The traffic on Route 40 was still bad. Chuy found himself stuck between two semis. He shook his head and checked his mirrors. A solid line of cars and trucks filled the passing lane as far back as he could see. He shook his head again and turned the radio on. He punched up a couple stations then snapped the radio off. He checked his mirrors a few more times, then gave up and got off at the next exit. It wasn't his usual turn; he would have to wind his way through some back streets to catch Kurtz Boulevard going north to Los Huertos.

This part of the city was tire dealers and car parts and auto repair shops. The sidewalks were always empty. There was no reason to come here that didn't involve driving. Chuy sat at a light and watched an older black man and a young Anglo lock up a body shop. The black man went south in a powder blue vintage Mustang convertible and the Anglo followed in a red Nissan Sentra with racing stripes and custom hubs and tinted windows. The Sentra turned right at the end of the block and disappeared behind a low cinderblock tire dealership.

The light changed and Chuy continued west. After a few blocks, the auto parts and supply stores were replaced by warehouses and truck terminals. The buildings were big and dark and the streets were empty. He looked down one of the wide avenues that ran north and south and saw a string of hookers posing and promenading on a dirty sidewalk. There was a cluster of them around a red Nissan Sentra with racing stripes and tinted windows. Chuy smirked and shook his head. One of the hookers got in the car.

Chuy wondered if his sister had ever sold herself. The thought came up out of nowhere and hit so hard he jerked backwards in his seat. He remembered how she looked in her ugly green uniform, her dirty hair spilling down, her cigarette with red lipstick ringing the filter so it looked like it was dipped in blood. She had a lazy insolence like the painted women on the wide avenue. He shook his head and took a deep breath. She had never been a beauty, but what she had, many men wanted — just like the street walkers. He shook his head again. He drove through empty blocks of sooty buildings. Trash blew around in the evening wind.

At the edge of the warehouse district there was a long block where street dealers fed the commuter trade. Chuy sat a stop sign and watched a transaction go down across the avenue. An Anglo businessman in a gold Lexus was buying from a kid who looked like a harder version of Tomas. Money and drugs changed hands and the Lexus took off down the block. Chuy started across the avenue and the kid gave him an expectant look. Chuy snorted and shook his head and rolled on past.