cars, some of which were missing wheels or had windows smashed. Some cars had their hoods open as men in tee shirts worked on them.
The street curved left, and they lost sight of the RAV. Levin sped up, and they saw the RAV turn.
“Made him,” Levin said, as the car spun around the corner.
They were on Broad Street going south. They passed a cemetery and tried to pick up speed but there were cars in their way.
The RAV was almost two blocks ahead of them. Levin passed one car and hit the gas. They passed a bus. Then they were just a block behind, stuck at a light.
The light changed. Levin hit the gas again. They gained on the RAV, passing a truck loaded with fruit and a bus. Then they were behind the RAV, only four or five car lengths back.
But another bus swerved into their lane, stopping in front of them to pick up passengers. Levin had to break for the bus and let the truck go by him. He paused, swung behind the truck after it passed, went around the bus, and then swung back into the right lane to pass the truck on the right.
The RAV was gone.
Levin wheeled the car around, making a quick U-turn in the middle of the block, and then made a right at the first street.
No RAV.
“Let’s prowl,” Carl said. “Let’s go down to the waterfront. You said something. No four-wheel drives in Rhode Island. Everything getting bought up and shipped to Africa. I know something you don’t know, which is the bush in Liberia is crawling with old four-wheel drives without mufflers. They come from somewhere. They can only get to Liberia by sea, right?”
“And Providence has a port, right?” Levin said. “And the port is half a mile from here, and that RAV is a four-wheel drive, right?”
“So my rental car with four-wheel drive got pinched so it could be shipped to Africa,” Carl said. “And somebody in Providence, Rhode Island, has a racket, stealing four-wheel drives and sending them to Africa from the Port of Providence. So if we want to find that car, we find the wise guys who are running this racket before that car gets on a boat.”
“I’m on it,” Levin said. “Eyes peeled. Look for a courtyard or a parking lot. They’ll have to stash your car out of the way until a boat docks. There are only so many streets in South Providence and only so many little parking lots. We’ll nail that bastard in no time. At least we can get you your car back.”
“We’ve got to do way more than that, brother,” Carl said. “She’s out there. We’ve got to go out there to get her, and we’ve got to bring her back.”
“Let’s see if we can get your car back first,” Levin said.
“We’re going to find a way to get the car and Julia back,” Carl said. “Find a way or make one.”
The port was just a few blocks away. It smelled of grease and diesel fumes. They drove between mountains of metal scrap. They heard the crunch and roar of front-end loaders and cranes scooping the scrap and dropping it into the hold of a freighter. Every time Levin saw tail-lights turning a corner, he hit the gas.
They didn’t see anything. They left the port and nosed down Public Street, behind the Blue Bug, a sculpture of a giant termite that sits on the roof of a building next to a highway—the sign for an exterminator. Then Levin made a right onto Allens Avenue and drove past the sign for the Russian Submarine, a decommissioned Russian sub docked improbably in Providence as a tourist attraction. They made a left on Terminal Drive, drove almost to the water, and then swung right on Shipyard Street.
They made a right on Harborside, drove up next to an old hotel that had been made over into a college dorm, climbed a hill, and then they were in Edgewood, where the streets were straight and the lots were perfect rectangles—the homes of working people and junior faculty.
They swung right and left and right again and drifted through a neighborhood of old brick factories and older mill houses. Levin drove slowly enough that they could see into the driveways and yards. They looked down each side street as they drifted by.
The houses were tired, with rotting porches or peeling paint. Many were boarded up. Most of the cars were burned out. There was broken glass and beer cans everywhere. The streets were full of potholes, so the Subaru shuttered and groaned as they traveled.
Then they were on Broad again, again drifting north.
That was when they saw him. On Broad. Almost to the middle of the block. Headed south. Just as they sped up to go through a yellow light.
They saw the RAV at the same moment.
Levin wheeled the car around.
“The …” was all Carl said. He was thrown against the passenger door by the force of the spinning car.
The light was red. Levin stopped and looked and went through it. Then he hit the gas.
The RAV was in the middle of the next block, in the left lane, and they lost sight of it for a moment when a bus pulled between them. They passed the bus, sailed through a few lights, and gained ground.
They crossed the highway on an overpass. There was a park on their right, with streets and no traffic out of the park, so Levin hit the accelerator and they jolted forward. They were six car lengths behind. The light at the corner turned red with the RAV on the other side of it.
Levin stopped, checked the side street, and went through the light.
The RAV turned left.