"You suppose! Suppose you go to the police. What are you gonna say? What are you gonna say we were doing in the Bronx? You say you're just gonna tell them what happened. Well, you tell me, Sherman. What happened?"

So that was what she was actually saying. Do you tell the police that Mrs. Arthur Ruskin of Fifth Avenue and Mr. Sherman McCoy of Park Avenue happened to be having a nocturnal tete-a-tete when they missed the Manhattan off-ramp from the Triborough Bridge and got into a little scrape in the Bronx? He ran that through his mind. Well, he could just tell Judy— -- no, there was no way he could just tell Judy about a little ride with a woman named Maria. But if they— -- if Maria had hit the boy, then it was better to grit his teeth and just tell what happened. Which was what? Well . . . two boys had tried to rob them. They blocked the roadway. They approached him. They said ... A little shock went through his solar plexus. Yo! You need some help? That was all the big one had said. He hadn't produced a weapon. Neither of them had made a threatening gesture until after he had thrown the tire. Could it be—now, wait a minute. That's crazy. What else were they doing out on a ramp to ah expressway beside a blockade, in the dark—except to—Maria would back up his interpretation -- —interpretation! -- —a frisky wild animal—all of a sudden he realized that he barely knew her.