This is a shitty car is his prevailing thought, climbing into the driver's seat, but he's being a snob and knows it. It's perfectly serviceable and clearly runs fine and isn't dirty, inside or out, but some of us are more used to being filthy rich than others, and maybe someone who made millions on the dismantling of someone else's house of lies should get himself a more suitable vehicle. This doesn't preclude Armand from knowing how to drive, it seems.

He does. No trees are harmed, as he directs them out of the parking lot, onto the road, into the late night. He only has vague notions of the area, a sense of geography and direction rather than specific routes, but Daniel can course correct as needed.

"Why not?" he asks. Doesn't go for the radio. Lets the window down a touch. But also, "They won't understand your keeping willing contact with me, you realise."